preciosapascal

[preciosapascal]

Failure

tw: panic attack

I woke up from a nap with a panic attack that knocked the air out of my lungs. So to calm down have some Frankie talking you through an attack. Need that, now

gif by my beautiful friend @holbrk

All you need right now is Frankie—gentle, steady, Frankie. His voice soft as honey as he murmurs, “Keep breathing, baby. Let me count with you. One… two… three…”

And you do. You try. You follow his lead, lungs tight and trembling, the breath catching halfway down like it’s forgotten how to land. The burning in your ribcage stays, sharp and stubborn. And with it comes the spiral: the shame, the fear, the familiar sting of feeling like a failure in your own skin. Like your body has betrayed you again.

But Frankie doesn’t try to reason with the storm. He knows better. Knows it’s not about fixing it—it’s about staying. So he does. One hand anchored at your back, the other moving in slow, grounding circles, up and down, up and down. He breathes with you. Doesn’t rush you or flinch.

When the worst of it passes—when your breathing evens out and the shaking quiets—he lies down beside you. You press yourself into the curve of him, like you were made to fit there. His heartbeat, steady and sure, thuds beneath your ear like a compass pointing you back to something solid. Back to yourself.

“I’ve got you, mi vida. Always.”

And for one small, precious moment, you believe him. For one second, you feel okay again.

[preciosapascal]

“La Sirena” pt 2

Joel Miller x Stripper!Reader

Read part 1 here | Joel’s Masterlist

Summary: Joel wants to be with you, even if it means breaking the club’s rules. But you’re not the stripper waiting to be rescued by a knight in shining armor. Caught between the risk of losing your job and the chance at something real, you’re left torn with a decision to make.

WC: 9k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, lap dance, dry humping, oral (f&m!receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, angry sex, mentions of sex work, joel is lonely and touch starved.

It had been three weeks. Three fucking weeks since you last saw Joel. No more booth reservations, and the silence was deafening.

And now? Now he was standing by the front desk, his hat in his hands like a goddamn apology.

“Booth six,” he said quietly.

You caught the receptionist’s glance and rolled your eyes. You didn’t even look at him when you stepped into the booth, just slid in beside him like you were already bored. Of course you weren’t, you’d missed him like crazy.

“You don’t get to disappear and then stroll back in like you just forgot to tip me last time.”

Joel winced. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve said Hey, I’m not coming back. Or this is too much for me. Or even fuck off would’ve been better than nothing.”

“’M sorry,” he said softly. “I really am. I was conflicted, an’ hurt, an’… I know it’s no excuse,” he said, voice low, heavy with guilt.

You looked at him—steady, unflinching. “No, it’s not.”

You kept staring at him, at the way he looked smaller than before — not just older, but more worn out, like the guilt had taken up permanent residence in his body.

“You came here just to apologize?” you said flatly. “Is that it?”

He opened his mouth — and then closed it.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And before he could say another word, you swung your leg over him and dropped into his lap.

His hands immediately went up in a defensive way, “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t ask for this?” you said with a sharp tone. “Well, that's too bad."

Your hips pressed down, grinding slow and firm over his jeans. You felt his thighs stiffen beneath you and his breath caught.

“You don’t get to ignore me for three fucking weeks and then sit here like I’m supposed to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Darlin’—” he breathed, hands still raised, still trembling, like he didn’t know what the fuck to do with you on top of him.

“Don’t darlin’ me. You wanted to feel something real, huh?” you growled, lips brushing his ear, letting your breath ghost down his neck. “Then feel this.”

You rocked your hips harder—firm, deliberate, grinding down right where he was hard and aching, the friction of your soaked panties under your skirt against his jeans was sending sparks through both of you. You moved your body in the only way you knew. Rhythmic. Unrelenting. Precise. Joel’s jaw clenched, hard enough you could see the muscle jump. He gripped the edge of the seat like it might anchor him, but it didn’t, you were pulling him under.

He let out a sound, a strangled, guttural groan, like a man trying not to give in, trying not to beg, but failing anyway. It was low and raw, and it shot straight between your legs.

“F-fuck,” he breathed, his voice barely audible, strangled in the back of his throat.

You rolled your hips again, slow this time, just a filthy, deliberate drag that made his eyes squeeze shut, and his hips twitch beneath you, completely out of his control.

“I didn’t come here to—” he gasped.

“Come?” you hissed. “Too fucking late.”

Your hands slid to his chest, fingers splaying over that soft, worn flannel. You ground down with full weight, cunt pressing into his cock, feeling how it throbbed, how fucking desperate his body had gotten just from that brutal, slow press of you against the bulge in his jeans.

He was rock hard. Straining, desperate, painfully swollen beneath the thick denim, and you felt all of it, every throb, every twitch, every bit of heat he was holding back. You had done this to him, even fully clothed, angry, straddling him like you could grind the apology out of his mouth, like you could ride the guilt out of his soul.

And beneath it all laid the helpless truth:

He liked it, even if he tried too hard to hide it, even if he tried to walk away from it, even if the guilt ate him up. He still needed it, and he wasn’t strong enough to stop you.

“Come on,” you whispered, slowing your hips just enough to make it mean more. “Let go. You already ruined your jeans once, ruin them again.”

“Stop,” he begged. “Please, I—” You knew he didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t want you to stop. And so you didn’t.

Not until his whole body tensed beneath you, every muscle going rigid, like he was trying to hold back a scream in the back of his throat. His hips jerked, once, twice, subtle but unmistakable, like his body couldn’t help itself anymore.

And then he came. Silently. Shamefully. You felt it pulsing thick beneath you, soaking into the fabric between your bodies, the mess of it caught in his boxers, in his jeans. You stayed right there, straddling him, grinding down with slow, punishing rhythm, not letting him shy away from it, not letting him pretend it didn’t happen.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear again. “That was for disappearing.”

Then you climbed off, smoothing your skirt. Not a single glance back. You left him siting there with the mess in his jeans and the guilt in his gut. He deserved that.

He was back the next Friday. Same flannel, same tired eyes, but this time, he didn’t book a booth right away, he just stood near the bar, hat in his hands like every week, shifting his weight like a man who didn’t belong in his own skin.

You saw him the moment he walked in, of course you did, you felt that unmistakable ache behind your ribs you’d learned to ignore. You still didn’t go to him right away, you were still pissed, so you let him approach you, and when he finally did, he stopped in front of you with that awkward, broken expression.

“I booked booth five,” he said. Voice low. “If you’ll come.”

You said nothing. Not yes. Not no. Just turned away, like you didn’t feel his eyes crawling after you, and slid into the booth across from him. You didn’t sit beside him this time, you weren’t giving him that comfort, not yet.

He looked older tonight, not because of his age, but because of something else — something that weighed heavy behind his eyes, like he’d spent the last week in a fight with himself, and lost every round.

You didn’t smile at him, didn’t offer a lap dance. You just sit there waiting, keeping your arms and legs crossed. The air was heavy with the weight of unspoken things, of the misunderstandings hanging between you, of the things you both tried hard to ignore and the feelings you were trying to bury, feelings you’ve tried to ignore for months cause you couldn’t yet admit.

Until he finally broke the silence.

“Y’know I didn’t mean to disappear.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But you did.”

He nodded. “I know. An’ I felt like shit about it every day. But that’s the thing, I feel like shit comin’ here, and I feel like shit if I don’t.”

You didn’t reply, just let the weight of the silence stretch.

He sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand over his jaw like it ached. “I ain’t good at this. Feelin’ things. Talkin’ about ‘em. It ain’t how I was raised, and I sure as hell never learned how.”

You tilted your head slightly. “That why you ghosted me?”

“No,” he said. “I ghosted you because I didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Because I kept sittin’ here, in this booth, starin’ at you, feelin’ like I was losin’ somethin’ every time I left. But I didn’t, cause you were never mine to start with.”

That made your throat tighten.

He swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. “You’re not just some girl workin’ a stage. Not to me. You never were.”

You looked away, that hurt more than it should have.

“So what am I, Joel?” you asked quietly. “Some fantasy you think you’re not allowed to touch?”

He shook his head. “No. You’re someone I want to know without these goddamn rules. Outside this place.”

You stared at him, long and hard. “You still want something real,” you said.

“I do.”

“And you want it with me.”

“Yes.”

“But you couldn’t handle it when you realized it was only ever going to happen in here, on a couch you don’t even want to sit on.”

His jaw tightened. “I left because it felt wrong. Because payin’ for your time made me feel like I was stealin’ it.”

You leaned forward now. “You think I give this to just anyone?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I know better. I just… I wanted you to want me outside of all this. An’ I knew I couldn’t ask for that. Not without breakin’ every line you’ve drawn.”

You didn’t speak for a long time, but he didn’t push or beg, he let you sit with it, just waiting. And something in that — the stillness of him — told you this wasn’t a man who said this kind of thing often. Maybe not ever.

You let out a long breath, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I’ll go out for coffee with you.”

His brow furrowed.

“But,” you added quickly, “only once. And only because I want to. Not because you wore me down or said the right thing.”

He nodded, slow, as if every word needed to be carved into him.

“And you don’t tell anyone. You don’t ask for my number here. You don’t hang around the door. You act like I’m just another girl in this place, and you keep it quiet.”

“I will,” he said. “I swear.”

“You better,” you said, standing. “Because I am breaking the rules for you. And I don’t do that for anyone.”

He stood too, almost cautiously, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“I’ll find a place,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. Daytime.”

You nodded once. “Next week.”

Then you turned and walked away with your heart pounding and your legs shaky, but eyes straight ahead.

Because yeah, you were breaking the rules. But somehow, with Joel?

It didn’t feel like losing. It felt like finally choosing.

You met in the early afternoon in a small, quiet coffee shop tucked away from the busier streets, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and half-burned candles stuck in old wine bottles, no one here gave a shit who you were or what you did after dark.

And Joel? He looked different in daylight. Less guarded but still heavy, still carved from something hard and weather-worn, but quieter somehow, like the weight on his shoulders was just a little more bearable with the sun on his back.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see ya in the daylight,” you said as you sat across from him, coffee warming your hands.

Joel gave you a crooked little smile, tired, but real. “Didn’t think you’d let me.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“You do have clothes that cover your belly button. That’s a surprise,” he said, smirking, taking an appreciative look of your body, not a lewd or obscene one, he always looked at you with soft eyes.

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes, but the corner of your mouth still twitched like you wanted to smile.

The quiet stretched, but it didn’t sting this time. It settled between you like a blanket, it felt familiar, safe. You both nursed your drinks for a while. Talked about nothing, music, food, how shit the weather’s been lately. You learned he liked carving little wooden statues in his free time, hated phones, and used to play the guitar when his hands didn’t ache so damn much. He learned you liked thunderstorms, collected old postcards, and once dyed your hair blue on a dare. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

At one point, you caught him looking at you, not the way your clients usually looked, not the way men in booths watched, but like he was studying you, trying to memorize something he didn’t think he deserved.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothin’. Just… you look different.”

“In a good way?”

“In a real way,” he said softly. “Like ’m actually seein’ you for the first time.”

You swallowed hard. That one landed deep, because you weren't sure if you’d ever let a man see the real you before.

He walked you to your car after, even though it was just two blocks away. His hand didn’t brush yours and he didn’t lean in close to kiss you, he kept space between you like a man still afraid to want too much.

You stopped beside the driver’s side door, turned to him, and let yourself say what was already hanging in the air.

“Do you want to come back to my place?”

He froze, like you’d just handed him something too fragile to touch. Joel looked at you for a long moment, like he didn’t quite trust it, like he wanted to say no, just out of habit, but couldn’t.

Then he gave you the smallest, saddest smile.

“I’d like that,” he said.

⸻

You lived in a quiet building on the third floor. No elevator but he didn’t complain about the stairs. Your apartment wasn’t much, it was clean but lived-in, warm lighting, soft blankets, a shelf full of books and mugs. Joel looked around like he’d stepped into something too soft for a man like him.

You dropped your keys in the dish and turned to him. “You want a drink?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Whatever you’re havin’.”

You poured two glasses of whiskey, you both needed something to ease the nerves. Then you settled onto the couch beside him. Close, but not touching, not yet at least.

The glass was cool in your hand, in contrast with the hot tension between you two.

“You okay?” you asked.

Joel stared at the floor. Then: “I don’t remember the last time I was in a woman’s place.”

You didn’t say anything, just let him sit with that truth.

“But this—” he said quietly, looking at you, “—this feels different. And that scares the hell outta me.”

You set your drink down and reached out to touch his knee gently, grounding.

“It scares me too.”

He looked down at your hand, his rough fingers curling around your wrist, not pulling it away, not holding it there, just feeling it like he didn’t quite believe you were real.

Then his voice dropped lower. Hoarse. “What happens now?”

You leaned in, your forehead brushing his.

“That depends,” you whispered. “Are you gonna kiss me, Joel Miller?”

His breath hitched.

And then, finally, finally, he did.

His mouth was on yours like he needed it to breathe, like something in him had snapped the moment you said his name, the moment you tilted your chin and invited him in with that low whisper and the weight of weeks behind it.

And suddenly Joel’s hands were everywhere, on your waist, your face, your thighs, grabbing you like he didn’t trust you to stay in his arms otherwise. You climbed into his lap without hesitation, knees bracketing his hips, hips grinding down against his already hard cock pressing up through his jeans, just like you had done many times before at the booth in the club, except this time it felt different, it felt real.

“Fuck—” he muttered against your mouth, his voice so low it was barely there. “You sure bout this?”

You nodded, already tugging his flannel off his shoulders. “Been sure since the first day.”

He groaned when you rocked your hips again, hard enough to make him jolt, hips bucking up against you like he couldn’t help it. His fingers dug into your ass, holding you there, trying to slow things down even as his body betrayed him.

“Jesus,” he grunted. “’M not—not gonna last if you keep doin’ that.”

You grinned against his jaw. “Who said you had to?”

Joel’s head dropped back against the couch like he was suffering, his breath was so ragged it looked like he was struggling to breathe. “Shit.”

You rolled your hips again, slower now, grinding yourself against the thick outline of him. His hands were trembling. Actually trembling.

You kissed his throat, bit it. And that’s when he snapped. He grabbed you by the waist and flipped you, laying you down on the couch, covering your body with his own as he kissed you again, deeper now, messier, no more hesitation. Your shirt was gone in a second. His mouth was on your collarbone, your chest, sucking a bruise just above the curve of your breast like he needed to leave something behind.

“Been thinkin’ bout this every damn night,” he rasped, dragging your pants down. “Bout you. Bout the way you look on top of me—fuck—bout your voice in my ear.”

You reached for his belt, yanked it open with one firm pull, and he groaned like you’d punched the air out of him.

“Please,” you whispered. “Need you.”

“I, uh… I’ve got condoms. In my wallet,” he said softly.

“Well, look at you coming prepared, Miller.” You gave him a sly smile. “I thought this was just a coffee date.”

Joel felt heat creep up his neck. “I—uhh, sorry.”

You chuckled, reaching for him. “I’m just messing with you.” Your voice dropped. “Forget the condoms. I wanna feel you.”

Joel let out a low grunt, his mind racing. “Ya sure?”

“I’m on the pill,” you reassured him. “Don’t worry.”

That’s all it took. He shoved his jeans down just enough, hand fumbling, frantic, and then he was lining himself up, gripping the base of his cock, and pushing into you in one rough, hungry thrust.

You gasped, body arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He was thick, hot, too much all at once, stretching you open like he couldn’t wait another second.

Joel grunted, loud and raw, his whole body already shaking, barely holding himself together.

“Jesus—fuck— I can’t—baby, ’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him deeper, your hips tilting up to meet every frantic thrust. Joel groaned loud and desperate as he slammed into you, it was fast and clumsy, but so fucking deep it knocked the air from your lungs. He wasn’t polished or slow, it was messy, hungry, fucking real. All breath and sweat and need, his forehead pressed to yours, panting like he couldn’t catch up to his own body.

He was already close from the second he first pushed inside you. You could feel it in the way he couldn't keep his rhythm, the way his thrusts stutter, erratic, frantic— and then it all snapped.

Less than two minutes, just enough to fuck you through a handful of brutal, uncoordinated slams before his whole body went rigid. He buried his face in your neck, a growl got caught somewhere between his teeth and your skin. He shuddered hard as he came, cock pulsing inside you, hot and thick and helpless.

“Fuck—fuck—’m sorry—” he gasped, voice cracking as he came inside you, still grinding slow thrusts through it.

You held him, one hand in his hair, the other pressed flat against the center of his back. “Don’t be. That was great.”

You weren’t lying, it had felt amazing, maybe you’d want it to have lasted a bit longer, sure, but that wasn’t what mattered. You knew how touch-starved Joel was, how desperate, so you found it heartbreakingly sweet.

Joel let out a shaky breath, still buried inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“Didn’t mean for it to be like that,” he murmured. “Wanted to take my time with you. Make it good.”

You turned your face into his hair.

“It was good. It was you.”

He didn’t answer right away, just lay there, catching his breath while feeling your heartbeat pounding under his cheek. The air was thick with sweat and sex, your skin felt tacky, your heart was thudding in your chest like it hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that it was over, that it had happened, fast and rough and honest.

“Hey,” you murmured. “You good?”

His voice was muffled in your shoulder. “I shouldn’t’ve cum that fast.”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Joel, it’s okay. I liked it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you with his cheeks flushed and brows furrowed, something like guilt swimming in his eyes.

“Don’t feel right, leavin’ you like that,” he rasped. “Was s’posed to take my time. S’posed to… fuck.”

Your lips twitched. “So do something about it.”

That was all it took. Joel slid down your body without another word, his big hands trailing along your waist, thumbs brushing your ribs as he settled between your thighs. He spread you open like he was starving, not rushed now, but determined.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “What are you doing?”

He glanced up at you through his lashes.

“Makin’ it up to you.”

Then his hot mouth was on you, so slow you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your mouth as soon as you felt him. Joel kissed your aching cunt like a man trying to worship it, like he could erase the shame in his chest by drowning in you. His tongue wasn’t rushed, he licked like he had all night, like he’d crawl inside you if it meant you’d let him stay.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head falling back. “Joel—fuck—”

It was clear at first that he was a bit out of practice, but as soon as he heard your moans, his confidence grew, finding a delicious rhythm. Long, dragging strokes, each one deliberate, from the bottom of your cunt to your clit, he lingered there, lips parting, sucking gently like he needed to pull something out of you. He dragged his nose against your clit, breathing you in like he was starving for it, before flattening his tongue and pressing up again, harder this time, wetter, letting it slide slow and deep.

You felt his hands on your thighs, holding himself steady with you as his anchor, like he couldn’t stand the idea of you pulling away. He wasn’t just eating you out, he was devouring you.

One hand slid between your legs, slow at first, thick fingers parting you with a kind of aching tenderness, like he needed to feel everything, memorize everything. And then he pushed them inside you in one deep and firm motion, in perfect time with the flick of his tongue over your clit, methodical and filthy and so, so focused.

The rhythm he found was unhurried, like he wasn’t just trying to make you cum, he was trying to undo everything he’d done wrong, one wet stroke at a time. Each curl of his fingers brushed your walls, dragging slow and deep while his mouth worshipped every inch of you he could reach.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your heat. “That’s how you should’ve been cummin’.”

Your moans cracked, high and broken, and it made something in Joel snap, not with panic, but with pride. Your thighs clamped tight around his shoulders and he growled, sounding like a man who’d won, who’d found the part of you that came undone for him.

He added a third finger, easing in beside the others like he already knew you could take it, like he’d felt the way your walls clenched around just two and begged for more. He curled them up, just so they were hitting that spot that made your breath hitch, that made your whole body go tense and trembling. And still his mouth was on you, his lips soft, tongue deliberate, sucking just enough to keep your eyes rolling back.

You were panting now, begging him.

“Joel—Joel please—fuck I’m—”

Your hands flew to his hair, your body arched, and when it hit you, it hit hard. A wave of heat rolled through your belly and crashed between your legs, your muscles clenching around his fingers. You came with a helpless and wrecked cry and even after that, he didn’t stop. He helped you ride it out, his tongue still working your clit through the aftershocks until you were gasping and pulling harder at his hair, feeling too sensitive to keep going.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were shiny, beard damp, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you.

“Feel better now?” he asked.

You reached for him, tugging him up until he collapsed onto the couch beside you. You kissed him, long and messy, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Yeah,” you whispered, grinning against his mouth. “You’re forgiven.”

Joel smirked, a little cocky now, a little proud of himself. “Next time I’ll last more than a minute.”

You rolled your eyes. “Talk big after round two, cowboy.”

He kissed your temple. “Challenge accepted.”

⸻

A few hours passed like that, you had moved to your bed, your limbs tangled together, sheets kicked down to your waists, the hum of your heater filling the room. Joel had fallen asleep for a while, and so had you, drowsing in and out with your head on his shoulder.

But at some point he rolled around, and his hands were back on you, subtle at first, warm palms skimming your back, down your hip. Then they got firmer and hungrier, like his body had finally caught up with everything it had wanted hours ago.

You shifted, slid one thigh between his legs, and felt him, already half hard and getting there fast.

You grinned against his collarbone. “Didn’t think you had another round in you, old man.”

He let out a low, gravelly chuckle. “Takes me a minute. But yeah, darlin’. ’M ready now.”

His hand gripped your hip, and he rolled you gently beneath him, mouth finding yours again, softer now, unhurried, but still heavy with want. He kissed you deep, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other sliding between your thighs to check if you were already wet.

And of-fucking-course you were.

“Christ,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through the slick mess between your legs. “Already?”

“You’ve been sleeping on me all night,” you teased. “But I’ve been waiting.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain. His cock, now fully hard, pressed against your thigh. “Turn around f’me,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wanna see your back. Wanna fuck you slow.”

You didn’t even hesitate, you rolled onto your stomach, your cheek pressed to the sheets, allowing your knees to part just a little wider. Your breath caught when you felt his hand on your hip, and those strong, grounding fingers curling tight as he pulled you back, lifting your ass just enough to arch your spine.

Joel knelt behind you, silent for a moment, except for the sound of his breathing already ragged, already thick with need. You felt the heat of him, the weight, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, spreding your wetness all over him.

One hand stayed firm on your waist, anchoring you, while the other slid between your thighs, his fingers spreading you open, giving him that glorious sight of your dripping pussy ready for him to take.

A groan rumbled out of him, guttural and rough, as he sank into you in one long, endless thrust. Your mouth parted in a gasp, nails digging into the sheets as he filled you, completely, unbearably. Joel stayed there, buried to the hilt, savoring the feeling of the stretch, the heat, of how tight and deep he was inside you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he panted. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

This time, he did last. It wasn't rushed or desperate, it was measured and every move fully intentional. He moved slow, achingly slow, each stroke dragging out like he was trying to etch the feeling into memory, like he wanted to learn every reaction you gave him, from the way you gasped when he pushed in deep, to the way your back arched when he hit just right, or the way your breath caught every time he bottomed out and stayed there.

His hands were strong, gripping your hips just tight enough to steady you, to keep you exactly where he wanted you, but his mouth, God, his mouth was so delicate. He leaned over your back, his soft lips brushed your skin as he whispered into it, half-words, half-sighs, things like “so fuckin’ good” and “can’t believe you’re mine right now” and “don’t want this to end.”

You could feel him shaking, trying to hold back, trying to savor it. By the time you came, face buried in the pillow, moaning his name like a confession, your body trembling and twitching under the weight of him — Joel was wrecked. You clenched around him so tight he choked on a groan, hips stuttering as he tried to hold on, tried to give you every last second of it. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t stand another pulse of you around him, couldn’t bear the heat and the slick and the way you pushed your hips back into his like you needed him even deeper.

And then...

"Fu—Shit—baby, s’goddman tight," Joel moaned. "Gonna cum.. gonna fill this pussy… fuck you feel too fuckin' good."

With a low, broken growl and one final, sharp snap of his hips, he came. It was slower this time, letting the pleasure drag through him, pulse after pulse as he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there.

You both stayed like that for a long time, your bodies sweaty and spent, letting the quietness surround you. Joel lay down beside you, arm curling around your waist, one hand stroking your thigh.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured.

You didn’t say anything, didn't feel like you had to, you just reached for his hand and held it against your chest, right where your heart was still pounding.

You didn’t notice the shift at first, the club was loud as ever, music pulsing, lights dim and heavy. The usuals were there — the old creeps, the quiet loners, the birthday blowouts. You worked the floor like you always did, smile painted on, skin shimmering under the low glow.

But the eyes were different tonight, they were sharper. The manager’s assistant, Stacey, was watching you like a hawk from the bar. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, lips pursed in that I know something way that always spelled trouble.

You tried not to let it rattle you, until she called you over.

“You got a second?” she asked flatly, already walking toward the back office. The way she said it didn't sound like a question, like you had a choice. Your stomach twisted, but you followed her anyway. The hallway behind the dressing rooms felt colder than usual, the hum of bass music faded behind the door as it clicked shut behind you.

Stacey didn’t sit. She leaned against the desk, arms still folded.

“So,” she said. “You been seeing clients outside the club?”

Your mouth went dry. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. ’Cause a little bird said you’ve been real close with that older guy. The one who keeps booking you, every week. The one who disappeared, then came back all moody and soft. And now, apparently, you've been out and about with him.”

Your heart thudded.

Stacey’s tone turned clipped. “That is against policy. You know that.”

“I didn’t sleep with him for money,” you said quickly. “It wasn’t a session. We just… got coffee.”

She gave you a look that could cut glass. “We’re not his fucking therapist, sweetheart, and we’re not a dating agency. You know how this works. Doesn’t matter if you got paid or not, you still broke the boundary. If a client finds out they can see you outside the club, what happens next? We lose control.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You did. You made a choice and now you gotta deal with it.”

You swallowed hard. “Am I fired?”

She didn’t answer right away, she ust stared at you for a long, heavy beat.

“Take a week off,” she said. “Come back and we’ll talk.”

You nodded, blood rushing in your ears.

“Leave now.”

You walked out with shaking hands.

⸻

Joel was waiting by his truck in one of the farthest parking lots, tucked away beneath the shadows of the night, where no one from the club could spot him. It had been like that for weeks now, your routine. He’d wait for you after work and drive you out to a diner on the edge of town, somewhere quiet, so you could grab a bite after your long shift. Most nights, you ended up at his place, or he’d crash at yours. Just to crawl into bed and hold each other until sleep came. He hadn’t touched you since that first night at your apartment, you had a feeling part of him was still carrying the guilt. Guilt over how things started, over keeping it quiet, about the fact that you still worked at the club, and this, whatever this was, had to stay a secret.

When he saw your face, he stood up straighter “What happened?”

You didn’t speak, just walked up to him, gripped his shirt, and buried your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you instantly, warm and steady.

“They know,” you said into his shirt. “About us.”

Joel’s arms tightened. “What d’you mean?”

“They know we saw each other outside the club. I broke the rules.”

You felt him go still.

Then: “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You looked up, brow furrowing. “Joel—no—”

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em treat you like shit. Not over me.”

You shook your head. “It’s not about how they treat me. It’s the rules. I knew what I was doing, I just didn’t care.”

He exhaled, jaw clenched. “But I care. I never wanted to get you in trouble.”

You smiled weakly. “Well, it’s a little too late for that.”

Joel cupped your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek.

“Joel, I don’t think I can see you anymore.”

Joel’s brows drew together.

“What?”

“I broke the rules,” you said, your voice tight. “And it’s not just about time off. If I go back and someone’s still watching me, if they think we're together then I’ll lose everything. Not just a paycheck but my safety, my freedom. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am.”

Joel’s jaw tensed.

“I never wanted to take that from you.”

“I know you didn’t,” you said. “But that’s what’s happening, whether you meant to or not.”

He exhaled, rubbed a hand down his face. “Then don’t go back.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Stay with me.”

The silence that followed was so loud it hurt.

“I’m not some wounded bird you get to rescue, Joel,” you said, eyes sharp now. “I don’t want a man with a house and a truck and a savior complex to fix me. That’s not love, that’s a cage.”

Joel flinched, just barely, but you saw it.

“I’m not tryin’ to fix you,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “I’m tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“I’ve kept myself safe,” you snapped. “For years. Before you even walked in that club lookin’ like you hated every second of being there.”

Joel swallowed, but said nothing.

You stepped closer. “I like you. God help me. But I don’t know you. Not really. And if you really cared about me, you’d understand why that matters.”

He looked at you, like he was trying to memorize your face, then he nodded, just once.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you need.”

You stared at him, heart hammering.

“I need time,” you said. “And space. And maybe… someday. But not now. Not if the price is my freedom.”

Joel didn’t argue, didn’t beg, he just stepped forward, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and kissed your forehead.

Then he got into his truck.

And let you go.

You thought space would help, but all it did was open the door to silence. Joel didn’t text you, didn’t call you. You told him you needed time and he listened, you should’ve been grateful, should’ve felt respected.

Instead, it felt like being left behind. Who were you trying to fool? Maybe you were only ever a fantasy to him — the poor stripper who needed rescuing. And once he realized you didn’t want saving, that you didn’t need it… he got bored. Left you behind.

But then he showed up again — four days into your week off — standing at your door with a stiff jaw and tired eyes, and the wrong words came out before you could stop them.

“You really didn’t think I meant it, huh?” you snapped, arms crossed in the doorway. “That I’d just cave and come running back?”

"What's gotten into you?" Joel’s eyes narrowed. “I came to check on you.”

“Yeah? Bit late for that. Don’t you think?”

His nostrils flared. “You said you needed space.”

“I said I didn’t want to be rescued,” you corrected. “Didn’t mean disappear off the face of the fucking earth.”

He took a step closer. “Ya wanted time. I gave it to you. Now you’re mad I respected that?”

“I’m mad you didn’t fight for me!” you shouted.

That stopped him cold, and the worst part was that you didn’t even plan to say it. It just spilled out of you — the cold, ugly truth. You’d tried to push him away, building walls as high as you could. But deep down? You didn’t want him to walk away. You wanted him to break through those walls, to prove he was willing to fight for you. That he could take it all, the mess of your life, the fear and the damage — and still want you anyway.

“I don’t understand you. First, you want me to leave you alone—say you need time. An’ when I give that to you, you get pissed at me,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what she wants.”

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because he wasn’t. You were truly lost, you wanted Joel, but you didn't want to lose everything you've worked so hard for.

You both stood there for a second, breathing hard.

Joel’s voice dropped cold. “You said no and I listened. Ain’t gonna chase someone who thinks bein’ wanted is a threat.”

You flinched, but Joel didn't stop.

“You think I’m tryin’ to own you? Tie you down? Maybe I just wanted to make sure you had somethin’ solid for once. A soft bed. A goddamn quiet night.”

“I never asked for that.”

“No,” he growled, “but you liked it when it was my hands between your legs and my arms around you when you slept.”

That landed like a slap. You stepped back, fury rising like bile.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes burned. “Yeah, fuck me, darlin’.”

Your chest rose and fell with heavy, panicked breaths. He looked furious and hurt, but so were you.

“You think because you came back that it means something. But you only did it to feel good about yourself.”

Joel’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered. “Maybe I shoulda stayed gone.”

You stared.

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe you should have.”

He slammed the door shut without looking back.

⸻

You didn’t expect him to come back again. After the door slam and after what you said, but around midnight, there was a knock. You told yourself you wouldn't answer, but you opened it anyway. Joel stood in the hallway, still wearing the same denim jacket, like he hadn’t gone home, like maybe he’d been pacing around your block for hours, wrestling himself.

“‘M not here to fix anythin’,” he said, voice rough. “Not here to fight.”

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed tight against your chest, trying not to tremble. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wild and pinned on you.

“I shouldn’t’ve said what I did,” he added. “Any of it.”

You bit your cheek, but your voice still cracked. “Right.”

Silence stretched between you, until Joel exhaled, stepped past the threshold without waiting for permission.

You didn’t stop him, couldn't even if you tried, because your chest was tight, your eyes burned, and your whole body ached with it, not just the fight, but the way it felt after. The emptiness that came when he walked away, the helpless, the hollow guilt after having pushed him away again and again. So when he stepped closer, you didn’t argue, you grabbed his jacket, dragged him in by the collar, and kissed him like it hurt, like you needed to make it hurt.

Joel groaned against your mouth, hands already rough on your hips, walking you backwards into the wall with the weight of him pressing into you like a punishment.

“Still mad?” he rasped.

You nodded. “So mad.”

“Good.”

His hand fisted in your hair. His mouth crushed yours, teeth grazing, tongues colliding, unsteady and unrepentant. You didn’t bother with the bedroom, just yanked his belt open and dropped to your knees right there in the hall.

His back hit the wall with a dull thud, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or hold on for dear life. You pulled him free, thick, hot, already half-hard and twitching with need, the head flushed dark and glistening with precum. He groaned when the cool air hit him, when your hand wrapped around the base and your lips slid over the tip in one long, deliberate pull.

You sucked him slow, with purpose, your tongue swirling lazily, lips tight and warm, working inch by inch down his length while your eyes never left his, you wanted him to see it, to feel the way you worshipped every inch of his glorious cock, to feel the way your jaw went slack just to take more of him.

His fingers finally found your hair, not yanking, not forcing, just curling in tight, like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. You hummed around him, let the vibration run down the length of him like a promise, and then sank deeper.

“Fuck—” he groaned, bracing one hand on the wall above you, the other still gripping your hair. “Don’t deserve this.”

“No,” you whispered, tongue dragging along his slit. “You don’t.”

You pulled back just enough to tease the tip with your tongue, just a soft flick, a slow circle, and then took him deep again, letting him feel all of you, the heat, the pressure, the control. Your fingers gripped his thighs as you worked him, unrelenting but tender, every motion a deliberate promise.

“Jesus—shit—you got the most perfect mouth, baby.”

You pulled off just before he could finish, stroking him slow, then fast, eyes locked on his while you licked your lips.

“Fuck me,” you said. “Right now.”

Joel grabbed you without warning, hauling you up like you weighed nothing. He spun you around and bent you over your couch, shoving your chest into the cushions, your ass up and waiting for him, you were already dripping wet from just sucking his cock, from just hearing the little moans and groans he let out.

He yanked your panties to the side and drove into you in one brutal, desperate thrust. You cried out, the sound half-pain, half-shock, your body stretching around him so fast it burned.

“Fuck—” he growled through clenched teeth, already slamming into you again, harder this time, deeper.

Your cheek was crushed into the cushions, breath punched out of you with every thrust. One of his hands pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, pinning you in place like he couldn’t risk you pulling away. The other gripped your hip, bruising, fingers digging into flesh as he used your body like it was the only way he knew how to say I’m sorry, like if he fucked you deep enough, hard enough, fast enough, he could undo everything.

There were no words, just the sound of skin slapping skin, your soft gasps, his low groans, and the thick, obscene drag of him inside you.

“What bout now? Mad?” he growled, panting against your neck.

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Stay mad. Want you like this.”

He was thick, and heavy, and deep, splitting you open with every punishing thrust, your soaked pussy was gripping him tight, fluttering around him like your body couldn’t help it. You clenched down every time your name spilled from his lips like a curse, broken and breathless.

“Oh, fuck, Joel—Don’t stop.”

"’M not stoppin’ till I’m fuckin’ empty. Gonna fill you up n’ make sure you feel it f’days."

He snarled low against your skin, teeth grazing your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp, not quite biting, but just a warning. His rough and hungry fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, sloppy circles that made your hips jolt against his.

You came with a loud and uncontrollable cry, your back arching like a bow, hips jolting as your body clamped down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. Joel lost it, he cursed, pulling you back hard onto him with a bruising grip as he spilled inside you, painting your insides with warm ropes of his thick cum.

“Ngggh. Fuck—fuck—take it, baby—”

He collapsed over your back, his chest heaving, arms wrapped tight around your waist as if he could hold the moment there, keep it from slipping away. You were both slick with sweat, still trembling, your breaths coming in uneven bursts.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, when he finally pulled out, you felt the slick mess of him dripping down your thighs. Joel turned you, cradled your face with his rough palms, his thumb brushed your lip.

“I’m still mad too,” he whispered. “But I’d rather be mad with you than nothin’ at all.”

Your chest ached, and you nodded, letting him kiss you soft, letting him stay. No matter the uncertainties clouding your mind, tonight you needed him by your side, the doubts could wait until tomorrow.

You didn’t sleep much, Joel did, eventually. His breath heavy against the back of your neck, his arm slung over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You watched the ceiling, because even with his body tangled up in yours, nothing was fixed, the rules hadn’t changed, you were still on thin ice at the club. You’d broken the unbreakables: no dating clients, no seeing them outside, no taking anything personal. The kind of rules that got people dropped fast.

He stirred just after dawn, grunting softly, pressing his face against your shoulder with a raspy, “Mornin’.”

You didn’t answer right away. He felt it, the tension creeping back between you, no longer fueled by sex or anger, just reality.

“Y’okay?” he murmured.

You turned slowly to face him. Joel blinked at you, brows pulling together, voice low and tired but sincere.

“You regrettin’ it already?”

“No,” you whispered. “It's not like that.”

His hand brushed down your side. “Then what?”

You sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I can’t do this.”

Joel sat up too. “You just did.”

“No, I mean I still can’t… be with you.”

“Because of your job?”

You nodded. “If we keep this up It's not gonna be a week off next time I show up, I’m probably gonna get fired.”

Joel frowned, voice sharp. “Then don’t go back.”

You turned your head to glare at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure as hell is. You don’t owe them shit.”

You scoffed. “I owe myself. That job pays my rent, my phone, my groceries. It’s mine, Joel.”

“And what, I’m supposed to just sit here while you get punished for bein’ with me?”

You looked away.

His voice softened. “I can take care of you. It ain’t charity, it’s me wantin’ you safe, wantin’ you happy.”

You laughed bitterly. “So what, I quit, move in with you, and what? Let you pay for everything while I sit around hoping I don’t piss you off someday and get left with nothing?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That what you think I’d do?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped. “I don’t know you that much, Joel..”

That shut both of you up, the room went quiet except for the hum of the heater. You rubbed your hands over your face and whispered “I want you. That’s not the problem.”

Joel’s voice was low. “Then what is?”

“I want you without giving everything else up.”

He watched you carefully, his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he didn’t.

“I can’t go from surviving to being saved,” you said. “Even if it’s you.”

He nodded slowly, a heavy kind of understanding in his eyes.

Then: “You ever think maybe there’s a way it ain’t one or the other?”

You blinked, and Joel leaned back, hands braced on his knees, thinking out loud now. “What if you quit the club, yeah? But not for me, for you. And in the meantime, we figure out somethin’ else. Some other way you work, stay on your feet, and on your terms. I help, sure, but not as some white knight. Just… someone who gives a shit.”

You stared at him, he looked tired but sincere. No pride or ego in his voice, just the warmth of someone who cares.

“You’d really be okay with that?” you asked, wary.

Joel huffed. “You think I want you miserable just so I can say you’re mine?”

Your heart tugged. He didn’t want a damsel in distress to rescue just so he could play the hero and soothe his ego. No, he wanted to help you without taking away the independence you’d fought so hard to build. All your life, you’d believed that relying on other people made you weak, that needing someone was a flaw, a crack in your armor, because they could leave at any moment, but maybe… maybe accepting help from someone who genuinely cared didn’t make you weak at all, maybe it made you stronger.

“Let me help without takin’ your power from you,” Joel said. “Please.”

You looked up, finally.

“I’ll try.”

Joel reached for your hand and you let him hold it, for the first time since all this started, hope felt real.

⸻

The next morning, Joel came back. He knocked like it was his house already, with a bag of diner coffee and two breakfast sandwiches that were too heavy on bacon and eggs.

You blinked at him in the doorway, still in a tank top and underwear, sleep in your eyes.

“I don’t remember asking for greasy meat in my mouth before 9 a.m.,” you mumbled, but took the bag anyway.

Joel smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped back to let him in.

He looked… energized, like he’d actually slept, like his wheels had been turning all night, and he’d finally settled on something.

“So,” he said, sitting at your tiny kitchen table while you sipped your too-hot coffee, “I had an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh.”

He ignored that. “I got a renovation job comin’ up. House flip, just outside of town. Empty place, full gut. Nothin’ fancy, just sweat work. But it’s mine start to finish.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay…”

Joel leaned back. “Come work it with me.”

You blinked. “Come what?”

He looked dead serious. “Work for me. With me.”

You laughed out loud. “Joel, I don’t know how to build houses.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Don’t need you to. There’s all kinds of work on a job site. Cleanup, paintin’, hell, I’ll teach you how to lay tile if you want.”

You stared at him. “This is your big plan?” you asked. “Make me your construction intern?”

Joel shrugged. “It’s a job. One that don’t involve you bein’ gawked at by drunk assholes or threatened with rules that ain’t fair. You said you wanted independence, so here, work with me. I’ll pay fair n’ you'll learn somethin’ new. An’ we don’t have to pretend not to care about each other.”

You looked away, unsure what the hell to even say. It sounded ridiculous, you, swinging hammers and hauling trash bags, Joel in his beat-up flannel, wiping sweat off his brow while you fumble your way through using a power drill.

It also sounded… oddly nice, maybe even safe, safer than you've ever been in your entire life.

“You really think I could do it?” you asked quietly.

Joel’s voice softened. “I know you could.”

You let the silence stretch while you stared at your coffee cup, the steam curling upward like it might hide your thoughts.

“Listen, darlin’, it doesn’t have to be forever if you don’t love it. Just somethin’ steady f’now. Safe. It can give you time, y’know? Time to figure out what you really wanna do with your life. I’ll be here while you do.”

Finally, you said, “If I’m terrible at it, you can’t fire me.”

Joel smirked. “We’ll put that in the contract.”

“You’re gonna make me sign a contract?”

“Damn right, can’t have my newest hire causin’ HR problems.”

You grinned, and for the first time in what felt like days, the weight on your chest lifted just enough for you to breathe.

Joel leaned across the table, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me build somethin’ with you,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just drywall n’ sawdust for now.”

Your heart thudded stupid and loud, and you nodded once. “Alright, boss.”

"Don't start callin' me boss, darlin’." He chuckled warmly, the kind of sound that made you feel like everything was gonna be okay. "If you do, there won’t be any work gettin’ done."

You weren’t his to save, and he wasn’t your hero. But maybe, just maybe, there was something worth building between you. Not out of pity or guilt, but out of something real. Something honest. For Joel, you were willing to try. Willing to let him in, piece by piece.

A/N: I’m seriously head over heels over the amount of sweet comments the first part got, seriously like ????? You guys are amazing and I love y’all sososososo much. Not exaggerating, you made my entire week, month, year🥹🩷

I really hope you enjoyed this second (and final) part too!! And if you were expecting a sad, angsty ending… well, too bad, because I’m simply incapable of writing that.

Thanks again for all the likes, reblogs and comments, it’s so nice to know you enjoyed it!!

Might do an epilogue one day? We’ll see, I’m not opposed to the idea.

taglist: @pillow-princess-69 @glitterspark @maiamore @sophiagladiator @lostboys1987girl @thecatgurly @pedrofan @untamedheart81 @billionairecowgirl @bueschibaby @babyangelc @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @joelsslvts @pinkiec6-rubi @preciosapascal @aquanatalie @elanorasdiary @littledes1re @bit3mebabyx @glitterfartz08 @lunarlilith @theoraekenslover @danika1994 @chrrypascal @puduvallee @ainhoetaaa @yournameiswhat @idfkimhereforsmut @millercontracting @professional-fangirrrl @athena-shifterx @havensucks @wand-erer5 @thaliagracesgf @ashleyfilm @warmdragonfly @pedros-wifey @ivyinthesun so sorry if I forgot anyone.

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[preciosapascal]

Give and Take

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Apparently, your IUD failed when your then ex-husband fucked you against your bathroom sink. Luckily for you, when you tell him the news, he fucks you again to make sure it sticks.

W.C: ~6.6k

TL;DR: check for your iud strings, y’all.

Warnings: ex-ex!joel x ex-ex!reader (y'all are fine now), sarah cameo, domestic life, sappy shit, joel is a tits man, breeding kink obvs, softdom!joel, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex. reader gets called ‘mama’ while they’re doing it. (no outbreak!)

Note: second part of beck and call to appease the horde !! happy late father’s day to this guy

Part One | Part Two

You didn’t intend on falling asleep beside your ex-husband when you invited him over to fix your broken sink.

And you definitely didn’t intend on waking up in his arms, either.

Yet, there you were, tangled together in the worn mattress of your queen-sized bed. His right arm was folded below his head. His left was slung over your waist, holding you close to him as your head rested on his firm chest.

His heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Like a wordless promise to you that he was there. That last night, whatever it was, meant something.

Growl.

You froze.

Even more insistent, groooowl.

Apparently, there were three people in your bed: you, Joel, and your appetite.

As carefully as you could, you freed yourself from Joel’s embrace. He frowned, grunted petulantly in protest, and muttered your name in his sleep, before turning on his side. 

And then, you pulled on a ratty old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts before quietly making your way downstairs, careful to avoid the second-to-the-last step of the staircase that always creaked.

The kitchen was still bathed in the golden glow of the early morning, light filtering in through the blinds in soft stripes. You padded across the cold floor and got to work.

Coffee, first. Then, as the machine did its job, eggs.

Eggs for two, just like before.

You stared down at the sizzling pan as if you were waiting for it to answer the question you were too scared to ask.

What now?

Because last night, Joel told you he still loved you. 

Because you had kissed him, and he kissed you back, and he made love to you in your bathroom, of all places. 

Because, instead of kicking him out, you pulled him to your bed and slept in his arms. 

Because this morning, you wanted everything back. You wanted him back.

You rubbed your hand down your face and gave the eggs a stir. And then you turned toward the staircase at the muffled sound of soft, sleepy footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

Joel appeared by the doorway, hair dishevelled from sleep, gloriously shirtless, eyes half-lidded and tender.

“You makin’ us breakfast?” He said, voice low and slightly raspy.

“No, all this is just for me. But I’m sure the McDonald’s a few blocks down is open if you’re hungry.” You deadpanned, smiling to yourself and returning your attention to the eggs.

“Ha-ha.” Joel hummed sleepily and ventured nearer.

The two of you fell into what had been your daily routine. Joel fished out two mugs from the cabinet above the dishwasher and finished the coffee (milk and sugar for yours, black for him), right as you scraped the eggs off the pan onto two plates.

And, there you were, sitting across the kitchen table from the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“So.” You poked at your eggs with your fork.

“So,” Joel echoed, glancing up at you as he brought his mug to his lips.

“Are we gonna … talk about it?” 

Joel blinked, then set his mug down. “What, last night?”

“Yeah. Last night.” You pushed around a clump of your breakfast. 

“What about it?” His brows furrowed.

“Did you mean it?”

Your mind flashed with his sweet nothings. His confessions of longing and love and all else. 

Joel’s gaze softened. “Every word.”

“Okay.” Your heart felt a little lighter. “Well, then, I’d like for us to try again.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that, very much, baby.” 

“Okay,” You said again, smiling right back at him.

“Okay.” He repeated, reaching across the table for your hand, softly lacing your fingers together.

And at that moment, you wanted to thank the stars above and the ineffable mercy of the universe for giving you a second chance. 

For letting you find your way back to him, and him to you.

You shook your head, laughing. “My lawyer’s gonna have a field day.”

“You think you’ll get a refund?” He raised an eyebrow, lips pulling into a grin.

“Nope.” You clicked your tongue. “Maybe I’ll get my next divorce half-off, though.”

Joel chuckled and looked at you with this quiet, reverent warmth floating in the richness of his dark brown eyes that said he was falling deeper in love with you all over again.

Because he was. And, god help him, he didn’t remember how not to be.

Scooping the last of his eggs off his plate, he then pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He walked by you to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “And then… well, we can sort the rest of this out.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

He then shot you a quick wink, and you watched as he disappeared up the stairs, basking in the afterglow of his lips still tingling on your scalp.

And the house went quiet, save for the occasional creak of the pipes and faint sound of running water from the upstairs ensuite.

You stared down into your coffee.

It was still slightly hard to process the dramatic turn of events hurled very suddenly toward you at full force. Just last week, you were negotiating which major holidays you’d get to spend with Sarah (no, Joel could not get Christmas in exchange for St Patrick’s Day—when in your life have you all celebrated St Patrick’s Day?), and now you were very eagerly ‘trying again’.

Not that you were complaining.

You’d try again a hundred more times if that were what it took to be with him again.

Smiling like an idiot, you rose from your chair and collected your plate in your hands, reaching over to stack it on top of Joel’s.

And, at that exact moment, the front door swung open, and a voice called:

“Mom? I’m home!”

You froze in place.

A few seconds later, your twelve-year-old daughter strolled into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, mom.” She passed you a weary smile, setting down her duffel bag on the table.

“Sarah! You’re home early.” You breathed, voice an octave higher and excessively bright. “I thought your grandparents were still keeping you hostage at the lake house.”

“Yeah, well, Papa threw his back out trying to reel in a muskie.” She rolled her eyes, then walked over to the fridge to pull out a Capri-Sun. “Grandma had to drive us home so he could get checked out quickly. Nagged him the whole way back ‘cause her license expired back when I was still teething, apparently.”

You forced an overly responsive laugh.

It sounded less like a laugh and more like a startled cough that got lost halfway through a choke.

Sarah arched a brow, stabbing into the juice pack. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, bug.” You shook your head, glancing at the staircase. 

“Okay.” Sarah dragged out the syllables, eyeing you over suspiciously. “How was your date yesterday?”

You choked. “Fine.” 

And that was when Sarah’s eyes landed on the two plates you were holding tightly to your chest. Then they moved over to the two mugs sitting opposite each other on the table. And then, over to the pan on the stove littered with fresh egg residue.

“Right.” She made a face, then trudged over to sling her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see myself out until your guy leaves.”

“Sarah–”

“It’s fine.” She marched back toward the entryway. “I’ll go play outside, for once, or something. Aren’t you always saying that I should do that?”

Should you tell her?

You pressed your lips together, watching her shove her feet back in her worn Converse. “Sarah, would you stop for a second?”

Yeah, you should probably tell her that her dad’s ‘the guy’ upstairs.

Sarah bent down to tie her laces. “Mom, I don’t want to be traumatised by—”

And then her eyes widened.

She straightened up and shot you a look that was some amalgamation of disbelief and extreme confusion, nodding towards the welcome mat.

“Are those…dad’s boots?”

Shit.

To make matters worse, apparently, amidst all the kerfuffle, you had failed to notice that the shower had stopped running a good few minutes ago. And, right after Sarah’s astute observation, Joel descended the stairs. Hair slightly wet and wearing the flannel from yesterday evening.

“Good news, sweetheart, your sink’s  still busted, but your shower’s—Sarah?”  

The colour drained from his face.

“Dad?” She gaped back at him.

And suddenly, you somehow found yourself locked in what appeared to be a modern-day Western Standoff, except, instead of the threat of gunfire, there was the threat of someone saying something to make this situation even more unbearable.

For a good few seconds, there was absolute stillness.

No one moved. No one spoke. A bird chirped from somewhere outside, completely unaware of the domestic chaos unravelling within the house.

Ultimately, Joel decided to break the silence.

“Hey, kiddo.” He said casually, attempting a relaxed smile. “What are you … doin’ here?”

You held yourself back from facepalming into an early death.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “How long have you been here?”

Joel looked at you. You looked at Joel. Joel looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at you. Everyone looked at the boots.

“Not long.” You cleared your throat. “My sink was broken. Your dad was just helping me. With my sink.”

Smooth.

“So, you called him at eight in the morning and he took a shower in your bathroom?” Sarah said slowly.

“Well, you know your father. Always up at the crack of dawn.” You breathed, trying to sound breezy. Your voice was nothing of the sort.

“Just can’t help it.” Joel nodded.

Sarah blinked once.

Then twice.

And then looked between the two of you, wholly unconvinced, crossing her arms and somehow adopting the role of higher authority in this predicament.

“You two are being weird.” Was her final verdict.

You sighed and glanced at Joel before turning toward your daughter.

“Look,” You began, gently stepping toward her. “This is new. Like, very new. But … your dad and I are just figuring things out.”

“As in,” Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re un-divorced?”

“Not really a word, pumpkin.” Joel offered helpfully. “But we’re back together, yes.”

He caught your eye and gave you a small, reassuring smile.

Sarah’s expression softened.

“Jeez. I’m gone for three days, and this is what I miss?” She shook her head and waltzed back inside, past you and Joel, toward the stairs. Before she could set foot on the bottom step, she paused and faced the two of you. “I’m glad you two are whatever you are, but can we talk about this after I’ve taken a nap?”

Joel let out a huff of laughter. “Go and get some shut-eye, pumpkin.”

Sarah shrugged, already halfway up. “Cool. Just, like … warn me next time, maybe. I don’t wanna see things I can’t unsee.”

Your face heated. “Sarah!” 

“What?” She called over her shoulder. “It would be extremely harmful to my development!”

And with that, she headed upstairs.

You turned toward Joel, wincing. “Think that could’ve gone better?”

Joel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. 

“Probably.” He sighed. “But, at least that’s over with. Telling our kid, I mean.”

“Right. Next up is telling family.” A shudder ran through your spine.

Joel smiled softly and beckoned you closer with a curl of his finger.

You acquiesced, moving to stand right in front of him. His hands immediately settled on your hips, softly caressing whatever exposed skin his thumbs found.

“We don’t have to tell everyone just yet, if you’re scared, baby.” He said, voice low and sweet and reassuring, his eyes holding yours like a lifeline.

“I want to.” You placed your hands on his chest, fingers fanning out and feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them. “Just … not how we told Sarah.”

“Agreed.” Joel leaned forward to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes as he did so.

You felt yourself smile.

“Next time I stay over, I’ll hide the evidence,” Joel mumbled.

“Stay over?” You pulled back to look up at him.

Joel looked back at you quizzically, a wrinkle making itself known in between his eyebrows.

“Yeah…?” He blinked. “We … well, we aren’t embracin’ some form of celibacy, are we?”

“No, I mean—I thought you were gonna move back in. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” You inhaled, suddenly feeling your chest tighten. “Or, not. You know, it’s a very big thing, and I’d completely understand if you wanted to keep living in your apartment. I’m just offering it since, you know, we’re working things out and maybe it’d be easier to share a single … living space. Eventually. Not, like, tomorrow. Unless you want—”

Joel smiled. “Baby?”

You winced. “Uh-huh?”

“You’re ramblin’.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel hummed fondly, bringing a hand up to trace his thumb along your lower lip. “‘Course I’ll move back in.” He then pulled you into him, wrapping an arm around your waist, and kissing you like it settled the matter.

Your lips moved slowly against his, savouring the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of his body against yours.

Before you knew it, he spun you around so that your back hit the wall, all but caging you in against it.

A breathless gasp slipped from your mouth, so he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and—

“Seriously? I leave you two alone for one second.”

You both tore yourselves apart like you were struck by lightning, finding your daughter shaking her head at you.

“Came down to get my bag.” Sarah coughed, holding up her duffel.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Joel ran a hand through his hair.

“Gross.” She muttered under her breath, retreating back to her room.

You held back a laugh, returning your attention to Joel and trailing a hand down his impossibly broad chest.

“You wanna … take this somewhere else, big guy?” You tilted your head, a certain glint of mischievousness dancing in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and a smirk carved through his scruff. Right when he opened his mouth to respond to your suggestion, however, an exasperated grunt echoed down the stairs:

“I can still hear you!”

You both burst into laughter.

It had been a few weeks since you and Joel decided to get back together—a very good few weeks, at that. 

Life seemed to fall into place perfectly.

Joel moved back in, you two were attending Sarah’s soccer matches at the same time, and nothing at all was going wrong.

Until it all went wrong.

“Dad,” You balanced the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you wiped down your bathroom mirror, already regretting your choice to heavy-clean your ensuite on your day off from work. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll pop out one of your hip replacements or something? 

“It’s just fishing. Besides, why have a lakehouse if you can’t even use it this often?”

“The doctor said—”

A hearty chuckle sounded from the other line.

“Peanut, you sound just like your mother. The doctor can say all she wants, but nothing gives her the right to dictate my life!”

“No, no, just a fancy little medical degree.” You grumbled, rubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge in the glass.

“You only live once.” Was his fortified argument.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, opting to let out a long sigh instead. 

Evidently, he heard it.

“I’m fine. Really.” Your dad insisted. “In fact, better than fine. Reeled in quite the catch yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” You said distractedly, spritzing the mirror with more glass cleaner.

“Oh yeah.” Your dad parroted, a big, proud grin in his voice. “Caught myself a whopper yesterday—a big ol’ largemouth bass that fought me tooth and nail. Then there was that sneaky little crappie hiding under the dock. Darn slippery fella. Literally. Almost slipped right through my hands. Oh, and don’t get me started on the catfish. Little guy had the longest whiskers I’d seen, too.”

You tried to focus, but your stomach twisted with a sudden sharpness. You set the rag and glass cleaner bottle down.

“Dad, hold on—” You started, but he wasn’t done.

“Had to wrestle that sucker outta the mud, muddy as all get-out, slime glistening in the sun, gills flapping like a crazy bird. It was a damn enthusiastic fighter. I swear, Peanut, if I weren’t as strong as I am, I would’ve lost.”

Your vision blurred a little, and your hand flew up to your mouth.

“Dad, wait, hold on—”

Before you could say anything else, your stomach flipped violently, and you dashed to kneel in front of the toilet, dropping your phone as you felt yourself give way to what had been your breakfast.

The sound of your dad’s voice echoed faintly over the phone. “You alright, darlin’?”

Holding yourself up with an iron grip on the toilet seat, you let out a long breath.

Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again.

“Yeah, just—can I call you back, Dad?” You managed, slowly reaching for your phone.

“‘Course. I'd better get back to the lake, anyway. Give Porn Stache and my little Sarah-Banana my love.”

“He has a name, Dad.” You smiled weakly.

“He’s gotta earn it back after the divorce.”

“We’re not divorced anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

And, with the routine exchange of ‘I-love-you’s, you ended the call, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head hang above the toilet bowl.

This wasn’t normal.

‘This’ being, spontaneously hurling your guts out without preamble or provocation. And people don’t just throw up for fun.

A tiny, traitorous voice elbowed its way to the front of your mind. Unless…

No.

No, you couldn’t be. There was no need to panic; you had an IUD.

Sitting yourself on the toilet seat, you very ungracefully spread your legs and felt your way up your walls.

No strings. No IUD. 

Maybe there was a need to panic.

You sighed, angling your head up at the ceiling. There was only one way to test the very realistic hypothesis you didn’t dare say, let alone think, aloud.

So, you cleaned yourself up, grabbed your car keys, and headed to the nearest drug store.

When Joel came home a few hours later, you were already waiting for him at the kitchen table.

He stepped through the doorway, boots heavy against the hardwood, and froze mid-step upon seeing you there. Because you were stone-faced, worrying your lower lip with your upper teeth, and clasping your hands over the table like you always did when you had to get something off your chest.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

He tentatively neared you.

You didn’t answer. Not right away. You hadn’t exactly prepared a speech in all the hours you had before Joel ended work.

“Baby, you’re scarin’ me.” He whispered, taking another step.

And then, he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Don’t get mad.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Now, why would I get mad?” A delicate kiss to your left wrist.

“Because…”

You took a breath. No sense in sugarcoating this.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slipped out like they didn’t belong to you.

Understandably, Joel’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated, slowly, voice barely surpassing that of a whisper.

You nodded and pulled away to reach to the side, pulling a little brown bag from the drugstore onto the table and tipping it over. Three sticks clattered out.

All positive.

“Before you say anything,” You hugged yourself, watching as Joel’s mind buffered. “Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I thought I had an IUD. Apparently, it fell out. No, I didn’t know before today.”

Joel was still oddly quiet.

Your heart violently pounded against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

“Say something.” You whispered. “Please.”

“I don’t quite know what to say.” Joel shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Anything. Say anything.” You braced yourself for the worst.

“I mean, I’m thrilled—”

What?

“You’re thrilled?” You echoed, not entirely convinced.

“Yeah, fuck, sweetheart. I am. Thrilled, but awfully caught off-guard.” Joel ran a hand down his face.

A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth, and he leaned slightly back on his heels.

“I mean, one minute I’m patchin’ drywall in someone’s guest bathroom, and the next, you’re tellin’ me I’m gonna be a dad again.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, but the big smile growing on his face told you that he harboured no trace of fear or devastation at all.

You blinked.

“So… you’re okay with this?”

Joel’s smile widened.

“I love you, baby. ‘Case that weren’t clear enough.” He took your hands in his again, your fingers dwarfed in his big calloused palms. He squeezed your hands gently in a wordless reassurance. “And, I’ve already been fortunate enough to have one incredible kid with you. The thought of doin’ it again … well, that ain’t somethin’ I’d complain about in a million years.”

You were speechless for a moment, lost in the magnetic pull of his impossibly warm, sincere eyes.

God, you loved him.

“This was not how I thought this conversation would go.” You admitted.

“You really thought I’d run for the hills?” Joel chuckled, shoulders bobbing.

“Fifty-fifty.”

He grinned even wider, the wrinkles creasing the edges of his eyes disappearing.

Then, he opened his mouth to say something. And then, apparently, decided against it, pressing his lips together. 

You tilted your head to the side. “What is it?”

Joel shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating again.

“Ah shit,” He eventually muttered. “I was hopin’ to make this a little more special.”

“Make what more special?” You arched a brow.

“Stay right there, sweetheart, don’t you move.”

Before you could ask another question, Joel turned on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen. Judging by the quick, dull thuds ascending the stairs, he had run off to the second floor.

You sat there, stunned.

A full minute passed. Then two. The faint sounds of drawers opening and shutting drifted down the stairs. Almost a ruckus enough to drown out a muffled string of quiet curses. 

It didn’t take long for Joel to return after that.

And when he did, he held his hands behind his back and smiled brightly.

“Joel, what are you…?” You laughed.

But the breath from your lungs was stolen for you when he slowly knelt in front of you, revealing what he was looking for upstairs.

Small. Silver. Studded with a single shining diamond. Princess-cut, of course, you picked it out yourself.

“Is that…?” You whispered, covering your mouth with your hands.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah, it is.”

You shook your head slowly. “You were supposed to sell it.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He gave you a sheepish little look. “Y’know, for safekeepin’.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your eyes kept flicking between his face and the ring.

Your ring.

“Are you … proposing again?”

“Is it that obvious?” He raised his eyebrows, gasping slightly theatrically.

You lightly smacked his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but failed to disguise the wide beam forming on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” Joel interrupted softly. “I want to.”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself and glancing down at the ring in his hands.

“I was gonna wait a little while longer ‘til I did this again. Let things settle, maybe find the right moment. But, well, I feel like this is the right moment.”

And he looked up at you.

And, seeing the tenderness on his face, you already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked yet.

“I love you. And I am dead-set on doin’ things right, this time around. I’ll take out the trash more, cook on weeknights, hell—I’ll even go to those damn parent-teacher meetings. Long as I get to be with you again. Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I ain’t lettin’ you go this time.”

You blinked fast, attempting to overcome the emotion swelling in your chest and threatening to leak out of your eyes.

“Meant what I said that night,” Joel murmured, bringing your knuckles against his lips, eyes still holding onto yours. “You’re it for me. You’re everything. Always will be.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders softening as he held your gaze.

“So.” He cracked a shy little smile. “If it weren’t clear enough until now, I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me. And I’ll spend every last breath I have lovin’ you like you deserve. And you deserve far more than I can give, but I’m willing to try my damndest, anyway.”

Joel raised the ring, the jewel catching the fluorescent lights of the overhead lighting and shimmering softly.

“So … will you marry me, sweetheart?” He asked, voice low and vulnerable and hopeful. And then, he added through a light laugh, “...again?”

His eyes held yours as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. An entirely fitting simile, because the truth of the matter was that you were his world. And such a fact was written plainly in every line of his face, in how he wore every piece of his heart in his eyes.

You didn’t give him an answer.

Instead, you leaned forward, cupped his jaw with trembling fingers, and kissed him.

You pressed all the feelings you had accumulated over the past day onto his lips. Fear, wholeness, but most potently—love.

And Joel gave the latter and more back to you, curling a hand into your hair and holding you against him, his brows furrowed.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips.

Breathless, he asked, “That a yes?”

“What do you fucking think?” You outstretched your left hand.

“Just checkin’.” He grinned, gently took your hand, and slid the ring onto your ring finger. It fit just as perfectly as the first time.

Joel turned your hand slightly, admiring the way the diamond glinted, how it sat there like it had never left. 

“Looks real good on you,” He murmured, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. 

Your heart was full and thudding as you stared down at it. And then at him.

“Always did.”

Through a love-drunk smile, he slurred, “is that right?”

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time, but just as deep. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, the other still holding yours, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world vanished.

You were so lost in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice how Joel’s jeans grew tighter, giving way to a hardness in his lap caused by the sensation of your body against his.

However, you did notice how Joel snaked his big hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the table.

You gasped against his lips. “What—?”

Urgently, “Where’s Sarah?”

“Sleeping over at a friend’s house. Why?”

You pulled away just enough to catch the almost depraved grin that split his mouth, heightened by a certain dark glint in his half-lidded stare.

Almost too casually, almost as if it was incredibly obvious, Joel replied, “Gonna make sure it sticks, baby.” 

And he pushed you down, causing you to lie flat on your back, a half-baked protest swallowed by his mouth and dying on your tongue. Or rather, his.

He hitched your shirt up, up, up, until the fabric gathered just below your collarbone.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Joel tutted. “Need to show these tits some love before I gotta share ‘em.”

Well, fuck.

With that, he trailed a messy line of kisses down to your sternum, nipped at the peak of your right tit like he just couldn’t help himself, and closed his mouth around your nipple.

You gasped, a hand clinging to his messy curls, holding him to you as he took and took.

He alternated between swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and sucking it into his mouth, brows knitted as if he couldn’t decide whether pleasure was pain or salvation.

And it wasn’t long before he gave the same amount of attention to your other tit, moaning against your tender skin in desperate need, unable to get enough of you.

You were practically drowning in a pool of your own arousal from Joel’s ministrations, feeling a demanding wetness grow in your underwear by the second.

If he didn’t touch you there, you were very sure you’d—

But your hazy mind was robbed of finishing that thought when Joel came off your tits with a wet pop, leaving a light sheen across your cleavage, and dipped his fingers under the waistband of your sweats.

With an impatient yank, he pulled them down, revealing the dampened seat of your panties. An airy curse left his lips.

“Can I—?” He breathed.

“Yes.” You nodded, instantly.

Feverishly, he shredded the material in half with eager hands, leaving the halves to hang loosely on your hips.

A low growl escaped from his throat.

You were drooling for him, puffy folds glistening with your wetness and beckoning him to indulge himself in the most irresistible of temptations.

And Joel was nothing if not a sinner.

“Fuck that’s pretty.” He sighed. “Need me that badly, huh?”

You whined restlessly in response.

Taking such a noise as assent, Joel easily slid a thick finger into your crying mound, stroking your pulsing walls.

He gave no time for acclimatisation and, shortly after, sunk a second finger alongside the first, curling both again and again and reaching that spot of yours that summoned little black dots to dance in your vision.

“One more, baby.” He cooed. “One more and I give you my cock, hm?”

A third soon joined his motions, and you flung an arm up to grasp his bicep, feeling it tense as he pumped his fingers and dragged down your walls at an erratic pace.

Sweet words spilt in a loose mumble from his mouth, easing you into your orgasm. His lips worshipped you with whispers, ceaselessly praising:

That’s my girl.

C’mon, baby, just like that.

So pretty for me.

And other such gentle murmurs.

He continued fucking you with his fingers, relentless in face of your writhing, until, with a scream of his name and your clint grinding against the heel of his palm, your stomach tightened, fluttered, and let go.

“There we go. Oh, so good for me.” He sighed, breath tickling the hollow of your ear as he worked you through your climax.

When the tingling pleasure had fully subsided, he slid his fingers from you and kissed a path up your neck to your lips, licking into your mouth almost greedily.

As if it were second nature, your hands flew to undo his belt, desperately trying not to break the kiss and feeling Joel smile against you.

Just when you found the outline of his hardness in his boxers, Joel groaned and took your wrists in his hands, pinning them over your head against the cool oak of the table.

“Let me.” He said, breathing raggedly.

And he shifted to take hold of both your wrists with his left hand, while his right hurriedly fished himself out of his jeans.

You never quite got used to the obscene sight, and you doubted that you ever would; thick and tanned and dribbling slightly with pearls of his precome.

And, lord help you, he was big.

Joel hovered his mouth above your needy cunt as he slowly pumped his drooling cock. You held your breath, mistaking his position for a hesitant desire to taste you and fuck you with his tongue. 

To your surprise, Joel, instead, spat directly onto your quivering pussy.

You gasped as if it was betrayal, clenching on nothing as his glob of spit slid down your already-dripping mound like a soft caress. 

“Please.” You whined pathetically, hands still stubbornly restrained and held captive by the broad span of his left hand.

He lined himself up, nudging his flushed, almost angry tip against your soaked entrance. And, with a firm grip around his base, he dragged his cock through your puffy folds once, then twice. And the creamy blend of his precome, your arousal, and his spit smeared over his head, staining it in a pale blur.

“You don’t gotta beg, sweetheart.” Joel shushed you, dipping down to press a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you everything. Give you the whole damn world if you asked for it.”

Despite the almost painful dawdling, his words were a soothing reassurance.

Another pass through your soaked folds. And then another, his tip catching onto the seam of your cunt for a single delicious second.

And then, in a low, possessive rumble, “Anything for the mother of my children.”

You squirmed against his hold, feeling a bolt of heat run through you, unable to stifle a moan bubbling up your throat. 

The mother of my children.

Your moan, however, quickly graduated into a shrill wail of his name as he chose that exact second to sink his drooling cock into you, forcing himself in until he was seated fully inside.

A sharp inhale came through his clenched jaw.

“Fuck, you feel perfect.” He whispered, more to himself than to you, but you were happy for the praise.

He was a tight fit; this, you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Every slow push in of his thick cock against your tight walls caused you to choke his length. Every slow drag out pulled a shaky breath from your parted lips.

“Yeah—” His breath caught in his throat as he felt you clamp down on him after an especially rough thrust. “—that’s it, mama, let me in. Jus’ like that. We’ll take it slow, for now. Then I’ll fuck you full of my come, again. Make sure I put a baby in you.”

You felt yourself flutter around him in response, pulling a breathless expletive from his lips. His dick twitched inside you, practically begging to make good on that promise.

And there was that depraved grin again. “Oh, you like that? ‘S true, mama.”

He rolled his hips into you again. 

And again.

“I’d give you ten more if I could.” He grunted, cloudy, lust-drowned eyes locked onto yours. “Love knowing that it’s my come in there, swelling you up. My baby. My woman.”

And, with that assertive claim, Joel picked up the pace, setting a tempo that had you on the verge of passing out.

You were overwhelmed by the sensation of his cock pounding in and out of you, the insistent sound of his balls slapping wetly against your ass, the feel of being held in place by his grip on your wrists—powerless to the force of his adamant desire.

Joel’s gaze fell to your tits, which were helplessly jostled by every persistent thrust of his hips.

“And these…” He all but growled, his free hand coming down to brush a thumb over one of your nubs. You shivered in response. “Fuck, they’ll look so pretty, all swollen up.”

A familiar warmth pooled in your gut; your eyes fluttered uncontrollably; your heartbeat sped up against your ribs as if it were going to burst out.

You were going to come. And hard.

“Joel—Joel, I’m close.” You bleated.

He grunted from above you in acknowledgement, stray curls falling over his forehead as he rammed into you. And he brought his hand to press against your belly, feeling the faint outline of him sawing into you.

“Let go for me, then, beautiful. Let me feel you come on my dick.”

And you did. 

And it was toe-curling and back-arching and forceful. So forceful, in fact, that it managed to steal your consciousness away for a moment or two.

Your eyes fluttered open after you had ridden out the entirety of your orgasm, finding Joel breathing heavily through his nose above you, his pace paused.

“Shit, that was pretty.” He said, in awe, releasing your wrists from over your head. “You got one more in you, baby?”

Unable to speak, you nodded.

Smiling proudly, Joel whispered, “Attagirl.”

He carefully pulled out of you—which made you involuntarily whine at the sad feeling of being so empty—and gently turned you over, your stomach pressed against the table and your feet planted on the floor.

Not wasting another second, Joel fed you his entire cock in one steady thrust.

You hissed as your walls once again struggled to accommodate his generous size, but were ultimately helpless to the throes of his white-hot need.

His arms came around you, hugging you to him and pinning you flat to the table under his crushing weight as he slowly built up a rhythm that matched his earlier manic tempo.

The carpenter of the table that had stood in your kitchen for over a decade probably hadn’t foreseen that such craftsmanship would be instrumental in the ferocity of Joel dicking you down. But you were, nevertheless, thankful for the sturdiness of his creation.

Because Joel fucked you into that table like he wanted to break it.

Every thrust had his tip kissing your cervix.

Every thrust sent the table knocking against the hardwood floor.

Every thrust had you seeing stars.

“Make some noise for me, mama.” Joel’s voice was in your ear, low and absolutely wrecked. “Show me how good it feels.”

Obediently, your mouth fell agape. An incoherent string of moans and mewls of his name spilt from your lips, tumbling out in a staccato rhythm that was emphasised by every snap of his hips as he frantically chased his release.

It took a dozen more before you felt him seize up.

“I’m … shit, I’m almost there, baby.” He gasped shakily. 

And, miraculously, so were you. You would’ve alerted him of such a fact if he hadn’t already fucked your brains out.

Oblivious to your predicament, Joel continued. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? S’all you can do, baby. Lay there and look pretty while I stuff you full of my come.”

“Please.” You whimpered. “Please, Joel—”

He came like he had been holding off for an eternity, shooting pearly ropes of his seed inside you, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and face desperately buried into the crook of your neck.

Thankfully, his orgasm sent you toppling over the edge for what felt like the thousandth time that night, and you fell completely limp against the cool surface of the table as Joel rode out the last of his climax.

He recovered after a minute, pressed a sweaty kiss to the spot in between your shoulder blades, and delicately pulled out, wincing as he did so.

“That enough for you? Hm? Let me see.”

Tiredly, you spread your legs and pushed your ass out. Needless to say, Joel was entranced by the filthy sight of his milky come oozing slowly out of you.

“Oh, baby.” He tutted. “As beautiful as that is, we can’t let that go to waste, now can we?”

He didn’t wait for a response and gingerly plugged your cunt with two thick fingers, pushing his come back inside. You blew out a breath at the sensation.

“That’s it,” Joel cooed, eyebrows furrowed. And then, softer, “that's my girl.”

Satisfied that he probably gave you twins, Joel gently took your chin in his hand and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was tender and slow and felt like home. Because, as you finally realised all those weeks ago, Joel was your home.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss.

You pulled away, a dopey grin on your face. “You know, we should really do this on a bed, sometime.”

Joel laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did.

“Good thinking.” He smiled.

thank YOU for reading and for waiting (my bad) and ty all for the love & support y'all have given for this two-parter!! hard to believe there are people who are interested in the silly things i write :-) more to come!! 🏷️ (1/3 — sorry if your @ somehow didn’t work?? tumblr isn’t feeling me today): @onlythehobi, @billionairecowgirl, @lonely-ey3s, @kellyxo1, @missxjennipascal, @bloodyfkghell, @marlynn97, @pedritosgfreal, @kja06, @hhallefuckinglujahh, @irmpyrz, @joelspeach, @lostinthestreamofconsciousness, @mori1b2bpad, @hannahmassey30, @staley83, @lanternnightgarden, @themarvelousmaks, @ilovppascal, @yslgreen, @joelspickle, @possiblyafangirl, @strawberrylis, @bonneyszk, @whaddupbaby, @callofdiva, @trixcate, @p1tterp4atter, @immalosersblog, @sohaaa6, @alesomoza99, @faceache111, @pedge-page, @appl3ogr, @heartsandstars34, @niaissodone, @reiketsunomizunomegami, @zohree, @beebloopbleep, @holholliday, @amoooeba, @smexy-bucky-waifu, @keerygal, @pearl-diver-m, @teenytinylilcrawdaddies, @oh-thats-cute, @ivuravix, @kissykris, @lovesbyblog, and @wkuwcb.

[preciosapascal]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[preciosapascal]

The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.

[preciosapascal]

PEDRO PASCAL as Clint Flood FREAKY TALES 2025 | dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

[preciosapascal]

✨manifesting that your writers block disappears real soon ✨

[preciosapascal]

i want to keep TikTok and tumblr seperate but I had to share this bc look at himmmm 😍

[preciosapascal]

I NEED TO SIT ON HIS LAP DESPERATELY OMFG

[preciosapascal]

Really Somthing Part 2

(found on pinterest)

Summary - After the events of the night before Joel finds you in the same place.

Word Count - 2.7k

Warnings - mdni 18+, angst, crying, some language, mentions of virginity and f!masturbation. Kissing, groping (none of the fun stuff yet im sorry) difficult conversations

A/N- i kinda feel like this is everywhere but i'm tired of looking at it so i hope its ok. i promise there will be smut in the next chapter, i've never wrote it so im a lil scared tbh but ok here, hopefully this is readable.

the lovelies who requested to be tagged - @preciosapascal @vixorell

 Your birthday came and went. There was no class that day so you spent the hours at work.  Your coworkers remembered and brought in cupcakes during lunch, your mom brought you a coffee on your break and you even got a text from a classmate. Your family took you to your favorite restaurant and it was nice. As far as birthdays went, it was great. 

  The weight of the night followed you. Time seemed to move too fast yet too slow and left you with that feeling in your chest like something was trying to claw its way out - a discontentment you knew all too well. There was something different though, something new - not completely  unknown but stronger, more persistent. 

 The ghost of tobacco on your tongue and the warmth of his hand spanning your stomach were  the grounding reality to the images your mind conjured. Those lips trailing down your throat, top of those greying curls with your thighs wrapped around his head, him hovering over you, filling you.  

   You couldn’t really know what is was like. Your experience started and ended with your own fingers but lord, a girl could imagine. 

 You spent the entire day wondering, fantasizing at your desk, on the way home, at the dinner table with your parents trying to ask you about your day.  

   You felt guilty, for which part you didn’t know. Sure, you were inexperienced but you weren’t a prude.It wasn’t like any mention of sex had you flustered and stuttering. There was no morality attached to your virginity. It just hadn’t happened yet and you didn’t want to rush it. In all honesty, you expected it to be awkward - all fumbling hands and clammy skin grating with a stranger, half-drunk and deliriously making the impulsive decision to rid yourself of a label you never cared about or hesitant, unfulfilling and boring with a boyfriend you liked just enough. It  was going to be everything that sent your anxiety spiking through the roof. 

   So you ignored it, it wasn’t like you had a line of suitors down the block waiting for you. If anything you were a shut-in, introverted to the point of parental concern on occasion.  

  Obviously, your thing with Joel was another issue of its own. It was all in your head, you knew that, some forbidden romance-esque fantasy  He was twice your age and your dad’s closest  friend - anything more than a crush was dangerous territory. 

   You thought that last night changed everything, that hope was slowly waning. The clock was approaching the twenty-four hour mark of your stolen cigarette turned first kiss and you hadn’t heard a word from Joel. You felt kinda silly for being so disappointed. 

  The more naive part of you expected a text, some acknowledgement of what happened. The more local part knew he didn’t own you anything. He’d done you a favor and that was that.  Yet, hope was persistent. He was a busy man, there was a multitude of reasons for his silence. Contracting couldn’t be an easy job and Sarah, despite being nearly eighteen, never let the man breathe. 

   You swore to yourself, no matter what happened you wouldn’t be that girl. The one who makes a big deal out of one little kiss, the one desperately pleading for more than a man wanted to give, you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of him. You were better than that.

   The porch door creaked open. You lifted your head from where it laid on the swing’s armrest, legs still stretched out across the seat and peeled your eyes open. It took a second for them to adjust to the dark and make out the figure in the doorway.  You expected your mom or sister but instead, you were met with those brown eyes, lit by only the moon and faint glow of the porch light. You fought, and failed, to hide the smile forming on your lips. You adjusted yourself so you were sitting with your legs tucked into your chest, chin resting on your knees. 

  Joel had come from work, dirt crusted jeans and boots proof of his labor-intensive day. Arms crossed against his chest, that green flannel rolled up and pulled taut against his broad shoulders, his face was stern but the softness was there in the corners of his eyes, the slight upturn of his mouth.

  “Hey darlin’” He said, moving closer to the swing gently rocking in the breeze and wrapped his fingers around the chain suspending it, veins flexing on the back of his hand as he brought it to a halt.

  “It's late.” was all you were able to say, not trusting yourself to speak further. 

  He huffed a laugh and shook his head, lowering himself to sit next to you. The chains clanked and the swing rocked against his weight, the tips of your  toes brushing the denim of his thigh. 

 Silence lingered though you could tell he had something to say but the only noise that came was the rustle of his hand reaching into his jean pocket, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and a lighter. 

 It was the same as everytime she watched him do it in the last three years, the same as last night. He stuck one in the corner of his mouth, cupped the end to shield it from the air and brought the flame to the colored end and lit it a bright cherry red. 

  “Y’want me t’ go?” He said around the cig, a puff of smoke escaping into the night air. 

  “No!” The words came too quick and heat rose in your face. You had half the mind to make a run for it, to lock yourself and never come out. Instead, you kept talking. “I just- I guess I thought.” 

    “Thought what?”

 He wasn’t looking at you.  

   “I don’t know.I don’t know what to think about any of it.” You said, quiet, arms hugging your legs tighter, you studied his profile. The strong arch of his, the little scar across it, those cheeks and that mouth, a curl falling across his forehead. He was so pretty it hurt. “You kissed me, Joel.” 

   “Ain’t happenin’ again.” It was more of a grunt the way he said it, like he had to force it from his throat and your stomach dropped. The sting of rejection was one you would never acclimate to. Your gut reaction was to yell and cry and ask why he would do that in the first place but you let your eyes close and took a breath. “Ain’t right.” 

  You understood, really you did. It was a one time thing. He had done you a favor out of some sense of pity or obligation that could be written off as a birthday gift.  Part of you hate the fact that the memory would always be shrouded with this moment but the other, didn’t regret it. 

  You blamed the burn in your eyes on the smoke billowing next to you and blinked hard. 

  “Of course not. I didn’t think you - I understand it’s not like that for you.” You tried not to sound wounded, like a child with her feelings hurt. Instead, you plastered on a shaky smile and tried to lighten the mood.  “As far as birthday gifts go though, it was pretty great.”  

  The words tasted like ash, thick and bitter in your mouth. It wasn’t his fault that what started as an innocent teenage crush had morphed into something more, something twisted and wrong.  

  His gaze lifted to yours. His brows were furrowed, that line appearing between them, lips downturned. You tried to look away in time, tried to pull away from those honey brown eyes tinted against the glow of the dying cigarette but the tears escaped. You turned, hands coming up to swipe them away and let your bare feet hit the wooden planks, trying to make your way across the porch.

 “Oh, baby no.” His voice was quiet and rough, like he felt guilty for telling you what you already knew. He came after you, quick footsteps and a heavy hand on your shoulder. You let him turn you towards him but didn’t look up, kept your eyes focused on the black sky and ignored the tears still streaming. “Hey, look at me.” 

   You shook your head and hugged your arms closer. Embarrassment and shame filled you. This is exactly what you said you weren’t going to do, be the girl who made a scene, who couldn’t let go of one stupid kiss. You were acting like a stupid fucking teenager, which you guess you kind of still were.  

   Joel’s hands cradled your face, calloused thumbs swiping at the tears that were falling in slow droplets. He guided you to turn to him, eyes meeting without choice. Confusion mixed with your despair at his pained look, there was more emotion on his face than ever before and you didn’t know why. You had to suffocate the small flame of hope that flickered inside of you. 

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t want- “ You were rambling, voice thick with tears. Eyes roaming anywhere but his,“I know it’s not right and that you don’t- I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. I don’t know what I was thinking last night.” 

  “No, sweetheart. Need ya to look at me.”  You listened despite the anxiety and shame running through you. The sight of him ailed the panic a bit, making it just that much easier to breathe. You braced yourself for the placating, the it’s ok, but we won’t talk about it ever again but it never came. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You ain’t put in any situation I didn’t wanna be in. I mean look at ya.” 

  He said the last bit like he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, like a though escaped. That flicker of hope building as he kept talking, the darkness of his eyes causing something else to kindle. 

   “Old man like me ain’t got no business wantin’ you the way I do. ‘m old enough to be your daddy. Hell, ‘m older than ‘im ” He let out a laugh, humorless around the edges. Your heart was in your stomach, mind trying to process what he was saying. “Baby, I want you, but I ain’t putting you in that situation. ain’t gon’ let you get hurt like that.” 

  It took a delayed second of your eyes tracking his before you understood. Realization dawned, tears slowing and a small grin pulled at your face. 

  He wanted you, in some realm close to the way you wanted him. A girlish giddy feeling filled your chest and you leaned into his touch, just an inch. But the longer you stared, the longer you   “Joel.” You whispered, more of a plea, looking at him through blurry eyes as processed what it all really meant. Three years spent pining, dreaming and wondering of something so out of reach was in front of you. It was right there but you ran the possibilities through your mind and there was the catch.  

  It would change everything, ruin everything. This wasn’t only your heart on the line, there were people who existed outside of this. And you saw it, the destruction it would leave when they found out, the disappointed look on your mother’s face, the betrayal on your father’s, the confusion on Sarah’s that morphed into disgust as she ran the numbers and realized. 

   “I know, baby.” He said, pulling you into him as your face crumpled. An arm banded around your waist and a hand came up to stroke over your hair. He engulfed you in warmth, smelling like cigarette smoke, sweat and wood and something so familiar your chest ached.  Your fingers gripping at the fabric of his flannel as your body shook.

And he stayed there, hand rubbing over your hair and murmuring words you couldn’t make out against the top of your head until your breathing evened and the tears slowed. When you were calmed down, You pulled back far enough to meet his eyes. to see the concern and worry written across his features. 

    The urge to ail it, to calm the despair, to smooth away the line between his brow and the frown of his mouth was too strong to ignore. You found yourself trailing your fingertips across his cheekbones, the rough hairs of his beard and tracing over his strong nose, coming to land on his jaw. 

 You should’ve moved away, took a step back and walked back into the house. That night a distant memory that no one ever spoken of again, to be forgotten in time but then you were pushing yourself to your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to the scar that was nicked into the skin there. His shoulders tensed underneath your hands and you thought he might push you away but his arms pulled around you, closer and he sighed quietly, barely there. 

 Its a memorization game of sorts - the way your lips drew a path down his face, the way they moved to his stubbled cheek and down to the corner of his mouth, the need to remember this, to bide more time until you figure out how to make this work.  

    “Baby.” He breathed and you felt his resolve waver. The fingertips against your back flexed, a shaky breath that brushes across your lips. “If we do this-” 

    “I know, I know” 

And you did. This wouldn’t be a fantasy of happily ever afters with family dinners and wishes of congratulations, where everyone got out unscathed, where relationships weren’t beaten and bruised beyond repair. There was no guarantee of anything but hope was persistent, that flicker turned to a flame that licked up inside you until you were burning with it. 

    It would be the end of what you both knew but it was everything you wanted, something you never dared dream a reality for fear of the rejection that nearly shattered you a moment ago and he wanted it too. You couldn’t walk away. 

    There was no more pretense of teenage rebellion or forbidden birthday favor. Whatever this was, whatever it would be was real, tangible. 

  With one last look through your lashes, you were shifting, nudging with the hand on his jaw for his mouth to meet yours - careful at first as warmth invaded you, spreading sparks through you at the slightest contact and pooling in your stomach. His fingertips flexed into your waist, letting out a shaky breath that brushed across your chin and that thin thread holding you both back, the hesitancy snapped. 

  Then you were licking at the seam of his lips, barely there flicks of your tongue silently asking for more. He gave it, mouth opening so you could taste the tobacco that laced his tongue. You wound your hands into his hair, tugging on the curls enough to have him groaning in your mouth, the rumble against your chest sending shockwaves through your nerves.   

   Joel left your mouth to trail open mouthed kisses over the underside of your jaw and neck, your head falling back to give him better access. His lips pressed your pulse point once before his teeth were there, sinking into the skin and biting just hard enough that it had you gasping, a wave of arousal pulsing between your thighs causing your fingers to tighten into his hair. 

   You were hot all over, the kind of hot that had nothing to do with the summer air but with the hands that’s were roaming your body, smoothing over the skin of where your shirt had ridden up, the feel of him half-hard and pressed against your hip, the persistent way he was back on you, devouring you as he licked into your mouth. You felt it before, small and fragile but this was intense - all consuming and threatening to burn you alive. 

   “Joel.” You breathed, you couldn’t wait. You pulled back to look at him, hands sliding down to the back of his neck.  “Need you to touch me. ” 

  You lost the fight the second he stepped onto the porch that night. You wouldn’t be able to justify it when it inevitable blew up in your face, there was no excuse for sleeping with your daddy’s best friend  But Joel was there, wrapped around you all warm and solid and you couldn’t move, couldn’t bring yourself to break away from him, 

   He hesitated, eyes widening a fraction and you were worried he was going to push you away, send you back in the house but he nodded. 

    “Okay, baby.”

[preciosapascal]

UGHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😭

v - you make loving fun

pairing: rockstar! joel x f! tour manager reader

part v of amplified

You’re not supposed to crave him like this. Not in the quiet hours. Not in the way he holds you after. But lines are beginning to blur.

amplified masterlist

amplified on ao3

word count - ~8k sorry guys

rating - E

chapter content - not gonna lie this is chapter is pure filth and feelings, age gap, insecurity, language, drinking, cigarette smoking, joel catching feels, you catching feels, vulnerability, explicit p in v sex, creampie, dirty talk, fingering

authors note - Happy 50th birthday to Pedro!!! Releasing a chapter of pure fluff and filth to celebrate. 🎂

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not just the heat of the blankets, but the weight of it. Heavy and solid behind you, anchoring you to the mattress.

The hotel room is still and quiet, thick with early morning hush—the kind of silence that only exists before alarms buzz and crew members knock, before coffee starts percolating and the day becomes real. A soft line of sunlight cuts through the curtain, landing somewhere near the foot of the bed.

You blink. Stretch slightly. And then you feel it.

The arm wrapped around your waist.

The steady breath ghosting over your shoulder.

The unmistakable scent of soap, sleep, and skin.

Joel.

You shift, just enough to see him. He’s asleep, or close to it, lying on his side with one arm slung possessively across your middle. His face is relaxed, the constant furrow between his brows smoothed out. The shadows under his eyes are softer in this light, and with his mouth slack and his lashes resting against his cheeks, he looks—

You don’t want to say it. Not even in your head.

But he looks beautiful.

And peaceful. Younger, somehow.

It’s unfair, the way he looks like this. You think about all the times you’ve fought with him, all the ways he’s gotten under your skin. All the snide remarks and teasing jabs and how often you swore you’d never be able to stand being in the same room as him for one more second.

And now you’re in bed with him.

Wrapped up in him.

You don’t even try to pretend you’re not staring. Your eyes trace over every line of his face, drinking him in while you still can. His curls are a little wild, sticking up at the crown from your fingers running through them the night before. The scruff on his jaw is thick and rough-looking, but you know exactly how it feels when it drags against your skin.

God, you remember everything.

The way his mouth felt between your thighs. The way he said your name. The weight of his hands and how they didn’t stop touching you, even when you were shaking beneath him.

You should be pulling away. You should be panicking.

Instead, you’re hoping he doesn’t let go.

And then—he stirs.

A low, gravelly sound slips from his chest, and his hand tightens slightly on your stomach. His nose brushes your shoulder, and then he exhales.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

His voice is pure gravel—rough with sleep, warm and close to your ear.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just let the sound of it settle over you.

Then you shift slightly, enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

He’s watching you with one eye barely open, mouth tipped in a lazy smirk. “You been starin’ at me long?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. You snore.”

That earns you a quiet laugh, deep and scratchy. His arm flexes around you, tugging you just a little closer.

His face burrows into the crook of your neck, his beard dragging gently across sensitive skin. You shiver.

He hums, lazy and amused. “Might be your fault I slept this good.”

Your chest squeezes.

It’s everything—his voice, the way his body fits against yours, how safe and steady he feels. How terrifying it is that you want this again. That you could get used to it.

Joel shifts again, and you feel his hand drift lower, fingertips tracing the dip of your waist. Not rushing. Not assuming. Just touching. And it undoes you.

Because he’s warm and here and yours—for now.

His hand roams lower, slow and teasing, his fingers brushing the curve of your hip. There’s no urgency to it, no pressure. Just an unspoken question lingering in the air between you.

You hum, pretending to consider it, though your thighs are already parting instinctively.

Joel chuckles softly behind you, voice still thick with sleep. “Guess I didn’t scare you off.”

It’s slow. Sleepy. The kind of sex that comes when everything is still soft and warm, when there’s nothing demanding your attention but the man behind you and the way he’s touching you like he’s got all the time in the world.

He rolls you onto your back, easing himself between your legs with a care that makes your chest ache. The morning light spills across the bed, golden and gentle, painting the lines of his body in amber. It gives away more than last night’s shadows ever could—the peppered silver in his curls, the soft lines beside his eyes, the curve of his lips when they twitch into something close to a smile.

You can see more of him now, too. The slight slope of his stomach. The broad stretch of his chest. The heft of his cock, flushed and heavy, resting against your thigh. It looks so fucking good in the light—thick and curved just enough, already hard and aching for you.

Joel catches your stare and quirks a brow. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, baby…” he murmurs, trailing off like he’s not quite ready to say what he’ll do about it.

You don’t respond with words. Just wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer.

His mouth finds yours, slower this time. Less hungry. More reverent. His tongue moves with aching patience, teasing at the seam of your lips until you open for him, letting him taste you all over again.

His hands roam. Down your sides, over your stomach, between your thighs. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just takes his time learning you, relearning you, touching like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

You watch him stroke himself once—slow and deliberate. And then he’s pressing into you, steady and careful. Stretching you open, filling you inch by inch until your breath hitches and your fingers clutch at his shoulders. A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, and he doesn’t move right away—just holds there, buried to the hilt, breathing like he’s trying to keep it together.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing your jaw.

Then he starts to move. Long, dragging thrusts that make you feel every inch of him. The kind that make your breath catch, your back arch, your body melt beneath him.

There’s no rush. No urgency.

Just slow, aching need.

He kisses you through it all—your neck, your jaw, your lips—murmuring quiet, broken things into your skin. Nothing too sweet. Nothing over the top. Just your name. Just a quiet, breathless, “Goddamn.”

The pace builds slowly—still languid, still deep—but heavier now. His grip on your hips tightens. His thrusts turn more deliberate. More wanting.

Then he pulls back slightly, reaching down to guide you onto your stomach with gentle hands. His body follows close behind, lining up again as he pushes into you from behind. The new angle has your breath catching sharply, forehead pressed to the pillow as your body curves into him.

He groans low, like he’s been waiting for this, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your hip tight. His thrusts are deeper now. A little faster. The sleepiness burning into something darker.

You whimper, grounding yourself in the heat of his body, the feel of him splitting you open slow and sure.

He doesn’t say much—just the occasional curse, a low growl of your name—but you can feel it in the way he moves. How badly he wants it. How badly he wants you.

Your climax hits fast, harder than you expect, your body tightening around him as you cry out into the pillow. He hisses through his teeth, hips stuttering as he pulls out quickly, his hand wrapping around himself.

A groan rips from his chest as he spills across your lower back, hot and messy. His breath is ragged, his hand still wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he comes down from it, eyes locked on you the whole time.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Joel finally collapses beside you, brushing your hair off your face with one shaky hand.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Pretty sure I’ve broken about six HR rules.”

You snort, voice hoarse. “Tommy taught Henry how to shotgun a beer last night. HR’s not exactly keeping tabs.”

Joel laughs—really laughs—and the sound rumbles between you, low and warm and easy.

Your phone buzzes from the nightstand, screen lighting up with a reminder.

You groan. “I’ve got a call with the venue rep in fifteen minutes. They’re having a meltdown over merch setup and load-in access.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sounds important.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep your damn show on the road,” you mutter, nudging at his chest. “Can’t have you endin’ up on TMZ again.”

He smirks. “After that bar fight? Might be too late.”

You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches — you’re smiling anyway, even as you start to reach for the edge of the blankets.

Joel stands like he’s going to get dressed, like he’s going to do the normal thing and pull his jeans back on and slip out the door.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pauses. Just stands there for a second, bare chest rising and falling, curls mussed and shadowed in the golden morning light.

He looks at you — really looks at you — all tangled up in the sheets, flushed and blinking and very much still naked. And for a second, the cockiness falls away. There’s something quieter in his eyes.

He steps forward.

“C’mere.”

His voice is low, almost rough with hesitation.

You glance up.

He leans in, tilts your chin with two fingers, and kisses you.

It’s not demanding. Not greedy. Just soft, syrupy, slow. His hands frame your face, one thumb brushing your cheek, the other sliding through your hair like he doesn’t want to forget the feel of it.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are still parted, breath caught in your chest.

Joel watches you for a beat longer, like he’s trying to memorize every last bit of this. Then he gives a faint smile, something softer than the smirk he usually wears.

“I’ll see you later, alright?”

You nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”

He hesitates — just for a second — then turns, grabbing his shirt from the chair. You watch the muscles shift in his back as he tugs it on, as he reaches for his boots.

And then the door clicks shut behind him.

You let the silence settle.

Then, with a groan, you flop back against the mattress, limbs spread, sheets twisted around your legs.

Stare at the ceiling.

Exhale a dramatic sigh like you’re in the final act of a stage play.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, covering your face with your hands.

You’re still bare. Still flushed. Still faintly aching from the slow way he touched you, the warm weight of his body, the way he looked at you like maybe he wasn’t planning on running this time.

And you’ve still got ten minutes before that call.

Plenty of time to lie here and try — and fail — to think about anything else.

—--------------------------------------------------------

It’s been almost two weeks.

More cities. More shows. Same routine.

The days are a blur of call times and radio hits, back entrances and wristbands. The crew moves like a well-oiled machine. Setlists change. Weather shifts. Crowds swell.

But one thing stays the same.

Joel.

Every night, a different hotel — different sheets, different noise outside the window — but he’s always there. At first, he had the decency to knock. Just a soft rap on your door, a tentative look when you opened it. Like he was still asking. Still waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him.

But by the fifth night — maybe the sixth — he stopped asking. Just started showing up, slipping into the room with barely a sound, closing the door behind him like he’d been doing it for years.

And every night, you let him.

It was never rushed. Never frantic. It was slow. Intentional.

The way he’d settle beside you on the bed, fingertips tracing the hem of your shirt before he peeled it over your head. The quiet hum in his chest when he kissed your collarbone. The way he’d pull you into his lap and let you sink down onto him, his hands gripping your hips as you rocked together — quiet, steady, deep.

Some nights, he’d fuck you slow against the headboard, one hand tangled in your hair while the other kept you exactly where he wanted you. Other nights, he’d whisper, turn over, and press his palm to the small of your back, fucking you deep and silent while your face buried into the pillow to muffle the sounds.

And when it was over, when you were wrung out and shaking, he’d clean you up without a word. Pull you close. Tuck your head under his chin.

Neither of you talked about it.

You didn’t have to.

You’re already at the venue when Joel walks in.

Guitar slung over his shoulder, sunglasses on like the room isn’t half-lit and windowless. Like maybe hiding his eyes will somehow make the last week vanish.

He doesn’t head straight for you. Doesn’t say anything at all.

But you feel him.

The shift in the air, the quiet gravity of him slipping into the space. The way the silence stretches, just slightly, like the room’s holding its breath.

You don’t look up right away.

You’ve got the updated schedule in one hand, notes scribbled from a conversation with the production manager already circling your brain. Load-in times, soundcheck cues, press availability—things that matter. Things you should be focused on.

But he’s there.

Not at your side. Not quite.

Just hovering a little closer than usual. Talking low with Tommy near the edge of the risers. Close enough that when you finally glance up, you catch it—that flicker of a look. Not staring. Not smug. Just checking.

Like he’s making sure this is still okay.

Your brow lifts just slightly in return.

No smile. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Just a tilt of your head. A flick of acknowledgment.

We’re good.

His mouth twitches. That smirk starts to form—but it never quite lands. Instead, he lifts his brows, gives you the smallest nod.

And then he’s gone again, pulling his guitar strap over his shoulder, turning toward the stage like he didn’t spend last night with your name in his mouth.

But the tells are there.

The way he lingers behind the others as they spread out across the stage, just long enough to brush your hand in passing—casual, fleeting, but unmistakable.

The way he watches you during lighting tests, fingers absently strumming over his strings, not playing anything in particular. Just watching.

The way his gaze flickers to you and holds for a second too long before Frank murmurs something sideways and Joel finally looks away, rolling his eyes.

Everyone’s catching on.

Tommy shoots a knowing glance. Tess sips her coffee and raises a brow when your paths cross backstage, looking entirely too smug.

Even Frank clocks it—just smirks to himself and says nothing, which might be worse than if he’d said anything at all.

Still, Joel doesn’t say a word.

Not until you’re passing by again, head down over your clipboard, halfway through a note about the next city’s venue capacity.

His voice is low when it hits you. Barely audible.

“You sleep okay?”

You freeze for just a second. Not enough for anyone to notice.

It’s simple. Easy. Something anyone could say.

But you hear what’s underneath it.

His eyes are already on you when you look up.

And they say what he doesn’t.

I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.

Henry side-eyes the both of you constantly.

At first, it’s just narrowed glances. A little too observant. A little too frequent.

Then one morning—mid-breakfast, halfway through pouring milk into a plastic bowl of cereal—he blurts it out.

“You two are acting weird.”

Sam barely looks up from his seat beside him, drawing utensils in hand. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

Henry scoffs, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that, Sam.”

But his gaze flicks right back to you, curious and far too knowing, like he’s putting together a puzzle and just missing the final piece. You don’t say anything, but your ears burn under the attention.

Frank’s more subtle. Supportive, in his own chaotic way.

He finds you during load-in, leaning against the frame of the greenroom door, arms crossed and sipping a can of something cold. He watches you check off something on your clipboard, then nods toward the stage where Joel is tuning up under the lights.

“So,” he starts casually, “are we getting a tour scandal this year or what?”

You pause mid-scribble, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “What? He’s hot, you’re hot, the sexual tension is suffocating, and honestly? This crew could use the distraction.”

You snort, shaking your head.

Frank holds up a hand. “I’m not judging. I’m rooting for you. I’m just saying—if you’re gonna sneak around, at least make it good. Give us something to talk about. And hey…” He sips again, grinning. “...makes catering a hell of a lot more fun when people are speculating who Joel Miller’s sneaking off with after soundcheck.”

You start to open your mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to deflect—but he cuts in smoothly.

“I don’t need the details. I don’t even want ’em. Just…” He gives a small shrug. “I’ve seen him on every tour since ‘96. I haven’t seen him look like this in years. So whatever you’re doing—keep doin’ it.”

His voice is softer at the end, genuine. He doesn’t push, doesn’t wait for a reply—just pats your shoulder on the way out and calls over his shoulder, “Don’t let the kids catch him sneakin’ out of your room again.”

Tommy, naturally, is the least graceful about it.

He plops down beside Joel at rehearsal, watching his brother tilt his mic stand a fraction of an inch to the left—then back again—then left.

After a few beats of silence, Tommy just sighs dramatically.

“Never thought I’d see the day my brother turned into a lovesick teenager.”

Joel grumbles something under his breath—probably a threat, definitely a curse—and doesn’t even look up. But you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Like maybe, just maybe… he doesn’t mind being caught.

He doesn’t mean to fall into it like this. Didn’t expect it, didn’t want it — not in the beginning.

It was just tension. Just heat and friction. Two people who butted heads too often and ended up tangled in hotel sheets, swearing it didn’t mean anything.

Except now, two weeks later, he’s sleeping in your bed every night.

Not just fucking. Not just sneaking in after shows for a quick release and slipping out before sunrise.

He stays.

Wakes up with your legs draped over his. Your face buried in his chest. His shirt on the floor, yours inside out at the foot of the bed.

And the worst part — or maybe the best — is how easy it’s become. Like he’s done it before. Like he belongs there.

You fall asleep fast, always do. The days are long, your phone never stops buzzing, and your brain’s always ten steps ahead of everything. But once the door closes and it’s just the two of you? You crash hard. Mouth soft and open, hair stuck to your cheek, one arm thrown over his stomach like you’re trying to tether yourself to something.

And Joel… he just lies there.

Hand on your back. Eyes on the ceiling.

Terrified.

Because you’ve got your whole damn life ahead of you — other tours, bigger jobs, cities he probably won’t follow you to. And he’s already done all that. Already lost too many things by trying to hold onto something that didn’t belong to him.

And now here he is again. Falling.

Fuckin’ idiot.

He’s mid-soundcheck, tuning up when Tess corners him backstage. Leans in the doorway with a look on her face like she’s seen something coming from a mile away.

“You really think no one notices?” she says, all sly grin and raised eyebrows.

Joel sighs. “Don’t start.”

She sips her drink, unbothered. “You got that ‘I-slept-good-for-once’ look about you. Real suspicious.”

He gives her a look. Flat. “You done?”

She leans against the wall beside him, arms crossed. “Y’know… you weren’t like this with me.”

That lands harder than it should. Joel stiffens. “Tess…”

She holds up a hand, already shaking her head. “Relax. Been there, done that. I’m not mad. We were young. Dumb as hell, honestly. And now I’ve got a husband who grills on Sundays and leaves love notes in my guitar case.”

Joel huffs out a quiet breath, the knot in his chest easing.

Tess smiles again, more gently this time. “It’s different with her. I see it. In how you look at her. In how you don’t look at anyone else.”

“She’s smart. Driven. Has her shit together,” Tess continues, more serious now. “And yeah, she’s younger. Which is why I’m tellin’ you to be careful. Not just with her. With you.”

Joel’s brow furrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you,” Tess says, softer now. “You don’t let yourself want things. Not really. So if you’re doing this—if you’re really doing this—you better mean it. And if you don’t… let her go before she gets in too deep.”

Joel leans against the wall, lets his head thump back with a sigh. “I don't know what I’m doin’, Tess.”

She shrugs. “You don’t have to know everything to want something.”

Then she leans in just a little, like she’s letting him in on a secret. “Take care of her, alright? Be careful. And don’t get her fired. I like her more than you.”

Joel manages a small smile.

Tess pats his chest, already stepping back. “See you out there, Romeo.” She disappears around the corner, leaving Joel in the quiet hallway with her words echoing in his chest.

He stays there for a minute, back pressed to the wall, Tess’s words still ringing in his ears. She’d always seen him too clearly—cutting through the deflection, the stubborn pride, right to the part of him he tried hardest to keep hidden. The part that didn’t believe he deserved something good. Something that stayed. He’d built a life around staying guarded, keeping his wants quiet, manageable. And now? Now he wanted you. In a way that felt reckless. In a way that made his chest ache.

He drags a hand down his face, exhales slow. He’s not young anymore. Not shiny or simple. His bones creak louder than his guitar some days, and the lines around his eyes don’t lie. And you—you’ve got fire under your skin and so much more life to live. He knows that. Knows you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you want something he can’t give. Something he already burned through years ago. And still, here he is—terrified he’ll ruin it. That you’ll see through the quiet and the hands and the songs and realize he’s just a tired man holding on too tight to something he doesn’t deserve.

—————————————————————————-

You wake to the sound of a low melody, soft and unfinished, seeping through the open balcony door.

The sheets are still warm beside you, but Joel’s gone.

You sit up slowly, the hotel room dim around you — just the faintest wash of moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. It’s nearly 3 AM in Raleigh, and the world outside is quiet. But he’s there, just beyond the glass, sitting shirtless with his guitar across his lap, a cigarette burning low in the ashtray beside him.

He doesn’t notice you right away.

You stay in the doorway, watching.

His head’s down, curls falling into his face, fingers moving lazily across the strings. He hums before the words come, voice low and raw — the kind of quiet that sounds too personal to hear.

"Never had much to offer, never knew what to say.

But you come around like thunder, and I stay anyway.

You laugh like summer rain, cry like the tide,

I can't help wantin’ every version of you — the gentle, the wild."

His voice fades into the hush of night, low and unsteady. The last note hangs in the air for a second too long before it dissolves into silence, and Joel just sits there—shoulders curved forward, head ducked, fingers stilled on the strings.

You don’t say anything at first.

You’re still standing barefoot in the doorway, arms wrapped loosely around your middle, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs. The breeze tugs at the ends of your hair, but you don’t move.

Because something about what you just heard feels... different.

You’ve watched him rehearse. Perform. Drown out chaos with chords. But this isn’t that. This is raw. Quiet. Like he’s singing to something only he can see—like you’re just lucky enough to be standing close enough to feel it.

And maybe that’s all it is. A late-night lull in a long week. Another song that won’t make the record. Another feeling strung out in chords instead of conversation.

But when you close your eyes, the words echo.

“Every version of you — the gentle, the wild.”

And a part of you wants to believe it’s about you..

Wants to believe he’s been carrying you in his head long enough to shape something like that. That he’s seen every version of you — the bossy, overworked tour manager, the shape of your mouth when you’re about to bite back a smile, the one who can’t sleep unless she feels his thigh pressed up against hers under the hotel covers.

But you don’t ask.

You don’t say anything.

Because the last thing you want is to name it too early. To make something fragile collapse under the weight of your own hope.

Still, you cross the balcony slowly, barefoot against the cool tile, and slide into his lap like it’s instinct. Like you were always supposed to fit there. Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t make a sound. His arm just comes around your waist, holding you against him.

And sitting there, in the soft hum of the night with his hand warm at your hip and your cheek resting on his shoulder, you feel the most unexpected thing:

Calm.

It’s not the kind of comfort that comes from sex. Not the kind that fades after the high.

It’s heavier than that. Quieter.

It sneaks in, wraps around your ribs and stays.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you most.

Because if this were still just a fling—something casual and reckless—you wouldn’t be thinking about the way the moonlight hits his curls. Or how steady his heart feels beneath your palm.

You wouldn’t be thinking about how easy it is to rest your body against his like this.

You wouldn’t be thinking this could be more.

But you are.

And as Joel exhales, nudging his nose gently against your temple like he doesn’t want to break the moment either, you glance up—and find him already watching you.

His brown eyes are wide and quiet, lit with something tender and almost unsure, like he’s holding his breath. Like he doesn’t quite know what to say, but he doesn’t want to miss any of this. The look is gentle. Almost reverent.

And that’s when it hits you—he might be thinking it too.

“Come back to bed,” you murmur, thumb dragging gently through the hair at his temple.

Joel doesn’t answer at first, just watches you. The guitar still rests on his lap, forgotten now.

His mouth twitches, eyes dark and amused. “You keepin’ tabs on me, sweetheart?”

You don’t bite—you don’t need to.

“Yeah, but I don’t like waking up alone,” you say, too honest, too easy.

There’s a note of something domestic in your voice—like you’ve said it before. Like this is already a habit.

Joel shifts beneath you, eyes flicking up to meet yours. You can tell it lands, even if he doesn’t say anything. His hand strokes along your thigh, grounding himself in the weight of you.

Joel doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he leans forward, cupping the back of your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then just barely the corner of your mouth—slow and soft and certain, like he needed the permission to touch you again. Like he’s been waiting all night.

He exhales slowly, forehead still resting against yours. Then nods, just once.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

Back inside, you crawl into bed first, slipping beneath the cool sheets and watching him move around the room—slow, a little hesitant, like he’s still surprised he’s welcome here. He peels off his shirt and slips in beside you without saying much, but when he settles, he’s close. Closer than he needs to be.

You lie like that for a minute, facing each other, legs tangled, the hush of the room settling over you like another blanket.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, fingers lacing together.

“You gonna tell me what that song’s about?” you ask, voice soft, teasing but not really.

Joel huffs out a breath. “Work in progress.”

You smile. “So you say.”

A pause, and then his thumb starts to move against yours, slow and thoughtful.

Then he asks, “You always want to do this?”

You glance up. “Music?”

“Touring. Running the whole damn show.”

You glance up at the ceiling for a second, then back at him. “Started interning at a label when I was seventeen. Did everything I could to stay in the room—coffee, merch tables, spreadsheets. I liked the nonstop energy of it. And I liked feeling like I was a part of something.”

Joel hums. “Yeah. That sounds right.”

You nudge him lightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts onto his side a little more, propping his head up with his hand so he can really look at you. “Just… you care in a way that makes people want to do better. Like they don’t want to let you down.” His voice drops slightly. “I know I don’t.”

You blink, taken off guard by the softness of it. The honesty.

Then you laugh, quiet and a little dry. “Funny, considering you gave me hell at the start of this tour.”

Joel groans softly, running a hand down his face. “Yeah. I know. I was… not easy.”

“You were a dick,” you correct, but your voice is light, teasing.

He grimaces. “Alright, yeah. I was. I’m sorry, again.”

You tilt your head, lips twitching. “Again?”

Joel shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving. “I’ve been sayin’ it in my head for about three weeks now. Figured it was time to let one out.”

“Yeah, well… worth the headache.”

You grin, nudging his leg again. “Anyways, I was what—twenty-two? Managing a small showcase when one of the acts bailed, and suddenly I’m the person who has to fix everything. I was hooked after that. Started climbing. Different companies, different cities. Got real good at holding things together while everything around me fell apart.”

Joel watches you, quiet. Like he’s not just listening, but absorbing every word.

“You ever stop?” he asks, voice low. “Even for a second?”

You laugh softly. “Not really. I kind of love the chaos.”

He nods, like he gets that. Like maybe it’s the same for him.

“When I was your age,” Joel says after a pause, “I didn’t have any of that direction. I was a god damn mess.”

Joel’s quiet for a long moment. You don’t press him.

Then he shifts, his thumb brushing along the inside of your wrist like it grounds him. “I had Sarah when I was twenty-six. But I was still a kid, really.”

Your brows lift slightly. You don’t say anything—just stay with him.

“Her mom and I… we weren’t in it for the long haul. We cared about each other, but we knew it wasn’t gonna last. We were stubborn as hell, thought maybe having a kid would give it meaning.”

You nod gently, listening as he exhales.

“I was doin’ contractor work back then. Building decks, patchin’ drywall, fixin’ whatever needed fixin’. Played guitar on the side when I could—weddings, bar sets, session work for friends who needed filler.”

He huffs softly, almost a laugh. “Didn’t think anything would come of it. But somebody heard me one night at a bar in Austin. Asked me to lay down a few tracks. That turned into something else. And it just kept going.”

He pauses, thumb dragging along your skin again. “I thought once the money came in, once things started rollin’… it’d get easier.”

You know what’s coming before he even says it.

“But it didn’t.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze.

“I was still the one packing school lunches. Getting her up in the morning. Running home after meetings to make it to parent-teacher night. Trying to balance being on the road with makin’ sure she felt like she still had a dad who was there.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Success gave us a better place to live, but it didn’t give me more hours in the day.”

You shift closer, resting your forehead against his. “You did it though.”

He doesn’t respond right away—just closes his eyes, breathing you in.

“I tried,” he says quietly. “She turned out okay. So maybe I did somethin’ right.”

You shift closer, letting your fingers brush his.

“What about Ellie?” you ask softly.

“She was just a kid when her mom got sick,” Joel says, voice rough around the edges now. “Didn’t have anybody else. Marlene asked me to take her in. Said it’d be temporary.”

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “But she’d been around before that. Her mom worked at the studio—admin stuff, scheduling, keepin’ everyone in line. Ellie’d tag along after school, runnin’ wild between soundchecks, pokin’ her head into every room she wasn’t supposed to be in. My band used to joke she was our unofficial manager—askin’ a million questions, takin’ notes like she was gonna give feedback.”

His mouth tips into the ghost of a smile. “She always found her way into my space. Sit in the corner of the studio with her chin on her knees, watchin’ me lay down takes like it was magic. Asked more about the gear than half the techs we hired.”

You picture her like that—small, curious, fearless. A stubborn streak and a soft center. It fits.

“She didn’t wanna leave when Marlene brought up foster care. Told me she wanted to stay.” He swallows thickly. “Said I felt like home.”

A pause stretches between you, and you feel the weight of it settle low in your chest. You can hear everything he’s not saying.

“She’s got no dad in the picture. I couldn’t just… hand her off. After all that time, after everything we’d already built…” He trails off, eyes fixed on some far-off memory. “She mattered. Still does.”

You reach for his hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He looks at you then—brown eyes soft, tired, full of a thousand unsaid things. “I know.”

And suddenly, it clicks. Why he’s so gentle with Sam. Why he watched Henry like a man waiting to be needed. Joel doesn’t just carry people—he keeps them. Protects them before they even ask for it. There’s something inside him that never stopped being a father, even when he had every reason to let go.

Your voice comes soft. “This is the part people don’t see.”

Joel glances at you, brow lifting slightly.

“You. Like this,” you continue, your thumb tracing the inside of his wrist. “Before the tour, all I heard were the stories. The chaos. The temper. Like I was walking into a fire I’d have to put out. I thought you were going to be this wild, impossible thing—something I’d have to tame.”

He snorts under his breath, not quite amused.

“But then I watched you. Watched how you look out for your team, even if you don’t say it out loud. The way you check if they’ve eaten. The way you keep people close without making a show of it. The way you are with Henry and Sam. That’s not something you fake. That’s just... who you are.”

His mouth twitches—just a little. Not quite a smile. “Don’t think they’d care to see all that.”

You shake your head. “They would. If they saw what I’m seeing.”

His eyes flick over your face, and there’s a shift in them—something quiet and unsure, like he’s not used to hearing that. Like part of him wants to believe you, but the rest still doesn’t quite know how.

You watch him for a beat longer, then add, voice even softer now, “You’re still a little wild. Just… not in the way they said.”

That gets the smallest huff of breath from him—something close to a laugh, rough around the edges.

“You’ve got fire, yeah. You’re stubborn. You push people away when you get scared.” Your thumb moves slowly across the bend of his wrist. “But you’re not reckless. Not cruel. You don’t burn things down for the hell of it. You fight for what matters. For who matters.”

He looks down at where you’re touching him like he’s not sure he deserves it. Like the weight of being seen this clearly sits heavy on his skin.

“And that’s the part no one prepared me for,” you whisper. “That under the noise and the name and the history… you’re good.”

Joel swallows hard. Doesn’t say anything. But his hand turns over beneath yours, palm up. An invitation.

And maybe that’s all the answer you need.

You feel it all the way down.

The way his mouth lingers against your skin like he doesn’t want to leave. The way his breath hitches when you turn your head, just enough for your lips to brush his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

You’re not trying to start anything.

It just happens that way.

The same way everything else has—slow, steady, inevitable.

Joel’s hand slides up your side, broad and warm, pulling you close. His lips find yours before you can say another word—slow, aching, almost tender. He kisses you like he’s afraid it’ll be the last time, like he’s still memorizing the way you taste.

His fingers slip into your hair, tilting your head back, tongue teasing at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a sigh, and he takes his time, kissing you deep and slow and lazy.

You crawl into his lap, straddling him where he sits at the edge of the bed, and his hands settle on your thighs, squeezing, grounding himself in the weight of you.

When you shift, rolling your hips slowly against his, you feel how hard he already is—thick and heavy beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

You drag your fingers down his chest, and he sucks in a breath when your nails graze his stomach.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’ve got me all fucked up over you, y’know that?”

You pull back, grinning, eyes dark and knowing. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tug them down. He lifts his hips enough to let you strip them off, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, already slick at the tip.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking him once, slow and deliberate. Joel groans, hips twitching beneath you.

“You want me to stop?” you bite your lip, already shifting to line him up beneath you.

His hands grip your hips, tight enough to bruise. “Don’t you dare.”

You sink down on him slow, stretching around the wide head, inch by inch until he’s buried deep. Your breath catches—he fills you so completely it’s almost too much.

Joel’s head drops back, a low growl in his throat. “Christ, sweetheart, so fuckin’ tight.”

You pause, letting yourself adjust, your thighs trembling where they’re pressed to his. His hands stroke soothing lines along your waist, but his grip is shaking.

You start to move.

A slow grind, rolling your hips in lazy circles, the friction sending sparks up your spine. Joel’s eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry, his jaw clenched tight as he watches the way you take him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, breath hot. “Ride me. Just like that.”

You keep the rhythm steady, deliberate, dragging your cunt over him slow and deep, making sure he feels every inch of you.

His thumb brushes over your clit, just once—and your whole body clenches around him.

Joel moans, hand tightening in your hair as he pulls your mouth to his. The kiss is filthy—tongue, teeth, the kind that has you whimpering against him, grinding harder, chasing the heat already burning in your belly.

You feel yourself unraveling, pressure building sharp and fast.

His voice is raw. Wrecked.

"Want you to come for me, darlin'. Wanna feel you tighten around me, wanna watch you lose it on my cock. Can you do that for me? Show me how good I make you feel?"

You whine, the sound caught somewhere between a plea and his name.

"So fuckin' gorgeous like this," he murmurs, hand tightening in your hair. "Look at me. Look at me when you come."

Your eyes fly open, meeting his, and the second his thumb rubs a slow circle over your clit, you shatter.

Your orgasm hits hard—tight and shattering, your body pulsing around him. Joel holds you through it, groaning low when you clench down on him, his hands sliding to your ass to keep you moving.

He starts to thrust up into you, fucking you faster now. You cry out, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he fucks up into you, his cock hitting deeper now, harder, the angle sharp and perfect.

You’re still trembling when you feel him get closer—his thrusts losing rhythm, cock twitching inside you.

His voice is low and ragged.

"I'm not gonna last much longer, sweetheart."

His head’s tipped back against the pillows, throat exposed, sweat shining at his temple. He looks completely wrecked already, mouth parted, lashes low.

You can feel him getting close — the way his rhythm falters, the way his hands grip your waist a little tighter, the way his breath stutters every time you move your hips just right. He’s beneath you, broad and burning hot, his eyes locked on yours like he can’t look away.

You’re close too, but it’s more than that now.

It’s the way he looks at you like he wants to memorize this. The way he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way he hasn’t said a word about love, but you can feel it in every brush of his fingertips, every quiet groan when you kiss his throat, every time he whispers your name like it’s a prayer.

And maybe that’s what pushes it over the edge.

That ache in your chest. The way his walls have been lowering, piece by piece, only with you. The way you’ve seen more of him in the last few nights than the rest of the world ever will.

He’s given you so much — his quiet, his loyalty, his trust. And now you want to give him something back. Not just your body, not just this moment. Something real. Something intimate. Something that says: I see you. I feel this too.

So you lean down, kiss the corner of his mouth, and whisper it, soft but certain.

“Joel,” you whisper, breath brushing his jaw, “I want you to come inside me."

His whole body stills beneath you.

For a split second, Joel just stares up at you — like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then he breathes out your name, quiet and wrecked. “Jesus.”

His hands slide up your sides, slow, reverent, like he needs to feel you say it again.

“You sure?” he manages, voice hoarse, eyes searching yours like he’s terrified to believe it.

“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I want it all.”

Joel growls low in his throat, one hand gripping your thigh as he buries himself deep. “Then take it,” he pants. “Take it all, darlin’. Fuck, I can't—"

His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His pace gone messy, no rhythm left now, just instinct. Need. He pulls you flush against him, chest to chest, your fingers threading into his curls as he fucks up into you with a kind of desperate reverence.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” His voice is ragged. “Feels so fuckin’ good—can’t hold it, can’t—”

Joel lets out a broken sound and comes deep inside you hard, clutching your body to his like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath catches in his throat, mouth pressed to your collarbone as he rides it out with slow, jerking thrusts, filling you with all of him.

And you don’t let go. You stay wrapped around him, arms and legs tangled, your body still twitching in the aftermath, pulsing around him as he softens inside you.

Neither of you move.

The room is silent except for your breathing — heavy and slow, like your hearts are trying to find the same rhythm.

Joel cups the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his. “You—” he starts, then shakes his head like he can’t find the words. "God damn."

You smile, soft. Press a kiss to his temple, the curve of his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

And even though you don't say it, the truth hangs in the air, thick and unmistakable.

We can't go back from this.

Eventually, his hands slide down to your hips, fingers splayed wide, not pulling you off of him—just holding you there. You stay like that for a while, bodies still joined, your cheek pressed to his chest, his hand stroking slow circles along your spine.

But eventually, he shifts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gentle. “C’mere.”

He helps you ease off him, slow and careful, like he’s worried you’ll break. You can feel it as he pulls out — the warmth of him spilling out between your thighs — and you instinctively press your legs together.

Joel watches, lips parted, eyes dark.

Then his fingers trail down, soft but certain. He touches you gently, fingers sweeping through the mess, and when some of it starts to drip down your thigh, he groans quietly — almost to himself — and brings his hand back up, pushing it back inside you with slow, careful pressure.

His eyes meet yours.

“Don’t want to waste a drop,” he says, quiet. Honest.

You tremble.

He presses a kiss to your knee, to the inside of your thigh, then crawls back up beside you, pulling the sheets over both of you.

And this time, when he wraps his arms around you — one hand at your waist, the other brushing your hair back — you finally let yourself believe it’s real.

You fall asleep with him still close, still inside you in the ways that matter. His heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His breath warm against your skin.

You don’t say it out loud—how safe this feels, how rare. But you let yourself rest in it anyway. And that feels like enough—for tonight, for tomorrow. For however long he’ll let you stay.

[preciosapascal]

this is all I need to get by.

[preciosapascal]

Wide Open

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After a long day of work, Joel expects nothing more from the evening than getting some shut-eye. Fate has other plans, however, because the daughter of the family next door forgot to close her blinds again and is putting on quite the show.

TL;DR: Joel gets off watching you get off.

W.C: ~2.8k

Warnings: pervyneighbour!joel x reader, he's a tiny bit of a creep, accidental voyeurism (kind of…), mutual masturbation, dildo usage, lowkey a tiny breeding kink, implied age gap as per ushe (late-40s, early-20s), (no outbreak!)

Note: this is your daily reminder to close your blinds, y'all. unless joel miller is your neighbour. then maybe don't, and fuck with him.

Joel always said he’d retire ‘soon’. 

Though as the years flew by, ‘soon’ remained ambiguously distant.

Presently, he had just come home from an unnecessarily hard day at work where some Einstein had misread the blueprint and cut every single piece of lumber half an inch too short. 

Joel was pushing fifty now. If asked toward his earlier adulthood, he’d have claimed that fifty-years-old balanced right on the precipice of retirement. And by sixty, he’d be golfing daily, attempting to read something other than the backs of DVDs, and not worrying about stupid shit like redoing an entire section of framing because of Romero’s shitty-fucking-eyesight.

“Fuckin’ Romero,” Joel mumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

With heavy footsteps, he ambled toward the fridge, praying he had the foresight the night before to leave a can or two of Modelo for his future self.

The unwelcoming sterile glare of the fridge light greeted him as he yanked open the door. Worse, it greeted him with its contents, or lack thereof.

No Modelo. 

Not even a lone, pitiful can of Keystone Light that Joel may have bought in desperation as a crappy substitute for literally any other beer.

Making a mental note to pick up a six-pack sometime tomorrow and, further down the line to maybe cut down on the beer, Joel trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

The bedframe whined with a metallic creak as he sat on the edge, rubbing his hands down his face and feeling the scrape of his overgrown stubble on his worn palms.

Joel was more than ready to call it a night, he thought, as he leaned over to draw the curtains.

But he froze upon seeing you.

The two-story craftsman next door, formerly a ‘fixer-upper’, had been home to you and your parents ever since you moved in from the city a year ago. Your parents were mild-mannered neighbours who sent the street Christmas cards and kept the porch light on and took part in the neighbourhood watch patrol.

And you? You never made your bed, always had a book in your hands before sleeping, and more importantly, had a very noticeable habit of neglecting to close the blinds of your bedroom window.

Joel knew this, of course, because the bedroom of the two-story craftsman facing house just so happened to belong to you.

“Shit,” Joel heaved a heavy sigh, still clutching the drawstring with notable tenseness.

Your cream-coloured blinds were slanted completely horizontally, allowing a direct view into your bedroom. And Joel found himself helplessly entranced, watching the back of your silhouette pull your shirt over your head and fling it across the room.

Fuck, you were very possibly wearing his favourite bra. The lacey ones that pushed your tits up real nice–

No. No, Joel, didn’t have a favourite bra of yours. What kind of neighbour would keep track of the family next door’s daughter’s bras? 

You turned around and, to his delight, confirmed that you were wearing the exact pair.

Him, evidently.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, running a hand through his greying hair and letting out a deep exhale.

You continued undressing, seemingly oblivious to the state of your blinds and the lack of privacy that state entailed. And further, oblivious of the old man next door watching intently as you unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them.

A thong. You had chosen to wear a thong that day. Because, of course, you had.

Bright red and stringy and covering virtually nothing, which left no part of your lower half to the imagination and Joel was able to see most of your perfect fucking pussy from the house over—

“The fuck am I doing?” Joel mumbled to himself and decidedly tore himself away from his window.

What was he doing? 

It wasn’t like you were strangers. He knew you. He came over to barbecues hosted in your back garden, fixed the leak in your kitchen sink when your dad had called, and watched the Superbowl in your living room that one year.

And, as much as he may have indulged in watching you before, he had never lingered as much as just did. Usually, he’d be sated with a few seconds of your half-dressed state, and would only later conjure up that image in the shower to fuck his fist to.

The tightness in his pants seemed to disagree with that plan, and Joel was overcome with an overwhelming need to settle his problem down south immediately.

Joel turned back to his window, determined to draw the curtains shut once and for all and then quickly jerk off to the mere thought of you (not that that was a noble action in and of itself), when he, for the second time that evening, froze at the sight of you.

Your bedroom was furnished in a way that had your bed facing your window. So, your wonderfully respectful neighbour could easily have direct views of you lying on your bed chatting on your phone, or reading, or spread out and running your fingers through your slick folds.

If Joel thought he was hard before, he was definitely, painfully, rock-hard now.

As careless as you may have been in the past, you have never forgotten to close your blinds to this degree before.

And, owing to that logic, you would never slip up like this again.

So, one would be incredibly stupid to not take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“Fuck it,” Joel inhaled sharply.

He scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his jeans and pull them down just enough to tug his raging erection out of his briefs, all while desperately keeping his gaze set on you.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he let the other wrap around his cock, fisting it leisurely as he watched you take open-mouthed breaths while your fingers traced up your seam to rub at your clit, your thong haphazardly pushed to the side.

You looked so pretty like that; lying on your bed and touching yourself as if you had pent-up emotions of need you desperately ached to satisfy.

You went slowly, dragging your fingers down along your wet cunt and against your throbbing clit, likely savouring the intensity.

Joel matched your pace, his fist sliding in a lazy tempo around his aching member.

Fuck, he’d do anything to grind his cock against your pussy; feel it shiver and clench around nothing and coat his length with your seeping slick. He’d bet all his money he could make you come without even putting it inside, too. Needy fucking slut.

And then you dipped a finger inside. 

Then another. 

God, with the way you seemed to be shaking around two of your own slender fingers, Joel was sure you’d be a mess riding his. 

Fuck, he’d even give you a third just to see you lose your fucking mind.

Maybe you’d beg him to stop, crying prettily and gasping in pitchy breaths that you just couldn’t take any more. But Joel believed you could, and he’d tell you so as he slipped his index finger to join the other two, feeling you clench around them—

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand and it was all he could do not to come early and let the show go to waste. Instead, he adopted a faster tempo, trying his damnedest to follow yours, however erratic it was.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan and you tossed your head back against your pillows as your fingers sped up in their ministrations.

Shit, you probably sounded real fuckin’ sweet, all overwhelmed with pleasure.

Again, your mouth parted, letting out a syllable of something Joel couldn’t hear, your tongue flicking out momentarily as you sounded it out.

Maybe it was Joel’s twisted imagination, but he was somewhat sure you had just moaned his name.

You probably didn’t, but it was a nice fucking dream, anyway.

He’d do just about anything to hear his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer or screamed like a plea as he relentlessly pounded into your tight fucking pussy. And, if given the opportunity, he’d fuck you so hard, a slurred babble of name would be the only thing you could say.

A familiar warmth began to pool at the pit of his stomach and his cock tensed even more.

Fuck, he was close.

And, he assumed you were, too, owing to the sheen of sweat on your body glistening under your lamp and the giant breaths you were heaving in.

“C’mon, babygirl.” He encouraged aloud despite being a good distance out of earshot, his voice coming out raspy and low. “Come for me,”

He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment your eyes fluttered shut and your hand stilled so he could close his eyes and imagine fucking his load into your spent cunt.

But no such series of events occurred.

Unexpectedly, however, you pulled your fingers out and flopped over on your stomach to reach for the bottom drawer of your bedside table.

What… the fuck?

Did you come already? Without Joel noticing? Shit, he definitely was too cocky in his familiarity with the female body if he didn’t clock your orgasm.

“Goddamnit.” Joel sighed, his hand coming to a complete stop.

Maybe it was better this way. 

Maybe Joel could still salvage what little morality he retained and beg for forgiveness from the higher powers above—

And no, actually, he couldn’t because, being the dirty fucking whore you were, you pulled out what he recognised to be a dildo from your nightstand.

You stopped fingering yourself to get a dildo from your nightstand.

“Filthy girl,” Joel tutted through a depraved smile, watching with hazy, lust-flooded eyes as you sat back down, spat directly on the tip of the sex toy, and positioned it in front of your weeping pussy.

Who knew that the sweet girl next door, the one who always offered to help carry groceries or to water his plants while he was away, kept a thick fucking dildo near her bed.

Not just any dildo, either, Joel realised.

It must have been his lucky fucking day, because, upon squinting at the unholy sight, Joel discerned that the shade of which the toy was painted almost exactly matched the rich tan of his skin tone.

In other words, it was now going to be much easier to imagine himself fucking you when a close replica of his cock was pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt.

“You gonna put it in, sweetheart?” Joel sighed, his grip tightening around his length as he watched your dawdling.

Fuck, he was going to get humanity’s worst case of blue balls if you stretched this out any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Jus’ put it in. ‘S not that hard,” He all but whined.

He, a man pushing fifty, basically whined. Good lord, what kind of fucking temptress were you?

Thankfully, it seemed as though you heard his words, because right after, you had slid the first few inches inside your walls, gasping at its girth.

“Yeah, there you go.” Joel sucked in a sharp inhale as he thrust up into his fist. “That all? Oh, babygirl, you can give yourself more.”

As if reading his mind, you slowly began feeding yourself the rest of the tanned dildo, throwing your head backwards and chanting that syllable that was so dangerously close to Joel’s name.

For the purpose of that night, Joel took the liberty of imagining it was, in fact, his own name as he fucked up fully into his fist.

When you finally took the toy to the hilt, its fake carved balls pressing against your ass, you started moving it in and out of your drenched seam at a steady pace.

Joel let out a string of incoherent curses under his breath, which quickly turned into strained groans as he mirrored your rhythm, practically feeling the way your pretty pussy clenched around that fake dick.

Your chest was expanding and contracting frantically now and you were no doubt releasing breathy moans from the sensation of fucking yourself with those eight generous inches.

Joel wished he was in that room with you to give you the same and then some. 

He’d kiss his way down to your tits and take a nipple into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of your skin as he bent you in half and made you see stars.

He wouldn’t even have cared too much if you passed out, as long as, when you woke up, he was still driving into you and kissing your cervix with each thrust, sending you barrelling into orgasm after unbound orgasm.

He’d hold out as long as it took to get you completely sated, and even a little more after. Maybe he’d even pop a certain little blue pill just to watch himself fuck his come deep inside you again and again after rounds of laborious exertion.

Joel’s dick twitched again at the mere thought.

And again, upon seeing the sight of you pulling the soaking dildo out of your tight hole and manoeuvering yourself to hover above the thing like you were about to sit on it.

Christ alive. You were going to ride your dildo.

“Shit,” Joel breathed, his eyes widening slightly. God, this would be a treat to watch.

Worrying your teeth on your lower lip, you began to slowly sink down on the toy, a silent scream leaving your parted lips as you steadily took it all the way to the fucking hilt.

Joel, he imagined you to have mewled. Joel, you’re so fucking big.

“‘S okay, sweetie, you’re doin’ real well.” Joel sighed, watching you adjust to the size. “Brave girl, doin’ so good. Now, go on and ride that cock. C’mon, baby.”

And so you did.

Bouncing up and down on the toy, your mouth opening in a steady stream of what seemed to be expletives, and your tits springing from your efforts.  

Fuck, in his forty-something years of life, Joel had never seen such a pretty sight.

And, there you were, repeating that mystery syllable like your life depended on it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, he envisioned you whimpering.

You were close again. He was sure of it. If it wasn’t already painstakingly obvious from the way you were eagerly swiping at your swollen clit.

And so, he finally gave in and began fucking up into his fist—his hips intensely chasing his hand—at the ferocity at which he dreamed to ram inside you, dragging against your velvety walls and feeling as you shivered uncontrollably around him.

He was close, too. Very fucking close.

“Come for me, sweet thing. C’mon. Be a good … fuck, be a good slut for me and come around that cock.” Joel breathed, eyes glued to the display of you feverishly riding the toy.

Then, suddenly, your mouth opened in a long scream as you nearly went cross-eyed.

Shortly after, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your body fell still on the dildo, the only movements being small rolls of your hips against the rubber length as your breathing began to even.

You came.

Fucking finally. 

Joel shut his eyes and pictured driving into your throbbing, dripping cunt, hearing your pitchy whines as he shushed you with little follow-through.

Gonna come inside, he’d tell you in between heavy, strained breaths. To which, you’d frantically alert him of the fact that you weren’t on the pill and the two of you had chosen to forgo the assistance of a condom.

But Joel’d come inside you anyway. Mark up his pretty girl with pearly ropes of his come. And he’d keep you filled up as long as he fucking could.

Before he knew it, Joel was coming hard and fast into his fist, wildly jerking in and out of his grip as he rode out his high.

It took a few more moments for him to slow down, and a good number more for him to stop fully.

“Fucking hell,” Joel sighed as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, reaching over to a nearby table and plucking a few pieces of tissue out of its box to clean himself up with.

Satisfied, he crumpled up the tissues, tossed them into a nearby trashcan and gently tucked himself back in.

His head hung low as he caught his breath and tried not to linger on the dubious ethics of what had just transpired.

While that had possibly been the best jerk in his life, it was undoubtedly very non-consensual. At least, on your side.

After all, you hadn’t explicitly given him permission to fuck his fist to the sight of you doing… whatever fucking marathon that was.

At least, he didn’t think you did.

Until, bing!

Joel angled his head to catch sight of his phone lighting up with a recent notification.

Unsure of who could be texting him at that hour, Joel took it in his hands and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his passcode.

It was a message from you.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

Joel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

So, you had seen him. Possibly even orchestrated the whole ordeal; neglecting to close your blinds on purpose, wearing that bra, and, well, fucking yourself right by your window.

Shit. Well, he couldn’t just come over and fuck you silly … could he?

Then, another text came.

You: home alone.

Joel never put on his shoes faster.

[preciosapascal]

joel miller hcs ♡ post-outbreak

sfw

boyfriend!joel who isn’t “entirely sure how to do this relationship thang anymore.” joel had been with someone before, you knew this, but you didn’t mind. joel had told you of tess, how he was with her for a while but it wasn’t how he felt with you. he was stubborn to come about his feelings, yes, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t work with. you were patient. that’s what ellie thinks makes you two work so well. he’s stubborn, and as he is stubborn you’re just as patient. you work with him. allow him to come to you in your own time.

boyfriend!joel who is losing his mind the first time you get hurt out on patrol. “you weren’t supposed to be there.” he’d murmured into your hair, sighing heavily when you’d only laughed in response. joel knows you can handle yourself and it’s a thing that he admires about you, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying about you and your health. joel sat by your bedside in jackson’s infirmary until you were just about cleared. he spent his time gripping your hand in his whenever he wasn’t sleeping or going to check on ellie.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but love the way you treat his ellie. he hears the two of you stay up and talk into all hours of the morning. about what? he doesn’t really know besides the fact that you refuse to share what the conversations are about. “why don’t you ask our girl yourself?” you’d told him, smiling so sweetly he couldn’t bring himself to scowl at you for being a brat. you spend most of your time with ellie if not with him or maria. you take her to the library with you, as well as the gardening section you sometimes assist with. if ellie’s on patrol, you’re on patrol, and it warms his heart in a way he can’t quite pinpoint.

boyfriend!joel who loves you because you are his polar opposite and his mediator between him and his daughter. ellie is too rash while joel is too calculated, leaving you to be just right. you’re often the one to make final decisions in the household over the dumbest of things. your favorite memory is the first time ellie officially began to hang out with dina and jesse. joel was worried out of his mind that jesse would try something with ellie, and how desperately you wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about.

boyfriend!joell who doesn’t know how to completely express his love for you and ultimately fumbles a bit in the early stages of your relationship. you were supposed to go on your second date with joel at his house, he’d said he was going to make dinner and ellie would remain in her little room in the back. you’d spent all day thinking of it, even losing track of books and stressing yourself out over where’d you last put them. maria found it adorable, if anything. she’d told you to go ahead and leave early if you were that excited. you had a few nice items of clothing from the many runs you and some of the others had done, and this little red number was just perfect. you’d practically skipped to joel’s house only for him to not answer when you knocked. you remember ellie coming through and opening the door, eyes widening before cursing joel out loud and turning to pull you into the house. “um, he hasn’t come back from the job he was workin’ yet so maybe we should wait?” you’re positive ellie could feel the embarrassment flowing off of you in waves but you agreed with the younger girl anyway.

boyfriend!joel who’d came in an hour later, flustered and visibly stressed. he found you and ellie curled on his couch watching freaky friday, and his chest had tightened because you looked so beautiful. “(name)- goddammit.” he murmured, running a hand down his face. “ellie,” he paused to look at her, using his chin to gesture for her to leave. “go. please.” he added the please quietly, stress clear on his face. it was probably the only reason she left without a word. “listen, (name), i’m sorr-” but you’d already stood with a soft smile. “no, it’s fine. i’ll go and we can try again another time, okay?” he’d believe you if you hadn’t swallowed thickly, pushing some hair from your face. joel could feel the guilt creeping up his chest and god did it make him sick. “no, darlin’ jus’ give me a minute and i can make us somethin’ to eat. i’m sorry. i like you, sugar i just…it’s been a day ‘m sorry.” you smile genuinely at that and find your feet moving their way towards him. “you like me, miller?” your eyes are gentle when he looks down at you, and joel realizes you make him feel safe. “we can make another day out for this, ‘m not going anywhere ‘cause of one mishap. i was embarrassed, yes, but you were caught up with patrol and such there’s nothing to do about that. we’re fine, joel. i promise.” you press a gentle kiss to his cheek, to the other, then to his lips. “we can try again, hm?”

nsfw

boyfriend!joel who fucks you rough and nasty. his hips are always so rough against yours as his beard tickles the side of you neck while he kisses down it. his fingers dig into your hips and the most you can do is whimper out his name. your eyes roll to the back of your head and youre grappling at his back desperately for any type of leverage. anything to keep your body grounded from the euphoria taking it over. “thas’ it sweet thing. you’re taking me so well, hm?” you can only nod as a sob rips from your throat, legs tightening around your boyfriend’s hips to pull him deeper within you. joel grips your jaw with his free hand, forcing you to look him in his eyes as he fucks you deeper. he pushes you further into the bed, hips slamming against yours at a stuttering pace. “joel- can’t- can’t- feels weird.” you sob out, closing your eyes only for them to flutter open when you cum. you cum hard, fluids spraying against his lower abdomen and some getting on the sheets. joel’s eyes change a certain way when he witnesses you squirt for the first time, and the twitch of his cock tells you he’s far from done.

boyfriend!joel who has a thing for face fucking. joel loves to get you on your knees or have you lay over the side of the bed. he’ll purr sweetly at you, “you gonna take it, pretty girl?” and you eat it up everytime. you’re looking up at him with big eyes, pressing kisses to his thighs and mumbling about how good you can be. he likes to take things slow before he uses his throat by tracing his thumb along your lip before tapping his cock against your lips. “go ahead sweet thing. take what you want.” and you’re already spitting on his cock, stroking him a few times before taking him in your mouth. you move up and down his cock, getting used to the size despite how many times you’ve taken him down your throat. joel knows when you’ve gotten settled because you take him all the way down your throat and hold it, blinking up at him like the most innocent thing in the world. joel prefers to grab your hair, pulling back before fucking into your throat slow and deep. he holds you there despite your sputtering and choking, only pulling out when he feels it’s enough. when joel begins to fuck your throat you can never help but guide your hands down to your cunt. you’re moaning around his dick while tears fall from your eyes, pitiful and shaking hands desperately rubbing at your clit. your hips jut into your hands to no avail, because only joel can make you cum the way you want to. his grip always tightens unbearably when he’s about to cum, and his hips stop deep in your pretty little throat to cum down it. “thas’ my sweet girl. takin’ this dick like it was made for ya.”

boyfriend!joel who loves nothing more than to eat you out. he loves the feeling of your warmth against his mouth, the way your pussy is so responsive to his actions. he loves to run his tongue through your folds before suckling on your clit. he rubs your clit slow and steady, watching your reactions to his ministrations. you cover your eyes with your forearm in an attempt to hide the tears already trying to form in your pretty eyes. joel chuckles at your actions before pulling back and pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “remember you gotta be quiet, pretty.” you nod quickly, whimpering softly because you need him to move. when joel starts he never really knows how to stop. he goes in, fingers stretching you deliciously while his lips work on your clit. he latches on and sucks, pulling the most wanton of moans from your lips. your hips jut against his face with a soft sob and you’re desperately trying to hang on to your already building orgasm. joel doesn’t care though. he only hooks his fingers in your cunt and thrusts, pulling back to spit on your pussy as if you weren’t wet enough. he flattens his tongue against your pussy, peeking up at you with what could only be a smug look in his eyes. “you gonna cum on my face, sweets?” you nod, shaking your head harder when you began to thrust up against his tongue. “gonna-” joel shakes his head. “don’t say it, do it.” and you’re creaming on his face as a cry rips through your throat.

boyfriend!joel who likes to fuck you in one of the check-in stations while the two of you are out on patrol. he rubs his hands down your sides, pinning you against the table of he little shack. you’re looking up at him with a cheeky smile that makes him raise a brow at your attitude. “what? you gonna fuck me in a lil shack ‘cause you can’t hold it? ‘nd you say i’m the slut.” joel doesn’t take attitude and you’re fully aware. trust. so you’re not surprised when his previous loving strokes down your side go rigid. he scoffs airily, “turn around.” you bite down on your lip but comply anyway, undoing your belt to allow him to pull your pants down easier. joel laughs from behind you, murmuring something along the lines of “fuckin’ slut.” and he tugs your pants and panties down in one tug. he runs his middle finger through your folds, tuting softly when he feels the slick build on his finger. “fuckin’ slut was already thinkin’ about getting fucked over this table, huh?” you moan softly, nodding to answer his question. you wiggle your ass out to him, looking over your shoulder with a pout. “please, joel? need it s’bad.” he laughs again this time, though it’s deeper and full of some sort of intent. he doesn’t say anything following his laugh, prompting you to turn around to ask again. “shut it.” joel snaps, thrusting into you in one quick, delicious thrust. your question dies on your lips as you lean forward and moan loud and deep, your pussy clenching tightly around your boyfriend. your eyes water from the sudden intrusion and your toes attempt to curl in your shoes. “mhm, bet you shut the fuck up now.” he hisses in your ear, gripping the back of your head to pull you back up with him. joel’s thrusts are hard and unforgiving, a pace he sets only for when you’ve been a brat or simply asked for it. you sob out his name, begging for him to slow down and that your pussy can’t take it. “can’t take it? didn’t you jus’ try to beg for it? you beg for it then you fuckin’ take it. take what you get sweet girl. ain’t that right?” words are lost to your little brain and you can only muster up a nod to his questions and statements. the hand that isn’t holding you up rests on your clit, giving it a sharp slap before he’s rubbing it like you aren’t already twitching against him. “oh my- fuck!” joel’s thrust only further the deep knot forming in your tummy, making you squirm and twitch in his grip. he chuckles when he feels you clench, too fucking tight, and you’re screaming and sobbing as you cum on his dick. “atta fuckin’ girl.” he lets you go, bending you over to ride out his own orgasm. your fingernails dig into the wooden desk, leaving scratch marks you would have a hard time explaining to the next couple to come out here for inspection. “shit, this pussy gotta be made for me. my pretty slut with a pretty pussy, hm?” you nod against the desk, praying a splinter doesnt find it’s way into your face. “good.” you’re crying out, cumming again as joel’s balls slap against your pussy one final time. he cums deep inside of you, holding your hips down to ensure his seed stays deep inside of your pretty cunt. he pulls out, watching the way his cum oozes out of your pussy. “a sight i ain’ ever getting tired of.” he hums, shoving his fingers back into you.

[preciosapascal]

joel miller hcs ♡ pre-outbreak

sfw

boyfriend!joel who feels his pretty young girlfriend is too good for him. he sees the way your eyes light up at the most miscellaneous of things and simply adores the way you’re the sunshine to his rainy day. he feels that you should have a chance to get settled and be happy, not be with your neighbor that just-so-happens to be an old man in need of a break. his feelings don’t matter, though, because everytime you come back from work you’re immediately at his house, smiling sweetly at him and pressing the softest of kisses to his lips.

boyfriend!joel who can’t take his eyes off of you while you take care of his sarah. the way you cook breakfast for her in his shirt and some shorts and dance around with his little girl while listening to “hey ya!” by outkast. sarah dances while mixing the pancake mix you’d ask her to, and you take care of the eggs and bacon. joel’s heart hasn’t felt this full since sarah was born. it’s on this day that joel realizes he wants to marry you. give you the kids you wistfully speak about while watching sarah fall asleep between the two of you. he wants to give you the family you deserve.

boyfriend!joel who glares at sarah’s soccer coach that keeps ogling you everytime you come to watch his little girl play. he doesn’t care what you wear, the short shorts and replica of sarah’s jersey are the least of his concern. it’s the eyes of the coach, amongst other fathers attending the game, that pisses him off. he knows not to make a scene because sarah would kill him, probably wouldn’t speak to him for days, but he can’t help the way his fist clenches and his teeth grind together. his anger clears when your sweet giggle floats through his ears, and your free hand that you’d been holding a sprite in tangles with his own. “you can’t possibly be jealous, baby.” you’d purred, grinning up at your boyfriend. “i’m goin’ home with you and my little girl after this. don’t worry about who’s lookin’ joel, they can look all they want.”

boyfriend!joel who takes pride in his girlfriend having a better job than him. you’re 28, fresh out of medical school with a doctorate in orthopedics. you work at the hospital down the street from sarah’s school and joel swears he has never been this attracted to scrubs before. he remembers the time you had to bring him lunch because he’d left it, and he can only presume you were on break or didn’t have any patients because you’d arrived in your scrubs with a happy smile on your face. “joel ‘s that your girl?” “mmmhm, that’s my doctor.”

boyfriend!joel who cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself. it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, joel is going to have this hands on you! when you’re going grocery shopping his hand is settled on you waist, walking in step with you as you browse the aisles. sarah usually trots ahead of you two while talking about soccer or her school day if you’ve gone afterwards. when you’re at home, even if you’re just watching a movie or cooking, he’s kissing the side of your head and asking you the most miscellaneous of questions. you’ve discovered his love language is physical touch. (as if you could miss it)

nsfw

boyfriend!joel who eats you out like he’s never eaten before. he’s dragging his tongue through your folds while his fingers busy themselves with rubbing your puffy clit. he’s made you cum once already by ordering you to use him, to move your hips as you needed to cum on his face. now he’s ignoring your cries for him to slow down, your soft cry of “‘s too much” only fuels him further, makes him eat your pussy like a madman. joel knows what makes you tick, he knows what spots to hit to make that pretty cunt clench and he does it for you every. single. time.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but to fuck you dumb. he’s never trying to overwhelm you, to make you go stupid on his cock. no that’s never his intention. but he can’t deny how pretty you look with your eyes glossed over, fingers digging into his back, and your lips parted in nothing but ecstasy. he enjoys the way his smart girl loses all her senses with a little dick. he enjoys knowing his smart girl is just a slut with a degree, and it makes him harder the more he thinks about it. 

boyfriend!joel who couldn’t control himself after you mentioned wanting kids. you’re talking with your friends that’d come over for a bit, and the statement comes out soft and sweet. “i want kids, i just don’t know if joel wants to start over.” you’d hummed, smiling softly at your friend’s 6 month old daughter. the evening passed quickly after that, and with sarah gone with her friends, joel has the entire night to make sure you have that baby you want so badly. it isn’t long before you find yourself in full nelson, pussy gushing and tears falling from your eyes. “joel- oh-” you gasp out as your eyes roll and your pussy tightens around your boyfriend’s dick. joel groans from above you, pulling his hips all the way out to snap them back against you. “aht, baby, you gotta take it all. you wanted a baby, i jus’ gotta give it to you. take it pretty mama, take this dick.”

boyfriend!joel who talks you through every orgasm. either the sweetest of phrases leavehis lips or the nastiest. joel likes to watch you fall apart with a satisfied grin on his face. “that’s it, my good girl. mmhm, let go f’me sweet girl. that’s it- jus’ like that baby.” and he’s leaning over to kiss you softly while your body shakes from your orgasm, your eyes are closed to prevent them from rolling and he finds it cute because he can still tell. he knows how good he makes you feel. it’s his pride and joy.

boyfriend!joel who knows how to use his accent. he knows you aren’t originally from texas and that southern accent simply do something to you. you believe it to be the huskiness of his voice mixed with the deep rumble of the sheer power of his voice, it all melts over you like a blanket. joel likes to whisper in your ear, deep and low. “thas’ my pretty slut, hm? takin’ this dick like she’s a professional.” and you’re moaning, clenching the sheets as he presses down on the middle of your back. his voice only becomes clearer with each stroke, and he’s practically splitting you down the middle while whispering in your ear. “come now, darlin’. there’s no way you’re cumming offa listening to me.” he laughs this low and raspy laugh that is so sexy to you. you can only whine in response, glancing over your shoulder with a little pout decorating your puffy lips. “can’t help it, baby.” you whimper out, not a thought going through your mind save for joel joel joel.  

[preciosapascal]

#character development

[preciosapascal]

You ever just start drooling from looking at a picture... yeah I definitely did.