#jelly shoes for women | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soullumii · 2 years ago

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stranded | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...

warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)

“Damn it!”

You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.

Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.

The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.

Yeah, you wish he would right about now.

“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly.

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather.

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!)

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine.

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again.

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man.

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time.

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready.

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.”

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“I don’t need your help,” you huff.

He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.

You glower. “Maybe.”

Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes.

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you.

Stay? With him?

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out.

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat.

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow.

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile.

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter.

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.)

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?”

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie.

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel.

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.

“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”

He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.

Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”

Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile.

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.”

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it.

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room.

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin.

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands.

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily.

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite.

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it.

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.”

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?”

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’”

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now.

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok.

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you.

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?”

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process.

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words.

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.”

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave.

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect.

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night.

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin.

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.”

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly.

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on.

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow.

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.”

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in.

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs.

Holy shit.

You can feel everything.

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck.

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours.

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin.

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts.

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel.

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you.

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way?

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator.

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going.

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat.

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals.

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt.

“Joel—“ you quietly moan.

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake.

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?”

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.”

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp.

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?”

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being.

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.”

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.”

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release.

“Hhhoh— Joel!”

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat.

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan.

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep.

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck.

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten.

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible?

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled.

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

“There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand.

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow.

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release.

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you.

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs.

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good?

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you.

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear.

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always.

See you soon.

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over.

Always. Does he really mean that?

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time.

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases.

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock.

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps.

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks.

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.”

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago.

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin.

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused.

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

“No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess.

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his.

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you.

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed.

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone.

“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller

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hwsforeignrelations · 5 months ago

Text

on the importance of rest

Word Count: 2,814 // AO3 Link

Summary: Following a long meeting between American and English naval leaders, Arthur notices the nation across the table appears unwell and resolves to help. Massages, flirting and tenderness ensues. ********

1910

“Thank you for finding the time, Admiral Wilson. It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” smiled U.S. navy’s Admiral Fredrick Dent Grant, extending his hand to the British Admiral of the Fleet Sir Arthur Wilson.

“Good afternoon, Admiral Grant. The pleasure is mine,” the two men exchanged hands and dove into discussion, behind them a brunette secretary recording away on her glossy typewriter.

Alfred F. Jones, seated amongst other present American navy officers, took a moment to appreciate both men’s impressive mustaches. Beams of light from the wide window caught the shine of petroleum jelly holding Grant’s delicately curved handlebar. The observation was enough to distract him from the fatigue of travel and the sore knots in his shoulder and back that forced his body into a rightward slant.

An enormous portrait of Lord Horatio Nelson watched over the proceedings from his place on the wall. Every so often, Alfred watched Arthur’s gaze return to the painting, a look on the Englishman’s sharp face Alfred couldn’t name.

The nation looked very well, glowing with the health and energy of his absurdly massive empire. His perfect posture, steely green gaze, and sharp angles made him the most interesting man in the room (in Alfred’s opinion), and he had to avoid staring too long else the other took notice.

Arthur didn’t need any grander of an ego.

The Admirality’s House in London was always a sight. Artifacts from Arthur’s prized naval victories; every room bathed in abundant natural light from tall, glittering windows shielded by artfully pleated curtains, warm wood tones, intricate engravings, expensive carpets and furniture and, most importantly, the feeling of great importance.

Everyone in that room, uniforms fresh and starched, buttons and shoes polished to a shine, chin high, felt very important.

Alfred would too, if he didn’t feel like he’d been run over by an ocean liner and backed over by a tugboat. A twinge in his lower back jolted Alfred straight, and Alfred forced himself to pay attention, trying to ignore what felt like an oncoming spasm,

“... prudent cooperation, Germany’s (amongst others) naval expansion shifts the strategic landscape…” Wilson’s rounded accent droned on, and Alfred soon gave up. How did anyone pay attention to these things?

It astounded Alfred, that so much intel, responsible for the functioning of militaries, could be so unengaging. Much as he liked to imagine otherwise, it was difficult not hanging onto every word spoken in that crisp London accent. Yet these meetings, unless an argument broke out, managed the impossible.

Rather than listening, he instead decided to address the issue, subtly stretching out the tight muscles. Grabbing his left upper arm, mindful of the stiff stitches in his brand new uniform, Alfred pulled it forward, breathing through the screaming of his deltoid. Conversation droned on and on, after ten minutes of very small tugs the pull no longer made him want to scream. God was he tired. The trip across the Atlantic had been very last minute.

After receiving the telegram from his cabin in Minnesota, during a brief rest of the week’s non-stop days firewood chopping for the nearby town, the American had made a hurried drive to DC, scrambled for two all-nighters over a desk to complete overdue work, then staggered onto the RMS Olympic amongst other Navy personnel.

Four days of continuous elbow-rubbing, formal dancing, excellent evening company from the young women aboard, smoke-room chatter and very little sleep in between was enough to sap even Alfred’s infinite extroversion.

He was about ready to drop, and could feel the exhaustion making his neck and face hot beneath the starched uniform, causing his glasses to fog.

_____________________

Arthur listened idly to the admirals waxing diplomacy, looking between Nelson’s proud portrait, the speakers, and Alfred’s worrying behavior. The lad looked half dead, making feverish motions at his arm, albeit subtle.

But oh, the way the honey-blond hair refused to remain in its gelled prison, the handsome curves of his cheekbones and jaw, the touch of maturity from the lenses balanced over his nose, the broadness of his shoulders beneath the stiff uniform… It would be ridiculous to deny the American his good looks, and Arthur didn’t try.

“... sensible approach. Joint exercises certainly foster strong interoperability. Now, I wanted to address our shared maritime trade routes. Maurtin, share the numbers from last October, if you would…”

The Naval Arms Race of recent years had British and American representatives interacting with increasing frequency, meaning Arthur and Alfred saw one another more often than the last few decades.

They were mostly past the War of 1812, and Arthur’s sympathies for Alfred’s physical condition during his Civil War had forced the stoic Englishman to admit a singular… fondness (no matter how darling Matthew near scoffed at the admittance. That insolence had won the Canadian a proper talking to.)

“I extend my sincerest thanks, gentleman,” Arthur watched Alfred jump at Wilson’s change in tone. “Your attendance and contributions benefited a discussion making great strides in outlining how we proceed in future collaborations.”

“To the health and prosperity of King Geroge and President Taft,” Grant said, standing to shake hands in farewell, the mustache beneath his nose still perfectly shaped after five hours of discussion. Impressive, thought Arthur with slight jealousy, thinking of his own unruly hair.

In ones and pairs, people collected their belongings and filtered out of the room, discussing evening plans and the contents of their visit amongst themselves. The secretary’s heels clipped at the floor on her way out, arms filled with confidential papers.

Finally, only Arthur and Alfred remained. Concern mounted when Alfred didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s presence, instead rubbing at his eyes and tapping Texas against the table in a slow rhythm. Arthur waited in the silence to be acknowledged, and soon realized he waited for nothing. The American startled when Arthur rolled his chair back and stood, rounding the table to stand beside him. Alfred wiped his glasses and slid them up his nose, tilting his head in Arthur's direction. “How do you do, Arthur?” The Englishman’s white gloves pulled back the chair beside the American and sat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning over it to peer at Alfred’s warm face, sweat having revealed eyebags previously powdered over.

“Splendid, actually. You, however, look like death warmed up and rolled into a suit.” Alfred scoffed, leaning back and immediately wincing. “And, if I may be so forward, powder under the eyes? Really, Alfred, starch paste couldn’t conceal those hideous bags.”

No matter how exhausted the American was, unless he was permanently and wholly one with the dirt, Alfred F. Jones was never so incapacitated that he wouldn’t return fire.

“Starch, huh? So thaaaaat’s how you’ve achieved such a pasty complexion,” Alfred smiled, and held up his white starched cuffs against Arthur’s frowning face and ooh-ed with amazement at the apparent color match.

“Marvelous,” Arthur deadpanned, slapping aside the hand and immediately regretting it when Alfred hissed, then laughed it off. “You’re delightful as always, Arthur. But I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our time short.” Arthur didn’t take his green eyes away from Alfred’s slow accent to standing, watched how the American bit his lip through the tight smile breaking his hot face. Arthur didn’t move as Alfred clapped him on the shoulder in passing and forced his pace into something natural towards the door (obviously he failed, lilting to the side).

Arthur disliked the physical discomfort in his own chest at the sight of Alfred struggling. Even if they weren’t on the absolute best of terms, he was still the host country. Arthur reasoned it would be horrible of him not to look after his guest.

Arthur stood to follow.

“Oh please, allow me the courtesy of walking you back to your hotel. Or were you staying at the Palace?” Arthur asked, ambling up to Alfred’s side and following him in an intentionally straight-postured, even pace. The juxtaposition only emphasized Alfred’s odd gait.

Alfred stopped and turned around, annoyed behind his pearly smile, “That’s alright, thanks though. I’m really not in the mood for company.”

Alfred returned to walking and was almost through the door. Arthur momentarily floundered for another excuse. “W-Well it’s just not proper to be walking alone at night.”

“I can take care of myself,” Alfred replied pointedly and Arthur frowned. He knew that! The lad had shown he could look after himself, and had been doing so long enough that it shouldn’t be a sore spot.

“Oh for the love of- you look awful , Alfred. Truly awful. Worse than death. Despite your insistence otherwise. Pray, let me walk you to your room to see that you are right and I will leave.”

Alfred looked as though the idea were unappealing and Arthur relented the formality, grasping Alfred’s arm and turning him around. “As a favor. I’ll hail a cab, see you to your accommodations. Then I’ll leave.”

“...Fine,” sighed the American, allowing the fatigue to slow his pace.

Arthur called a cab and they both got in, Alfred relying his lodging’s address to the driver. They both settled into the backseat.

“You’re not sick from something back home, are you?” Arthur asked offhandedly,

“Nothing like that, thankfully,” said Alfred, ready to pass out. “Just a hectic few weeks leading up. I’m gonna need to find a massage therapist tomorrow, though.”

Alfred rolled his shoulders experimentally and flinched.

“Did you tear something?” Arthur asked, putting aside his papers and feeling his fingers, gently, against the spot. Alfred shook his head in the negative, staring out the window with his eyes closed, and the Englishman pressed into the spot.

“Argh-” Alfred immediately cried and the cab driver swerved in surprise, but when Arthur persisted he slowly relaxed, sighing with relief and slumped into his seat like a sack of potatoes.

Arthur kept at the spot, and after a minute Alfred cracked a smile, “That was cruel, you know.”

“Does it still feel that way?,” Arthur already knew the answer.

“... Not if you keep that up for another minute. Can you go up a bit?”

“Here?” Arthur moved to the tip the trapezius muscle, and again Alfred yelped before relaxing.

“Yeah. There.”

“We’ve arrived,” said the cab driver, waiting expectantly for his compensation. Arthur handed over a few quid and ushered Alfred out.

As they took the elevator up and Alfred unlocked the door, he asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Bringing that up… would you like me to be otherwise?” Arthur asked pointedly, not waiting for a response before helping himself to a glass of whiskey from the room’s minibar. It was an elegant hotel with a luxurious four-poster bed. Behind the curtains, a full moon stood out against London’s foggy night sky.

Staff had turned on a few warm-toned lamps, bathing the room in calm.

Alfred wasted no time in kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his uniforms, leaving articles of clothing scattered over the carpet in his wake to his bed before plopping face-first onto the sheets.

“Hermph. Definitely not… thank you,” Alfred said, muffled against the sheets. “Otherwise I might‘ve fallen asleep at that conference table,” he admitted.

Arthur nursed his whiskey in a reading chair, watching Alfred half hang off the bed, lower legs dangling. “Are you getting under the blankets?” Arthur asked, inwardly surprised by the acceptable quality of the alcohol and Alfred’s sheer, visible tiredness.

It was a rarity that Alfred exposed anything vulnerable, anything that didn’t conform to his overconfident, tireless American persona.

“M’too sore,” Alfred muttered sleepily. “Thanks for the escort, I’ll be sure to return the favor next time you’re drunk off your ass.”

“Low blow,” Arthur grumbled, getting up and laying a palm over Alfred's back. The taller nation lurched at the motion but relaxed when he sensed the others' intentions.

After working at a small spot at the base of America’s neck for a moment with one hand, Arthur finished his drink and placed the glass on the side table. “Will you lay properly? I can’t get any leverage like this.”

Alfred groaned but shifted, laying in the middle of the bed face down, still in his underwear, socks and garters.

From the bed, Alfred sleepily watched Arthur strip his blue uniform jacket and lay it over the abandoned chair, along with his shoes and watch. “Is that this season’s Newsome?” Alfred asked, catching the dial in the light.

“A gift from an acquaintance,” said Arthur, hoisting himself on the bed and straddling Alfred’s waist. The maneuver was smooth and the bed hardly shifted at the added occupant.

Alfred was tense beneath him, and Arthur took a moment to appreciate the sculpted geography of the American’s back. Taking a breath and willing his own anatomy not to betray him, Arthur pressed down with both hands. “Ah-ah ah-ow, ow, ow, ow!” Alfred cried, burying his face in the sheets and biting down to silence himself. Arthur stayed in that position a moment until Alfred relaxed, and began a smooth back and forth motion against his lower trapezius.

“Uhhuhu…uhgh..” America sobbed quietly and Arthur fought against the sympathy constricting his throat, and the arousal tightening his groin at the delicate sounds.

Blimey , thought England, surprised at his own body. His hands found their rhythm against the smooth skin.

“What on Earth did you do?” Arthur asked, feeling tight knots everywhere he touched.

“Uggh- Ah! … Uhm, I was chopping wood for a week or two for the town,” Alfred said, producing a screech when Arthur jammed his thumb into a tender spot. However, after a moment of rubbing the pain subsided and made room for relief and Alfred slumped. “Might’ve overdone it.”

“And?”

“And- Opfgdhp! And a few nights sleeping over a desk- Christ almighty!” Alfred punched the sheets and looked over his shoulder, “Crank it down a notch, yeah?”

Arthur stopped completely and glared down at the prone American.

Alfred couldn’t see him but obviously felt its intensity when he relented, “Sorry, I do appreciate this, Arthur. Feels… fantastic - AHHPHrgh,” he yelped, legs jolting off the bed.

Arthur smirked, working down the back where it was less painful and applying even pressure to the latissimus dorsi. Arthur pressed dexterous fingers alongside the spine, had to lean over the spot to properly address the powerful muscles, and was rewarded with eliciting a shaky, whistling breath out from Alfred’s muffled face. Slowly, the Englishman felt the tight knots fade under his efforts. Alfred moaned and Arthur looked up at the canopy, willing the heat to leave his face.

Alfred shifted beneath him and Arthur looked down, flush mostly gone. He raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

“Err,” Alfred started, shifting again. “Could you do my shoulders again? They’re still pretty tight.” He rolled them as if to emphasize, and Arthur was inwardly pleased with the smoothness of the motion compared to twenty minutes ago.

“Were you raised by wolves, America? What do we say when we want something?” he asked in a patronizing tone, leaning in close to hear Alfred respond in a similar one:

“Oh, oh pretty please , Arthur?”

“Much better.” Arthur’s arms were slightly sore. Nevertheless he felt up to the outside of Alfred’s broad shoulders and used a crawling technique, pressing his thumbs down and inching them towards one another until they met at the spine.

From the side, Alfred’s eyes fluttered closed in relief. All discomfort in Arthur’s arms vanished in a flash and his heartbeat quickened, and he repeated the movement with renewed purpose while the clock ticked in the dim light.

“I’m gonna fall asleep, England. Thank you,” Alfred finally mumbled, a puddle of contentment beneath Arthur’s sweating form.

I’d forgotten how physically demanding massages were , Arthur panted, forehead bowed to Alfred’s warm back.

“A-hem,” The Englishman coughed, surprised by his own reaction, “Happy to be of service.”

He stepped off Alfred with less elegance than when he’d stepped on, and wasn’t surprised to see those blues hidden from view and the youthful face fast asleep by the time he’d cleaned his flushed face and thrown on his uniform jacket. Stepping closer he noted Texas quashed between his temple and the plush bed.

The American hadn’t bothered taking his glasses off and Arthur mused, gently tugging them off and folding them onto the nightstand beside his empty tumbler, how they remained straight and unscratched with such a neglectful owner.

Blowing on his eyelids to confirm he was fully asleep, Arthur pressed his lips against the sleeping man’s forehead, breathing in to savor the sensation, and was out of the room before his neck turned red enough to warrant a comment of concern from the hotel doorman.

—-------------------

The door shut and Alfred pried one eye open, casting a wink at Arthur’s empty glass and stretching his long limbs along the luxurious sheets with a sigh of bliss.

#usuk #hetalia #hws america #hws england #historical hetalia #my greatest self indulgence ever #fanfic

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notesfromthepalace · 6 months ago

Text

The Jelly Sister

Want to hear a funny story?

As I have said before, my written pieces are based off of my real life. So yes, in real life I am that girl, in love, and highly favored by our creator. And in real life there is a jelly sister, chilllllle.

But the real gag is I had started writing "The Jelly Sister" three years ago about the same person. Then I was like "no, stop being a mean girl".

She's the mean girl.

Mean spirited, at least.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away......

I'm going to be for real now, sorry sissy poohs, but this girl.

Essentially, her and I worked for the same organization and we bonded over cleanliness. She saw how utterly disgusted I was with the hygiene, better yet, lack there of, of our peers and had the same

nose-in-the-air-snark-brat-face that I did.

That's literally what started the first conversation. We became cool over a few other commonalities: we both graduated from HBCUs, majored in STEM, highly intelligent, love to read, and we were the only Black women at the time who had our positions.

Now, let me make something clear, we did not become friends on the basis of being skin folk, because as the saying goes: all skin folk ain't kin folk; this was not what you see in politics now, where you see people rallying behind the VP simply because we look alike.

She had mentioned that she was seeing someone, but the way she described it, I was under the assumption that they were friends who just have sex, with no desire of fully committing to one another and definitely not wanting to be married with children. I also thought she was okay with that because she was 32 when we met. I am bringing up her age because I could not possibly fathom someone being delusional at 32 - you're passed the age of plausible deniability sis.

I was 22 at the time; a little naive to how older women can be jealous of younger women and how easily they flip for the male gaze, especially when they are desperate. This is also where I learned my lesson of keeping my personal opinions to myself unless I am speaking to my personal gf's 4L, my man, or people of academia pertaining to academia. Public conversations with knuckle heads is where people try to trick you into saying things you either don't mean, or purposely misinterpret what you are saying.

Here's where I got tricked into embarrassing homegirl - on accident.

We were with our coworkers at dinner and this question arose: Do all women want to get married?

Some people, both men and women said "yes", some said "no".

Her name in here will be Jelly.

Now, me being the silly goose naive princess, answered, with the utmost confidence:

"I want to. But not all women do. Just look at Jelly".

Jelly turned red. And of course she asked me how I came to that conclusion. I explained, based on her explanation of what seems to be friends with benefits, that how would I possibly believe she wants to get married if this is what she's settling for.

I guess no one ever told her the tea but she was surprised that I would make such a statement. I was more surprised that she thought homie was going to wife her up.

I believe that was the night she swore a vendetta against me.

As time went on she still was friendly with me, but would make remarks that were kind of unsettling. I think there was one day she over heard me on the phone with my sister talking about girlie things because we're girls, hello?! Jelly waited until we were at lunch one day to say "I don't think I could be like Sarah, harping over fashion malls and shoes all day long".

Jelly did you expect me to cry?

Yes, my sister went to the mall to get a specific shoe that was not in stock and she was upset. I was comforting my sister.

Was I suppose to be talking about logs and cabins?

Fast forward to the beginning of last year, closer to my birthday, I received a Group FaceTime call from Jelly and a young man we used to work with who had a crush on me. I picked up, not thinking anything of it and the first thing out of Jelly's mouth was "Oh I was just telling him that you would have never dated him because he is not in the tax bracket of men you date."

I was embarrassed by her statement because I have never discussed my personal preferences when it comes to men with anyone. Further more, I would never say something like that, even if it was true; I don't believe in making people feel less than just because they don't meet my standards, nor would I ever say something like that anyway, so ugly so rude.

I didn't like him by the way - and that will be another story for another day.

I simply answered by saying, as softly and as eloquently as possible "I never said that. What I told him was he's too immature for me, and that we are not compatible". Now his ego was hurt and he asked if I had a boyfriend. And the answer was "Yes, we just came back from being on holiday for my birthday"

Both of them were speechless because no one knew I was seeing someone. Although I may post photos of my man and I on my blog, I don't post him on my page. Obviously the haters stay lurking.

A few months later, Jelly gives me a call to inform me that her sex wasn't enough to keep her Jamaican man - I could have told her that, but wait, I did, four years ago.

But as she was telling me about her escapades with him and I was listening, she then began to question me about my life to which I replied simply "We are great. I am making dinner, I'll call you later". She just wanted to hear that we broke up or things were not working in my favor so she could scream it to the masses. No, witch, my life is amazing, my God is better, and you still don't know what's going on over here.

Yesterday, funky toe Jelly sent me a message asking "Ms. Chanel are you engaged yet?"

She didn't ask to be happy for me. She asked simply to know and for that, you peasant, you won't know until God-willing him and I are married, expecting our third child living in Timbuktu.

We all have a Jelly sister. And some of us have more than one. She isn't the only person that I do not respond to anymore. I pay them all dust. They don't deserve to know what God has blessed me with.

I'm living my life, and they're questioning their life decisions.

Not my problem.

As always sissy poohs,

Stay prayed up

Love the people who love you

Enjoy the rest of the summer

More blog posts are coming because the stories are juicy chillllllle

P.S. I love Sheree!

With Love,

Sarah Chanel

#black women #black women in luxury #luxuriousbw #luxury #black femininity #black women in leisure #black women fashion #blackwomen #black beauty #black love

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dadsbongos · 2 years ago

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unusually short eddie fic for valentine's day

1.4 K words

warnings - idk you wear pink and have hair long enough to style :), not patrick mckinney friendly ig

summary - After being stood up on a Valentine’s picnic date, a friendly neighbor boy comes to end the embarrassment.

You feel silly. Unadulterated and wholeheartedly stupid. Sitting alone at the trailer park benches in a pretty pink number and hair done nicely - you even picked out the best pair of shoes you owned. Not a smudge or scratch or doodle on them. They’re a little tight, but you’d struggle into anything for today to go right.

Only for it to still go wrong.

Instead, you sat in front of a home baked cake with melted, uneven frosting and two empty red solo cups. A plastic pitcher full of pink lemonade sits at the halfway point of the table - untouched and watered down from the dissolved ice. You’d rather be at a restaurant alone or the arcade or the movie theaters or the mall or a park or even Family fucking Video where Steve Harrington could wail out his most overused pick up lines.

But no, you’re at home.

In the middle of multiple other trailers. Alone.

Thin curtains drag to the side and curious faces of old women and snotty 12-year-olds alike peek through cracked windows at your sad lunch for one. The prior ball of dread leading up to this date had now grown into an all-encompassing black hole. You wish it was a real black hole - then you wouldn’t have to go to bed and wake up tomorrow as the talk of Forest Hills.

Maybe it was stupid of you to assume that Patrick McKinney had been serious when he asked you to be his Valentine’s.

Glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time this hour, you see that - yes, it was in fact terribly past noon. An hour passed, actually.

Peeking up, you see Max Mayfield staring from her window - her eyes widen when you catch her and she ducks back down. That makes you nauseous. Worse than any stage fright or test anxiety or presentation jitters could possibly be.

“Hey! Sorry I’m so late,” it is not Patrick McKinney that calls to you, but instead Eddie Munson. He grins as he sits and plops a paper plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the table. His eyes catch the cake you made and he gestures to it like a game show host, “God, you are perfect.”

“Hi?” your hands clamber into your lap, not bothering to fight Eddie as he grabs the - surely room temperature - lemonade and pours himself a cup.

Eddie clears his throat, eyes drifting across the visible trailers, “I saw you were alone and didn’t want anybody thinking you got stood up,” he pauses suddenly, eyes nearly popping from his skull, pink lemonade overflowing from his cup, “Shit, should I not have?”

He curses some more upon noticing he’s spilled the sugary drink and hurries to mop it up with the red napkins you swiped from the store just yesterday. You simply watch. Retorts and replies trapped in the dry swell of your throat - you’re only human, and it’s natural for humans to be foolish. And sometimes foolishness leads to fearing rumors that you know for a fact are not true.

So you opt to not anger the sweet boy next door that you’ve heard is a devil worshiper.

Eddie shakes his head to himself, brows furrowed and he’s seeming to ignore you completely as he mutters to himself, “Sorry, I thought it would be gentlemanly and nice but now I’m - God - just showing up out of nowhere. I should’ve asked.”

“It’s…” you’re stunned at your own voice, but Eddie looks up at you with the biggest, most gentle doe eyes and you feel yourself relax, “It’s fine,” he giggles and you assume you still look stiff and uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

“I’d hate to be alone today,” he shrugs, pushing the mushy napkins into the trashcan at the edge of the table. Once his quest of cleaning the spill completes, he rests his chin in his palm and looks at you with more warmth than Patrick McKinney ever had, “I had a really hot date, you know?”

That makes you break the awkward hold of your body, a smile lighting your cheeks before you even realize it, “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods with the heaviest sigh this side of the Mississippi, “But I canceled because, c’mon, who would I be if I just left someone in need all alone?”

“I’m in need, am I?” your arms come up now, laying against the table as you lean forward, “You think I needed saving?”

“Oh, yeah,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but his voice is theatrical enough for you to know he isn’t trying to be serious. It’s a talent, you think, “A princess in her tower,” he pouts and tilts his head to the side, “Playing solitaire when she wants to try poker.”

You copy his head-tilt, quirking a brow, “And you must be the faithful knight. A real William Marshal.”

“Ohhh,” he leans back so far his hair nearly touches the ground, hands hooked under the table to keep him secure. Suddenly, he pops back up, shaking his head quickly, “I dunno about that. I’m a pretty humble guy.”

“So humble, yeah,” you look over to the knife you’d brough to cut the cake, “Well, my date isn’t coming- “ Eddie places an offended hand over his chest, “My real date isn’t coming. So, would you do the honors?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask,” he instantly picks up the knife before nudges his head towards the paper plate he’d brought, “Help yourself, by the way. I know, uh, it’s not anything fancy,” he seems unsure of himself now, less confident than when he intruded your party of one, “but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

The fact that he prepared to come shouldn’t have the effect it does. It probably shouldn’t make you want to ask him out on a real date and it definitely shouldn’t make you want to hold his hand.

But you can’t help the way your heart swoons so quickly. You’ve seen Eddie be kind - driven kids around the park to school, babysat, dog-walked, nurse stray animals and act as an impromptu repairman with his uncle. Now you’re experiencing it and you can’t comprehend how he’s been mangled into some sort of evil creature in the night by the people of Hawkins.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

He locks eyes with you and his shoulders lose their defensive state when he senses no malice, he simpers and grabs a spare paper plate from under the one serving sandwiches, “You were staring.”

“Sorry,” you decide to be bold now. Something in Eddie has already infected you, but you don’t think it's a bad thing, “Just couldn’t tear my eyes away.”

“Oh?” he passes over a plate with a slice of your cake and one of his sandwiches on it, “You think I’m pretty?”

“Something like that,” you snag a plastic fork and dig into the sweet treat you regret intending for Patrick, “Even though you didn’t dress up.”

You should’ve just gone to Eddie’s trailer from the start.

“Hey,” he pauses cutting out his own slice in favor of pulling out the open front of his leather jacket, “this is my fanciest apparel, I’ll have you know.”

“And the,” you make a show of ducking under the table before slinking back into view, “ripped pants?”

“If I didn’t look at least a little trash then I wouldn’t be myself, baby.”

The way ‘baby’ falls from his lips shouldn’t make you want to kiss him - not after the first conversation you’ve actually had. But it does. And it makes you want to hold his hand. And it makes you want to ask him out again tomorrow.

“You don’t look trash,” that’s what you say instead.

As disarming as Eddie so instantly is, he also makes you forget the words in your head when he looks up with those saccharine bambi eyes.

It’d be embarrassing if you weren’t distracted by the way his pretty pink lips are already opening to respond.

“No?” he teases, “What if I didn’t have my fancy little jacket? Just my,” he looks down as if forgetting what shirt he put on this morning, “best Black Sabbath robes?”

“Robes? That game is getting to your head, Munson.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

He offers his hand, halfway across the table and palm up. The way he shyly bites his bottom lip really shouldn’t make you want to take his silent proposal.

But eagerly, you do. And you don’t regret as much as you’d worried you would.

“No,” your fingers entwine with his and his hand is just as clammy as yours - that’s reassuring, “you wouldn’t look trash, even in your Black Sabbath robes.”

Eddie inhales sharply, eyes flipping from the creaky, splinter-prone table to you and back to the table, “So. This might be forward, but…”

You think you’re done with one-sided relationships - now that you know Eddie Munson was such a perfect Valentine. Maybe you’ll let him be your perfect date tomorrow, too.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things s4 #stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #valentines day slay

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carmensolny · 1 year ago

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Step into Style: Trendy Wedge Shoes for Ultimate Comfort and Fashion

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In the world of fashion, Carmen Sol stands out as a beacon of style and comfort, especially when it comes to trendy wedge shoes and jelly shoes for women. The title "Step into Style: Trendy Wedge Shoes for Ultimate Comfort and Fashion" encapsulates the essence of this blog post, inviting women to embrace the perfect blend of style and comfort with Carmen Sol's remarkable collection. So, why settle for anything less? Step into the future of fashion with Carmen Sol's wedge shoes, where every step is a statement of style and unparalleled comfort.

#wedge shoes #women's jelly shoes #jelly shoes for women #jelly shoes

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surgeonssturgeon · 2 months ago

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Why don’t we shame men for being incompetent? “Women belong in the kitchen, they should be cooking and cleaning and looking after the kids!” Why? You can’t do it? Are your bones made of jelly or something? Do you need help tying your shoes too? You got them light up velcros? Like bro… you’re literally ridiculous 😭

#Go fetch me a boar carcass man #Men belong in the hunting fields #Male privilege #gender roles #Sexism #misogny #Feminism #Gender roles #abolish gender roles

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nerdieforpedro · 11 months ago

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Movie Night

Part Three of Two Hearts by the Ocean

Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC)

This part is for teens and up - rating will depend on individual parts. Overall will be 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.3k

Summary: Watching movies with Javier calms Abigail and they’re both able to enjoy each other’s company. However, a shadow looms on the horizon.

Warnings: two cinnamon rolls, possible Nic Cage movie overload, one kiss, mentions of harm to women and threats

Notes: We’re at chapter three and we got one kiss! 😘 They’re adorable. We’re setting a few things up also just having fun. Don’t worry too much about the tags yet. 👀 There’s a reason I’ve kept the overall rating 18+ and keep doing it individually. Special thanks to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for helping with translations. I feel like I always pick the wrong version of the word. 🙃 It’s one of many goals this year.

Dividers are by the ever talented @saradika-graphics

If you’d told Abigail that she was going to meet a handsome man and be watching movies with him, she would have called you insane or told you that she’s watching movies in bed and those are the only handsome men she was seeing as of late. She also would have laughed very hard to hear that the same man had a compound and a private beach with his own movie theater inside his home. She sat on the couch with Javier, wearing yellow fuzzy socks that a maid had brought her in addition to some hot chocolate to go with her cake. She thanked the woman who gave her a quizzical look, and held her hand out. Javi explained it was to put their phones in a basket on the bookshelf so the blue light from the phones wouldn’t disturb the picture from the big screen. Abigail still wondered about the look the maid gave her and put it quickly out of her mind as the movie started. While watching, she laughed and pointed out that she recognized some of the actors and actresses from other shows. She became quiet again, realizing that it's a movie, you're not supposed to talk during a movie.

Javier was delighted to finally have someone else to watch movies with. It’s been months since Gabriella left and she had been his only friend in the home. Not that he didn’t have occasional lady friends over, but they were more interested in party boy Javier and not cinephile Javier. He answered Abby’s questions and listened to her comments which despite the movie playing, he didn’t mind because she was engaged and though her movie knowledge paled in comparison to his, it was fun hearing what she had to say. Slowly over the course of the first movie, he’d been able to inch closer to her. Javi even took a piece of her chocolate cake and she offered him a second one to which they split two more pieces. At the end of the first move, his knee was touching hers as they sat together and discussed if either of them had ever had a marmalade sandwich.

“I think it is only for Paddington, no? I may have some marmalade on toast or a roll but not just in a sandwich.” Javier chuckled. Abby nodded as she set the plate on the table before them next to her mug which she had finished quite a while ago.

“Yeah. I’ve only had jam or jelly and maybe some preserves on baked goods. Never marmalade. I enjoyed the movie a lot more than I thought I would. I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting though.” She smiled and Javi returned it. He suggested that they could go for a short walk to stretch their legs before watching the second movie.

“Well if you enjoyed this one my dear Abigail, you will love Paddington two. I guarantee it.” Javier opened a patio door off the hallway just outside of the theater and they walked out together after putting their shoes back on. There was a small path next to the house that ran along a hill above the beach. The view was breathtaking. The water reflected the crimson, mustard and orange with dashes of pinks that dotted the sky. The pair stood as they watched the sky and Abby reached for Javier’s hand while looking at him, almost believing that he wouldn’t take it. He did not, opting to put an arm around her shoulders as they continued to watch the sun dip behind the ocean. It was a moment that she was content remaining in for hours. Javier’s arm around her as they watched the sun dip beyond the horizon. Her arm found its way around his back and settled on his hip. She was still nervous about touching the man and him touching her, but he was rather disarming. Or would one say inviting? His entire presence seemed to draw her in and whisper that it’s fine to touch, hold, and hug. More than even that aspect, was the sense of tranquility she sensed from him.

Javier was glad to note that Abigail appeared to feel safe in being in his home. He was concerned when he picked her up, but thankfully it worked out. She’s the first person in a while that he’s had a connection with over his interests. He wondered how he could make the most of her time here, in addition to figuring out the budget and such for the estate, he wanted to keep her close. His cousin wanted him to spend money to help wash ‘donations’ they received for their services. Things that Javier had a vague idea of what his cousin did but didn’t want to know the details. It was better he didn’t know. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the money he’s supposed to then taking Abby out to see the island, he would ask if she wanted to. He was tempted to kiss her cheek, but decided against it as they hadn’t seen the second movie and he didn’t want her to think that it was the reason why he invited her to his home. Though her complement of his body had made him feel proud and fueled some other thoughts that would be pushed aside for now.

The pair went back inside and settled back onto the couch, only this time, Abigail sat right next to Javi and took hold of his hand. She liked the feeling of her small hand in his, plus it was warm like the rest of him. After they confirmed that they were comfortable, the second Paddington movie began. There were laughs, a few tears, several gasps and by the end after becoming fully engrossed in the film, both Javier and Abigail stood and cheered for the little bear coming out of his coma to be reunited with his family and his Aunt Lucy. Their palms were pressed together, swaying back and forth as they looked at the screen, the credits starting to roll. Abby and Javi were laughing, first at the movie’s ending and then at each other. It was a tad absurd that two adults were cheering this hard to a kids move some would say, but that’s what made it so much fun. To engage the part you may still have of yourself not jaded by the life lived. As their movements slowed to a stop, Abby didn’t let go of Javi’s hands as he expected.

“I take it you liked the movie Abby?” Javier asked with his trademark wide smile. He was well aware of the answer, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. Abby giggled and looked down at her yellow socks then back up at Javier. The day started out a bit tenuous but the afternoon and evening had been perfect. She tried something that had Javi’s lips form a small ‘o’ and lifted his left hand, kissing the back of it. Certainly not the kiss Javi had in mind, and it seemed more intimate as the warmth from her lips lingered on his skin.

“I did. Very much so. Thank you so much Javi. This is the most fun I’ve had in quite a long time.” Her smile had him move forward and close the short gap between them. Javier made sure to be wary of her body language for it seemed like she’d opened up to him a bit more. He thought of kissing her lips again, but finally kissed her cheek, his mustache and stubble from his beard grazed her skin and she released a quiet sigh. “I...um…should we…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, Abigail wasn’t exactly sure what she might say next. She was certain she didn’t come to his home just for such advances. They weren’t unwelcome, actually, much too welcome. She reminded herself that she’s supposed to be having fun and she’s going to see him later. Nothing needs to happen right now. Is she even wearing the right underwear for that?

Javier swallowed the thought first, pushing it back down. “We can watch one of Mr. Cage’s movies. I have all of them. I happen to be a very big fan of his. “ Their eyes met again and he knew he should sit back down, if he continued to stand with her, he would pull her over to the couch and that’s not been discussed at all, at least aloud. Via eyes and body language, however, they were loud and clear. Abigail walked to the couch first while still holding Javier’s hand and he followed her, though she didn’t pull him down. He sat next to her and they began watching ‘National Treasure,’ the frantic fun energy was replaced by a simmering heat between them.

The night rolled on as the movies continued. After ‘National Treasure’ the pair watched ‘Con Air,’ ‘Ghost Rider,’ and ‘The Sorcerer's Apprentice.”Though, by the last movie, both were nodding off on the couch, Javi’s head was on Abby’s shoulder and they were still holding hands as their eyes became heavier. By the time either of them woke up, they’d been asleep for a few hours, both with sore necks from the sleeping positions. Javi woke first and was worried that she was gone, except he felt his hand first and then looked up seeing her neutral sleeping face. They were still holding hands even while they slept, the wide grin on his face expressed his feelings on the matter.

“Mi diosa linda. Soy tan afortunado de despertarme a tu lado (My beautiful goddess. I am lucky to wake up to you).” He’s careful to move as he sits up and does not disturb her yet. He’s going to need to wake her but not yet. Just a little longer. If the moment could last a bit more.

“Ah-choo!” Abigail’s body jerks with her sneeze and she jolts awake. Her eyes blink as she looks around the room, her eyes adjusting to the light. She looks at Javi who’s holding in a laugh at her expense. She uses her shoulder and give him a gentle nudge to which he releases a roar of a laugh, she does as well and wonders how long they were asleep. There weren’t any clocks in the movie theater. No extra lights to allow for the best picture on the screen. “I’m glad I made you laugh, Javi. What time is it though?”

“I am not sure. I will go check, stay here and warm up a bit.” He stood and put a throw blanket over her legs, she pulled it closer and spread it out. “Did you want some tea? Um…” Javi thought carefully about how to ask, and decided it would be best to just say it. “Abigail. You don’t have to leave, You can stay the night. It is much too dark to drive the golf cart. We would not be staying in the same room. I can have a room made ready for you to use. Not just for tonight.” Javier placed a hand on the back of the couch and sat back down briefly, making sure to keep eye contact as he spoke. He was sincere and maybe she didn’t need to know that he already had a room ready. He could have also left out the part about it being not only for one night but he’s already said it. Not that he would ask her to stay longer if she didn’t want to. He would make sure she made it back to her resort safely.

Abigail was elated to hear that he wanted her to stay. She didn’t want to go, who would? If she can stay in whatever fever dream this was a little longer, she would take the opportunity. She pecked his cheek and nodded. “I’m happy you want me to stay, Javi. I kinda didn’t want to go. Not yet anyway. I should come with you. That way if you want tea or something else, you won't have to make trips or try carrying it by yourself.” Javier shook his head and insisted that she remain here, Abby sighed and agreed but did ask for her phone so she could text her friends and let them know that she’s alright, she’s just out for the night. She will be back tomorrow afternoon.

Javier happily made his way to the kitchen and proceeded to make some tea, though he’d forgotten to ask what tea Abby might like. He went with peppermint for the both of them and two spoons of honey in hers. She appeared to be a fan of sweets. The maid who’d brought the socks and snack entered the kitchen and greeted Javi. She asked if his lady friend was still here and he replied that she was. The maid nodded and informed him that his cousin may be back tomorrow or the following day. It depends when he finishes whatever business they had to take care of in Greece, for her safety, it would be best if she left tomorrow.

“For the record señor Gutierrez, she appears like a kind woman. Your cousin and his associates seem to like to harm such women. You’ll also need to increase your spending again. He’s been keeping watch. I… Lo siento, señor (I am sorry sir).” This particular maid was older and had been with Javier and his cousin Lucas since they bought the compound about five years ago. She’d trained many of the other maids that had come and gone, as such, Lucas had given his goons instructions to not bother her, though they did know where her son and daughter were and their families so she kept Lucas abreast of Javier’s activities when he was away.

“Tia Lupe, gracias cómo siempre (Thank you, always).” Javier said softly before kissing her a peck on the cheek and adding a spoon of honey to his tea as well. He’d need something sweet for the update he’d been given.

Part two. Part Four

Peeps who will watch the sunset 🌅 and a movie marathon:

@innerpersonunknown @trulybetty @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @grogusmum @secretelephanttattoo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @lady-bess @readingiskeepingmegoing @gwendibleywrites @avastrasposts @bitchwitch1981 @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier gutierrez #Javier Gutierrez x ofc #Javier Gutierrez Fanfiction #Two hearts by the ocean #A Nerdie fic

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