HES SO SLUTTY & IM ON MY KNEES YESS SIRR đ©đ«Š
description. you and JOAQUĂN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals
includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquĂn, reader is called "baby" a couple of times
wc. 12.3k+
a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D
Youâre drunk.Â
No, youâre not drunk. Youâre too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. Youâre still here, at least here enough to walk beside JoaquĂn down the street towards your hotel, but youâre not really here. You know youâre not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where youâre heading, but you donât know how long youâve been walking. You couldâve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago.Â
You werenât going to get this drunk. Honest. You and JoaquĂn were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms.Â
But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and JoaquĂn are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, heâs navigating your way. Youâre just trying to keep up with his long strides.Â
He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. Youâll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure youâre still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it.Â
Thereâs not much small talk happening, but you donât mind it that way. Youâre focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, youâre focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way.Â
One part is going fine, the walking part, but youâre still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and JoaquĂn actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night.Â
JoaquĂn calls your name and you hum.Â
âYou up for stopping in right here?â He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. Itâs like he read your mind, or maybe youâd been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible.Â
Either way, you nod and let JoaquĂn hold the door open for you.Â
You and JoaquĂn end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as youâre sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot youâve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment.Â
âYou still drunk?â JoaquĂn speaks from across the table.Â
You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. âWhat do you think?â you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat.Â
He laughs. âFirst night here and youâve already gotten shitfaced.â He shakes his head as if heâs ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease.Â
âItâs your fault!â you accuse. âYouâre the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.âÂ
JoaquĂn throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. âIâm not going to say no to free drinks. Donât blame me!â
Heâs right. Even if he wasnât, you arenât in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do. Â
Youâre not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but thatâs not really the point to all of this.Â
Besides, you and JoaquĂn are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. Thereâs no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when youâre only with your coworker/friend.Â
You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find JoaquĂn already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wearsâsoft eyes and a softer smileâbut it feels different this time. Maybe itâs the city lighting and your drunkenness thatâs skewing the meaning. Youâre going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.
Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. Itâs quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to JoaquĂnâs. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face.Â
JoaquĂnâs eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance.Â
âWhatâs that look?â he asks.Â
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. âWhat look?â
His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. âYou think youâre sober enough to walk back now?âÂ
You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, itâs because your shoe didnât land right on the concrete. Honest!
You have a crush on JoaquĂn.Â
You donât know why youâre realizing it here and nowâlaying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You donât even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on JoaquĂn Torres, your partner/coworker/friend.Â
You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldnât stop thinking about him.Â
As you took your makeup off, you thought about JoaquĂn waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song heâs always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day.Â
It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected.Â
Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little.Â
JoaquĂn is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flawsâhis incessant nature and occasional annoyance for oneâwas quickly reworked as lovable in your head.Â
You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there.Â
Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set.Â
âNo,â you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything.Â
JoaquĂnâs jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. âCâmon, you didnât even let me say anything.â
âI know what youâre gonna say, Torres. Iâm not going to some âsick workout classâ when weâre supposed to be on vacation.âÂ
âOh, so weâre on last name basis again?â He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. âI thought we moved past that.âÂ
âIf you ask me to come with you then weâre back to last name basis, yeah.âÂ
He pouts and itâs so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. âDonât let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.âÂ
You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. ââm not hungover.âÂ
âUh-huh. Howâs the headache?â Heâs obviously not buying your shit.
âI donât have a headache.â Bullshit and you both know it.Â
âHowâd you sleep?â He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like heâs actually wondering how you slept.Â
âLike a baby.â
âThen that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It wonât be bad. Itâs only an hour.âÂ
You shake your head. âThatâs an hour that I could be sleeping.âÂ
âAnd basically waste the whole day away? That doesnât sound like the partner I know and love.â
You donât let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesnât mean it like that. But still, knowing that JoaquĂn has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery.Â
âYeah because that partner isnât here right now. Weâre on vacation.âÂ
JoaquĂn doesnât respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. Heâs not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session.Â
Finally, he reasons with you. âIâll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?âÂ
Fair enough.Â
Compared to what youâre used to, the workout is quick, but itâs certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than youâre willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didnât make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasnât the time to seek out trouble that wasnât presenting itself.Â
The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at JoaquĂn, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea.Â
You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it couldâve been when you heard him grunting beside you.Â
You couldnât understand it. You and JoaquĂn workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. Youâre used to seeing him sweat, youâre used to hearing his grunts and breaths, youâre used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind.Â
As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body.Â
The relief certainly didnât last for long, though.Â
Since you did what JoaquĂn wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first.Â
It wasnât until JoaquĂn slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for.Â
âYou tryna see me shirtless?â he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought.Â
Not that you were trying to impress JoaquĂn or anything.Â
As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly.Â
Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. Itâs easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long youâve been laying on one side and when you should flip over.Â
Absolutely no stressors.Â
Until JoaquĂn speaks.Â
âDo me a favor and get my back?âÂ
You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see JoaquĂn standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen.Â
You donât mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasnât standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasnât glistening in the daylight, it wouldnât have taken nearly half the time to help him out.Â
âWhat would you do without me?â You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but youâre sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable.Â
JoaquĂn just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap. Â
Itâs not awkward. At least you donât think itâs awkward. You rub the sunscreen on JoaquĂnâs skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, itâs impossible for you not to know since youâve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things.Â
Seeing is not the same as feeling.Â
Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasnât talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like youâd never seen JoaquĂn wear before.Â
You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. âNow let me do you,â he urged without leaving much room for argument.Â
Doesnât mean you wouldnât make room.Â
You shook your head. ââm okay, I already got it.âÂ
JoaquĂn turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. âBarely. I saw you struggling over there. Câmon, let me top it off for you.âÂ
His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesnât put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer.Â
You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back.Â
The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you arenât sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind.Â
He continues in silence.Â
Youâve had JoaquĂnâs hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different.Â
Having JoaquĂnâs bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesnât notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too.Â
By the time he finishes, youâve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. JoaquĂnâs hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life.Â
Of course, you donât tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to JoaquĂn âbest hands there ever wereâ Torres.Â
Which is just a step below JoaquĂn âbest co-worker there ever wasâ Torres.Â
Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you donât think you could tan anymore. JoaquĂn lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by JoaquĂn coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight.Â
Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight.Â
You think youâre doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your livesâhis especiallyâhas already changed. Itâs not a leap you think youâre ready to make yet, so youâve been ignoring your feelings.Â
Over the course of the past couple of days, you and JoaquĂn have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from beforeâmore rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasnât that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it.Â
There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and JoaquĂn. Itâll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention.Â
But that is days away. For now, youâre going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though youâre becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasnât been able to fix yet.Â
You didnât think your behavior was noticeable, but JoaquĂn notices more than you thought.Â
The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. Youâve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasnât much to talk about right now.Â
Apparently, JoaquĂn felt different.Â
âWhatâs up with you?â
You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âI mean whyâre you so tense? Isnât this relaxing for you?â
Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. Itâs a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy youâve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags.Â
Itâs hard to relax when right beside you is someone youâve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything youâve ever wanted.Â
âIâm not tense,â you finally respond. Although itâs a lie.Â
âYou so are,â JoaquĂn counters, âlet me show you what you look like walking around here.â He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you.Â
You tell him as such.Â
He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. âOkay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.â He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. âWhatâs wrong? Do you wanna do something else?â
You shake your head. âNo. This is fine. I like doing this.âÂ
JoaquĂn takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. âThen whatâs up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?âÂ
God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth.Â
JoaquĂn is chill personified. If you told him that youâre wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steamâverbally!, although the other option is much more preferableâand then hopefully feel better.Â
But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely.Â
âNo. âm okay. I was just ⊠thinking. But not anymore.â
He doesnât say anything for a second and you donât know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window.Â
You and JoaquĂn end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and youâve just been killing timeâand also your appetite, but you and JoaquĂn both swore to eat dinner. Even if youâre devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both.Â
The breeze blows against your skin. You and JoaquĂn sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. Youâre looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. Thereâs paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port.Â
JoaquĂn points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.
âWe should cruise for our next vacation.â
You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. âOur next vacation?â
JoaquĂn nods. âYeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.âÂ
That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his. âLetâs hope Sam doesnât start feeling left out.â
JoaquĂn laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. âHeâs definitely having the time of his life back home.âÂ
Youâre unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine itâSam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. âHeâs probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.âÂ
This gets a real laugh from JoaquĂn, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly.Â
Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and JoaquĂn sit in comfortable silence.Â
Then, âYou been having fun?âÂ
You hum. âYeah. Itâs nice not having to deal withââ you gesture vaguely in the air and JoaquĂn nods beside you. âEspecially after everything.â You donât say it exactly, but you know JoaquĂn still understands you. He knows youâre talking about his accident.Â
You werenât even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes.Â
Which is why youâre so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that heâs okay. Everythingâs okay.Â
JoaquĂn takes a breath as if heâs about to speak. You turn to look at him. Heâs staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. âFor a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldnât get the chance to see places like this again. To ⊠you knowâŠâ he hesitates and youâre about to tell him that he doesnât have to keep going if he doesnât want to. You and JoaquĂn have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you donât have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. âTo see home.âÂ
Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into JoaquĂnâs side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, JoaquĂn wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side.Â
âIâm glad youâre here with me, JoaquĂn.âÂ
âIâm glad youâre here with me,â he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful.Â
He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want JoaquĂn, youâve known that for a while, but you want more than his body.Â
You want JoaquĂn Torres in his entirety.Â
âIs that what youâve been thinking about?â he continues, âIs that why youâve been tense? Because I promise Iâm okay. It was scary for a bit but my heartâs fine and I feel fine physicallyââ
âNo. Itâs not that, JoaquĂn. I promise I was just a little tense but Iâm good now, too.â
He nods once. âOkay.â He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesnât say anything for a while as if he doesnât want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. âIf we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.âÂ
He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in JoaquĂnâs and let him pull you to your feet.Â
Yeah, ignoring your feelings isnât working anymore.Â
Itâs not like youâre exactly able to ignore how bad you want JoaquĂn when youâre at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate settingâsat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you.Â
Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of JoaquĂnâs chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put togetherâhis curls out more than youâve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him.Â
God, heâs so pretty, itâs impossible for you not to think so. Not when youâre faced with him like this.Â
JoaquĂnâs looking at the menu, acting like he didnât look at it on his phone two hours ago. Youâre holding the menu open, acting like youâre still deciding between two options, when really youâre just trying to decide if you should make a move or not.Â
When JoaquĂn looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that arenât processing. Â
JoaquĂn calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesnât say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but heâs looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you donât wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.
âWhat?â you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm.Â
JoaquĂn shrugs like heâs going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, âNothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.â
Oh my godddd.Â
What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in.Â
But maybe youâre overthinking it. JoaquĂn is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments.Â
You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. âWhat is it? The tan?â
JoaquĂn nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. âYeah ⊠among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,â a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, âand just you.âÂ
You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.Â
âThanks, JoaquĂn,â you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. âYou look good, too.âÂ
JoaquĂn grins and you can see the man youâre used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. âI clean up well donât I?â
You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later.Â
You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse.Â
Youâve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to JoaquĂn for his reaction, wanting to see if thatâs how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When JoaquĂn politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead.Â
You do, however, decide to split two desserts.Â
âCan I say something?â JoaquĂn speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table.Â
You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. âDepends. How stupid is it gonna be?â
âUm ⊠let me say it and then we can decide.â
You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor.Â
He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. âIâm shocked that weâve been together every day and night of this trip.â
Your eyebrows furrow. âWhat dâyou mean?â
âLike we havenât ⊠been with other people.â
His words shock you. âIs that what you think of me, JoaquĂn?âÂ
You donât feel upset, or particularly offended. Youâre just a little confused on why JoaquĂn has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, youâve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasnât exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one.Â
But now that heâs presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. Itâs not that you expected JoaquĂn to sleep around, you actually didnât know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that JoaquĂn was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but itâs unexpected that you didnât see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out.Â
You donât know why he would think the same of you, though.Â
âNo!â heâs quick to defend himself, âBut I wouldnât judge you if thatâs how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldnât blame you.â
âYouâre digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.âÂ
He laughs. âYeah, I can tell.â
A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight.Â
You take the jump. âI didnât wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.â
JoaquĂn looks surprised. âReally? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?â
You shrug. âI havenât been interested in hooking up with anyone else.âÂ
His eyebrows lift in the center. âAnyone else?â
Fuck.Â
It seems you have joined JoaquĂn in that hole, but you donât mind being here. Itâs about time you did something, right? You donât bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at JoaquĂn over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that heâs starting to understand.Â
Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and youâre already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising JoaquĂn before he can even reach for the bill.Â
Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because youâre not speaking, but it isnât silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when JoaquĂn presses the button for the both of you. Thereâs not anything being said, but there doesnât need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body.Â
Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if thereâs still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, youâll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than youâve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, itâs going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in.Â
A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, JoaquĂnâs already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street.Â
He mutters something under his breath, but you donât hear it. âYou good?â he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand.Â
âYeah. Weâve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?â
He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel.Â
Your hand stays in his the entire time.
You and JoaquĂn make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They donât part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate.Â
You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at JoaquĂn standing across from you.Â
He speaks first. âYou wanna go out again tonight? End the week with a bang?â
You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, youâre done pretending.Â
âNah. Iâd rather stay in tonight.â
JoaquĂn nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. âAlright. Together or separate?â
âTogether.â
His eyebrows lift as if heâs shocked, but thereâs a little glint in his eyes. You think heâs starting to catch on.Â
âOkay,â he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. âWhat dâyou wanna do?â
The elevator door opens and you and JoaquĂn stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face JoaquĂn to see him already looking at you.Â
You smile up at him and he smiles down at you.Â
You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you.Â
You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist.Â
And then finally, your lips press against his.Â
The first kiss is tentative. Itâs testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, JoaquĂnâs expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think youâre mirroring him in this moment.Â
Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. Itâs open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that youâre sure youâll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so.Â
You donât have much time, youâve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore youâre trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over JoaquĂnâs shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.Â
He kisses you like he means it, like thereâs more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him.Â
Itâs hard not to give in to the slow and longing way JoaquĂn kisses you. You donât even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way JoaquĂnâs lips move against yours. You feel much more this way.Â
Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor.Â
You and JoaquĂn separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each otherâs eyes. His eyes look darker than youâve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other waysâthe flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips.Â
The elevator door starts to shut and JoaquĂn is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.
The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of JoaquĂn as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but youâre trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number youâve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face.Â
Youâre already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, âYours or mine?â
JoaquĂn reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic.Â
âWe gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.â comes his unprompted explanation. And now that youâve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to JoaquĂnâs room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldnât have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish JoaquĂn had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that youâre finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time.Â
But now itâs happening. Thereâs no reason to complain when youâre getting what you wanted.Â
His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his.Â
JoaquĂnâs hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when youâre halfway down, not on your own accord.Â
Youâre forced to stop when JoaquĂn slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct.Â
Thereâs a moment where both of you are grinning against each otherâs lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when youâre kissing JoaquĂn, even though nearly everything else about this situation isnât natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up).Â
âYouâre just showing off,â you half-heartedly chide.Â
JoaquĂn shrugs and walks you back to the bed. âMaybe just a little.â He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. âYou love it, though.â
You donât admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything.Â
As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what heâs asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them.Â
âCan I keep going?â
You nod, eager and unashamed. âYeah. Keep going.â
He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. âYou gotta let me know if âŠâ his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you donât know exactly what heâs seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates.Â
âIâll let you know if âŠ?â Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesnât comment on it.Â
JoaquĂn blinks and comes back to himself. âIf you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.âÂ
âMâkay.âÂ
And with that, JoaquĂn pushes the fabric completely over your hips and heâs met with your panties. Theyâre a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you donât hear him clearly at all, youâre pretty sure it wasnât in English.Â
You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with JoaquĂnâs help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest.Â
Youâre laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you arenât making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.
You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress.Â
JoaquĂn places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, youâre already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until heâs pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything.Â
But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail.Â
You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in JoaquĂnâs pants where his zipper lies. You think heâll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and JoaquĂn doesnât do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which youâre grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy.Â
You pull away from JoaquĂn to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut.Â
âI need more. Please.âÂ
He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and heâs obviously letting it go to his head.Â
âWhy didnât you say anything?â he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds.Â
His question was rhetorical (and smug but thatâs besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, youâre silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards.Â
JoaquĂn toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too.Â
Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and youâd already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. Youâre close already. Yeah, youâd been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having JoaquĂn do it for you has made you so much more responsive.Â
You get the first syllable out, the âMâ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an âOâ.Â
JoaquĂn picks up where you left off.Â
âMore?â he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, heâs already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions.Â
The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then JoaquĂn chastises you in a soft, but firm voice.Â
âLook at me. I wanna see you.âÂ
You do as told, of course.Â
He nods. âThere we go.â His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. Youâre so wet that there isnât any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours.Â
âYou close?â he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, âIf I give you this one, youâll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?âÂ
âYeah. Yeah, I can.â Youâre breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesnât help that itâs then when JoaquĂn decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt.Â
Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. Heâs barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak.Â
When you come, itâs from the controlled and effective licks JoaquĂn delivers to your cunt. You donât know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when JoaquĂn keeps going.Â
He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesnât just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. Heâs slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm.Â
If you were with anyone else, youâd be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But itâs JoaquĂn, and aside from the fact that youâve wanted him for a while, youâre not exactly shocked that he knows what heâs doing.Â
He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. Itâs a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way heâs eating you out. But it works.Â
One finger is nice, itâs thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second.Â
âFuck,â you swear without any conscious intention.Â
JoaquĂn comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. âYeah?â he asks, the word coming from right in his throat.Â
You nod as you take in the way he looksâcheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like.Â
âYeah,â you confirm. You see a look flash in JoaquĂnâs eyes then. Itâs a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the backâself-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesnât know what heâs doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. Itâs obvious from your cunt, along how good heâs making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. Itâs better, especially for JoaquĂn.Â
As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.
âJust like that,â you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements. âKeep going. âM close, so close, JoaquĂn. Please, donât stop. Youâre so ⊠youâre soââ Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, JoaquĂn continues, youâre stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you.Â
Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. Youâre digging into whatever you can findâthe heel of your foot into JoaquĂnâs back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. Youâre simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep JoaquĂn from parting with you for even a moment. Itâs hard to decide which you prefer, you donât even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point.Â
Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, JoaquĂn takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where youâre stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit.Â
His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. Itâs gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. Itâs gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth.Â
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess youâve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence.Â
âShit,â he laughs.Â
All you can do is agree through labored breaths.Â
He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if youâre going to shy away from him. You donât.Â
You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. Youâre trying to hide it from fear that JoaquĂn could think that youâre done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that.Â
When JoaquĂn pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know heâs onto you.Â
âYou need a minute?â The way he says it isnât much different from the way he asks you those same words when heâs kicking your ass in the gym.Â
And just like when youâre in the gym, you shamefully nod.Â
JoaquĂn chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. âThatâs okay. You want anything? Water maybe?âÂ
âWater sounds good.âÂ
You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You canât even let whatâs happening sink in when youâre still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him.Â
JoaquĂn comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You donât question the source, you just drink until thereâs half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you.Â
âAre you ⊠do you wanna stop?â He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, âBecause itâs fine if you do. Iâm okay with that.â And heâs being honest. You donât feel any pressure coming from JoaquĂn at all.Â
Itâs what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. âNo. Letâs keep going.âÂ
He nods once to himself. âAlright. Cool. Yeah.âÂ
Excitement leaks from his pores but you donât comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but youâre under a haze right now and thatâs what your emotions are being led with.Â
JoaquĂn hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesnât feel what heâs looking for, he swears.Â
âOne second.â
You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago.Â
âYou came prepared?â The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to.Â
JoaquĂn shrugs. âI keep an emergency bag full of ⊠stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.âÂ
âFreak.â You donât mean it.Â
âYouâre about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldnât that make you a freak by association?â He seems to mean it.Â
âI donât think thatâs how that works.â
He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before.Â
When heâs been out in the field, when heâs training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didnât look as imposing as he does nowâstaring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs.Â
âThatâs definitely how that works,â he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if heâll fuck you like that too.Â
You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesnât react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss.Â
As soon as JoaquĂnâs briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him.Â
Even this part of him is attractive. Heâs thick, thatâs the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. Thereâs a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadnât noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead.Â
Now that youâve seen all of JoaquĂn, you can easily conclude that heâs perfect. Just as you have that thought, JoaquĂn takes an inhale as he prepares to speak.Â
âYouâre so perfect,â he says.Â
The warmth instantly floods your body.Â
âI was just thinking the same thing about you,â you tell him.Â
He dips his head almost shyly and doesnât say anything. Instead, JoaquĂn pulls the condom out of the packet.Â
âWait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?âÂ
He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs.Â
Itâs truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as youâve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, JoaquĂn's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until youâre nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed.Â
âReady?âÂ
You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.Â
One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, JoaquĂn pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you werenât as soaked and prepped as you were, youâre sure the burn wouldâve been way worse.Â
For a few moments itâs like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and thereâs the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know heâs bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.
JoaquĂn smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you.Â
And for a bit, JoaquĂn does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesnât overwhelm you too quickly. Thereâs punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, JoaquĂnâs introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as heâs introducing the concept of another release to you.Â
But youâve had your fill, itâs his turn now.Â
You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same placeâback around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together.Â
His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, âYou can use me, JoaquĂn. Take what you want.â
His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you.Â
You nod assuredly. âItâs what I want.â Just as youâre about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, JoaquĂn adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.Â
The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but theyâre shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like heâs reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.Â
Youâre forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around JoaquĂnâs hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for JoaquĂn to rest his forehead on.Â
You canât hear his sounds over yours, but you feel themâquick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldnât even if you tried.Â
Luckily, though, JoaquĂn lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.Â
You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later JoaquĂn swears and itâs a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. Heâs affecting you, and youâre affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.
âAre you close?â you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.Â
You feel JoaquĂn nod against your neck. âYeah,â he confirms, âyeah, baby, âm almost there.âÂ
Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you werenât having your guts completely rearranged right now.Â
He chuckles deeply against your skin. âWhat? Whatâs up?â
âCâŠCall me that again.â
âWhat? âBabyâ? You like when I call you baby?âÂ
You hum affirmatively.Â
JoaquĂn lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. âYouâre my baby? Hm? Are you?âÂ
You nod, whining out an âuh-huhâ.Â
âYeah?â he grins as he says it, as if heâs shocked that you agreed. You donât know if heâs serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if youâre a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.Â
He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. âYou gonna be good for me, too?â When you nod, he continues. âBe good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?â
He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, JoaquĂn nods.Â
âThatâs right. Just like that.âÂ
He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.Â
Youâre close, youâre almost there, and the erratic way JoaquĂn practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after JoaquĂn buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as JoaquĂnâs body melts on top of yours.Â
He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until heâs clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.Â
His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. âYou think youâll be up for a shower?â
You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. âIn about ten minutes, yeah.âÂ
âTake your time.â
In the meantime, JoaquĂn slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all youâve been through since getting back to your room, you donât exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.Â
The feeling of JoaquĂn kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You donât have to open your eyes to know heâs wearing that same soft look on his features.
Youâre so pampered there that you donât force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.Â
JoaquĂnâs already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if heâs shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.Â
You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.Â
âI got it,â is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of JoaquĂn dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songsâsome that you recognize, some that you donât. Thereâs a familiarity now that youâve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.Â
Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.
âYou know what I realized like a few minutes ago?â he says when heâs rinsing the soap off of his body.Â
âWhat?â
âRemember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?â
âYeah, how could I forget?â
âYeah well Iâm pretty sure they thought we were like ⊠swingers or some shit.â
Youâre startled awake. âHuh? Why do you think that?â
âOh I donât think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.â
You frown. âI thought she was just drunk or friendly.â
âShe definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.âÂ
You blink. âI thought she wanted you.â
JoaquĂn shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. âShe probably did. Thatâs sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isnât it?â
You laugh through a quick exhale of air. âCome on, JoaquĂn, letâs go to bed.âÂ
You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. JoaquĂn follows after you.Â
âOh, I get to sleep with you tonight?â He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasnât just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.Â
You end up getting exactly what you wanted. JoaquĂn leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as youâre finished, heâs trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.Â
You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.Â
The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and youâre snuggled up next to JoaquĂn, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.Â
Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. JoaquĂn ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.Â
Itâs Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.
my masterlist!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ (mdni)
tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel âmy wife doesnât lift a finger in this homeâ miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless youâre joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joelâs love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink
word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)
read on ao3!
a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo
Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safeâand timely.Â
In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.
In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.
It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.
You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.Â
Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closerâsated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.Â
You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.Â
âItâs ten,â you whisper.
âHmph,â he says against your belly. He hasnât opened his eyes yet; if you didnât know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think heâs still sleeping.Â
âWe slept in,â you point out.Â
Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. âShit,â he grumbles.Â
You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. âDo you want to get up now?â
Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.Â
âIâll make you breakfast,â you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. âEggs⊠bacon⊠coffeeâŠâ
Joel presses his lips to your belly. âDonât go takinâ my job, now,â he says, his voice groggy with disuse. âNo girl of mineâs gonna run around gettinâ her own damn coffee.â
âHmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.âÂ
This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scentâlinen and vanillaâand gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.Â
âNever mind,â you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.Â
His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. âYou got a honey-do list?â he asks with a crooked grin.
Your tongue wets your bottom lip. âThat depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?â
âWhat do I get if I do?â he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.Â
You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.Â
âAfter,â you gasp. âAfter chores, honey. Weâll never get up if we start now.â
âDonât think I can make my woman come in good time?â he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckinâ breakfast. He begins to salivate.
Your head falls back into the pillows. âI never said that.â
Joel isnât listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ainât about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.Â
He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.Â
He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.Â
âTaste so fuckinâ sweet,â he murmurs. âFuckinâ made for me.â
âOh, God,â you whisper, your eyes fluttering. âBabyâŠâ
That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckinâ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing othersâ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.Â
He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dickâafter the second date, that is.Â
He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckinâ planet.Â
He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.Â
Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.Â
âThis wasnât your first bar fight, was it?â
Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okayâa little longer than that.Â
He shook his head.Â
You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. âThis might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.âÂ
âLike the sound of that,â he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough workerâs hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.Â
âWanna tell me why you did it?â you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.Â
Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. âAin't manly to touch a woman like that.â
You lifted your brows. âBut it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?â
Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.Â
He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.Â
But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.Â
âDidnât beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,â he says.Â
He watched you bite down on a smile. âYou're a little twisted, Joel.â
âYeah?â He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. âThink so?â
âYeah.â You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. âBut I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.â
Your fingers curl in Joelâs messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. âOh, baby,â you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.Â
He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. Heâd let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. Heâd go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.Â
âJoel, Iâm⊠Iâm comingâah!â you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.Â
Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. âNeed a haircut,â you croak.
Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. Heâs freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.Â
Itâs eleven oâclock, and your stomach begins to grumble.Â
Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. âGettinâ up now,â he says. âPromise.â
He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.
He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly youâve nurtured through years of cooking. Heâs sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.Â
âSo handsome,â you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.Â
Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. âSit down, baby. Coffeeâs ready.â
You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. âMmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. âs nice and warm.âÂ
âGirl of my dreams,â Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. âCâmon, Iâll keep you warm.â
You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. Itâs a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, youâd draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.Â
You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joelâs mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joelâs.Â
Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.Â
âBaby, I donât mind,â he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.Â
âBut it looks painful, honey. You should let meââ
âYou donât gotta do anything,â says Joel, ââcept come over here.â
Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. âJoelâŠâÂ
Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joelâs always had better restraint than you.Â
âWarmer now?â he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.Â
You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.Â
âGimme the list,â he says, voice muffled.Â
You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. âMow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.â
âHmm, easy work,â he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. âGimme yours, baby.â
You recall the items on your own list. âVacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,â you add with a playful smile.Â
Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. âYou put all that down for yourself?â
You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. âYou work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.â
Joel shakes his head. âYou arenât doinâ all that by yourself.â
âNo?â You lift your brows. âWanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?â
âIâll win âem from you,â he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. âName the price.â
You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. âIâll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?â
Joelâs old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his fatherâs mother before. Putting in an honest dayâs work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have toânot when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.Â
Joel nips your chin. âFine. But I ainât gonna forget that I owe you.â
âWouldn't dream of it, baby.â
Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of itâs for showâknowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.Â
Heâs methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.Â
You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.Â
Heâs just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.Â
He's always been a capable man, broad and tallâso good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way heâs so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. Iâm her husband and Iâm fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sportâalways outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.Â
Heâll be a good daddy. Â
You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joelâs warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.Â
Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. Itâs been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.
Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.Â
Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. âThank you, baby,â he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.Â
Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. âYouâre lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?â
âJustâŠâ Your tongue wets your bottom lip. âThank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.â
âAinât nothinâ,â says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âGot any idea how I can win those chores off you?â
Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.Â
Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.Â
âI want you to put a baby in me.â
All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.Â
Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. âWhat?â
Thereâs no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joelâs and let them stay connected over your stomach. âI want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,â you say softly, your gaze locked to his. âThat's my price.â
Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. âI heard you,â he rasps. âJust⊠you⊠you mean it?â
You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. Thereâs hunger in the sound of it. âWeâve talked about it,â you offer, conciliatory. âLots of times.â
âYeah, we have.â Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. âYou gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.â
You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. âHoney, I want it all with you.â Your fingers squeeze his. âWeâve waited so long and I donât want to wait anymore.â
His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. âGirl of my fuckinâ dreams,â he mumbles against your skin. âIâll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.â
As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.Â
âDonât think this gets us out of doing chores,â you tease.Â
âYou arenât gonna lift a goddamn finger,â says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. âYouâre havinâ a baby.â
âHoney, Iâm not pregnant yet,â you laugh. âI don't need to get all lazy right away.â
âYeah, you do, and you will. Iâm gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,â says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. âGonna look so fuckinâ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off workââ
âJoel,â you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. âWeâll have time to do all of that.â
He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. âWhatâs next on my list?â he asks, holding you around the waist.Â
You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joelâs arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.Â
âAnd then what?â he says gruffly. Â
You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. âAnd then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.â
This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.Â
Heâll need to drive to Bennyâs, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that itâll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.Â
âWhat are you thinkinâ about?â you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. Itâs a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and thereâs dinner to make, but itâs getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.Â
âNames,â he says. âGot lots of ideas.â
âYeah? Fire away.âÂ
âWell, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, yâknow? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of âem,â he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.
âThey're very sweet names,â you concede, âbut they don't feel like my baby.âÂ
Joelâs hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. âMaybe weâll feel it,â he says, âwhen we make her.â
âThink itâll happen on the first try?â you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddyâs leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joelâs body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.Â
âIf it doesnât, Iâll just have to try again.â You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.Â
You smack his hand. âIf you keep playinâ, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?â
Joel grunts, patting your thigh. âDirty play.â
âThat's what I thought.â
Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckinâ-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.Â
âLet me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.â
âI got it,â he grunts from under the sink. âJust a loose pipe. Iâm peachy.â
You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, downâ
âJoel?â you squeak, wringing your hands together.Â
He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. âYeah, baby?â
âAre you, um⊠Are you hungry?âÂ
He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. âNo,â he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. âThink dinner can wait.â
âI was thinking the same thing,â you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.Â
âThat so?â he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. âYou dressed up all pretty today. For me?â
You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. âAlways for you.â
âThatâs right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?â
âMmm, I do,â you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. âSo handsome, strong, generousâŠâ You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. âSuch a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.â
Joelâs breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. âJesus,â he croaks, gripping your hips hard. âJesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slowââ
âor I swear to God, Iâll blow a load in my jeans.Â
âYou wanna undress me?â you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joelâs nostrils flare, and heâs walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.Â
Heâs salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. Heâs all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.Â
You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.Â
You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enoughâhe needs possession.Â
Joelâs kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.Â
âI wasn't done,â you tell him.Â
Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.Â
Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. âJoel, honeyââ
Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that youâll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.Â
He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. âCâmon, baby.â
You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.Â
He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. âGoddamn beautiful,â he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.Â
âThink so?â Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. âYeah, you really think so.â
His nostrils flare. âSit.â
You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. âSweet thing. So needy all fuckinâ day.â
âSo were youâ is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.Â
Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. âRemember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?â
ââLetâs go againâ?â
âThe other thing.â
â'Let me suck your dickâ?â
âTry again, baby.â
ââWrong holeâ?â
Joel snorts, shaking his head. âGoddamn smartass,â he mutters. âTold me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.â
His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. âSaid youâd let me do whatever I wanted,â Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. âThat still true?â
âI meant it then, and I mean it now,â you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. âIâm yours, Joel Miller.â
He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. âYou got somethinâ you wanna ask me?â
You hook a finger in his belt loop. âCan you get naked now?â
He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. âGo on. Do what you wanna do, baby.â
He belongs to you. Heâs yours to mould the way you want.Â
Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joelâs hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.Â
You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. Itâs the artistâs pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because itâs Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.Â
You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.Â
His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you donât take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.Â
âBaby,â he chokes.Â
âYes, honey?â you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.Â
âJesus,â he says through his teeth. âYouâre so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.â
You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joelâs hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. âGoddamn. Jesusââ
Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. âI just wanna thank youââa soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throatââfor everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.â
Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. âHow much do you love me?â he demands.Â
You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.Â
âI love you,â you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joelâs chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. âLove you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.â
Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. âFuck, baby. PleaseâŠâ
âDo you love me?â Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.Â
âChrist, Iââ His hips jut forward instinctively. âI love you. Fuckinâ love you, baby.â
You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. Heâs trying not to take control.Â
You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and heâs going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.Â
Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. âGonna kill me,â he manages. âYouâre gonna kill me, honey.â
âMmmm,â you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joelâs fingers tighten in your hair.Â
âFuuuuck. You love this cock.â
âMmmhmm.â
âLove takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.â
âMmmmph,â you agree, pushing your tits out.Â
His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so youâre forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.Â
The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.Â
You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. âDoesn't take much to get you cryinâ. You like me that much?â
You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. âDid I do okay?â
Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.Â
ââDid I do okay,ââ he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. âGot no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.â
âI just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.â You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. âHeâs always liked to give me things.â
Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.Â
He loves to giveâalways has. Itâs all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, heâll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. Heâll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.Â
Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.Â
Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. âI love you, Joel.â
He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. âI love you.â
âYou want to make a baby?â
He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. âYeah. I really fuckinâ do.â
You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. âWill you fuck me? Please?â
Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. âUse your words.â
âI want to be a mom, Joel.â You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.Â
He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. âI know, baby. Iâll help you. Hands and knees, now.â
The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.Â
Your body trembles with excitement. Youâre going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.Â
But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.Â
âI do this to you?â he says smugly.Â
âYou know damn wellââ
âWanna hear you say it.â The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. âWho did this to you?â
Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. âYou, Joel. Itâs you, baby. Only you.â
Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joelâs tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.Â
âOhh, fuck!â you gasp. âJoelâŠâ
He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.Â
âOh my God, Joel⊠fuck, honey, pleaseâ!â
Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.Â
âSo goddamn sweet,â he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.Â
âJoel, IâmâŠâ Youâre drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.Â
He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.Â
Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.Â
âOh, fuck!â Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isnât fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.Â
His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.Â
He doesnât let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. âBaby, let me rest,â you gasp, âjust for a second.â
Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. ââm so fuckinâ lucky,â he murmurs against your skin.Â
âLucky you didnât kill me.â You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.Â
âMakinâ sure youâre ready,â he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. âNuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?â
You nod your head frantically. âYeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.â
âMmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,â he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. âDon't think you're ready for me yet.â
âNo! No, Iâm ready,â you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. âBaby, please, Iâm ready for you. Need you so badly.â
âShhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.â Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. âGonna fill this up.â
A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. âPlease,â you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.Â
He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. âYou want a baby?â he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. âTell me what you want.â
âI want a baby,â you whisper, âplease. Please give me a baby.â
He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.Â
âWhat. Do. You. Want?â
âI want to make you a daddy!â you sob. âI want to have your baby and make you a daddy.â
âYou want to be a momma?â he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. âThat it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckinâ baby in you?â
Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. âYes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.â
The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. Heâs gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. âJoel, fuckâŠâ
He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. âThatâs it,â he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. âGonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckinâ made to take this cock.â
Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, againâ
âIâll get you fuckinâ pregnant,â continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. âStuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.â
âUhhh!â you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husbandâs huge body, his thick cock.
Joel wants this, tooâhas for a long time. Itâs hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.Â
Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.Â
Youâre going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. Heâll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. Heâll bury his face in your throat and youâll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.Â
Fuck, heâll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.Â
Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. Heâs greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.Â
Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.Â
A real man gives his wife everything she wants.Â
He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. âCâmon,â he grunts, âcome for me, baby. Fuckinâ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and Iâll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. Câmon, baby.â
His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. âOhhhh, God! Oh myâ!âÂ
Joelâs hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You canât breathe, canât move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.Â
âFuck, thatâs it,â he groans. âThatâs it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezinâ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckinâ pregnant.â
âJoelllll,â you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. âWant it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Godââ
The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.Â
Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk heâll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.Â
âGonna come. Gonna fuckinâ fill you up, give you a baby. GonnaâJesus, goddamnââ
Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.Â
Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isnât so loud now, not so cocky. Heâs reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.Â
It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.Â
You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.Â
âThank fuck I was at the bar that night.â
Joelâs laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing heâs crushing you. âNever would've had to patch me upâ
âMmm, you're sexy when you're mad,â you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. Youâre deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.Â
âShouldn't enable violence,â he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.Â
You roll your eyes. âOh, please.â
He chuckles. âYou feel okay?â
âI feel good,â you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. âI feel excited.â
His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.Â
âMe, too,â he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.Â
Thereâs a lull, and for a moment, you think heâs fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.Â
âHey, Joel?â
His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. âYeah, baby?â
âI like the name Sarah.â
THE END.
tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all đ«¶
no thoughts just will poulter in the bear⊠it feels criminal that I barely see any fics/oneshots for Luca yet this man is so fine omfg THE TATS like LOOK AT HIM
Masterlist | Buy me a coffee
Summary: Itâs been five years since you heard from Sam Wilson â the longest youâve gone without speaking since you met him at sixteen years old. You've tried to move on, but six words still weigh heavy on your heart. You're certain you'll never hear those words again until you get a phone call from upstate New York.
Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader
Warnings: angst with a happy ending, high school sweethearts, mentions of Riley (CA:TWS), mentions of loss and grief, spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, mentions of the Blip and its repercussions, no use of y/n, use of pet names (ie. "honey" and "baby")
Word Count: 3.5k
Song Inspo: "Love You, Miss You, Mean It" by Luke Bryan
Authorâs Note: So, apparently all of us are desperate for more Sam Wilson fics. I promise I don't also base my fics on songs, but I was listening to this one recently and couldn't get this idea out of my head (maybe Sam Wilson fics based on country songs is just my niche now lol). Like always, I hope you guys enjoy this one and let me know what you all think. Also, my inbox is open to any ideas for Sam Wilson fics. I'm not promising to write them all, but I'm desperate for my Sam content and if it has to be done by me then so be it.
âWhat about Craig from book club?â
You furrow your brow at Sarah as you wipe down the counters during a lull in the afternoon lunch rush. Youâve worked at Wilson Family Seafood since your family moved to Delacroix during your sophomore year of high school. Your father suddenly lost his job and, by pure happenstance, reconnected with his old childhood friend, Paul Wilson. Within a week, your family packed up your entire lives and moved across the country to help at the Wilsonâs family-owned restaurant. It was a drastic change, but the transition was helped by Sarah Wilson, who quickly became your closest friend. The two of you spent your days in classes together at the local high school, your afternoons working at the restaurant, and your evenings working on homework by the docks. You were sure that your life couldnât get any better than this.
But then you met her older brother, Sam.Â
Youâd seen him in passing a few times; however, basketball season kept him busy for the first few months you spent in Delacroix. Once his team was knocked out of the playoffs, Sam also spent his afternoons at the restaurant. To Sarahâs dismay, Sam took an immediate liking to you. At first, you brushed off Samâs attention as playful, meaningless flirting. But, to your surprise, Sam asked you to the junior prom while the three of you sat at the docks after your shifts. Sarah pretended to be disgusted by the idea of her older brother and best friend dating, but, in reality, she couldnât be happier â after all, sheâd never seen her brother so smitten.Â
âI donât need a date, Sarah.â
âYou deserve to feel loved.â
A sigh escapes you as her voice softens. When Sam enlisted in the military after high school, you were confident that was the end of the line for the two of you. However, Sam went above and beyond to make things work. You received letters from him twice a month while he was deployed, and every single one ended the same: love you, miss you, mean it. He visited home whenever he could, and the two of you were happy. But then his wingman got blown out of the sky during a night operation, and Sam slowly withdrew from everyone in his life: his friends, his family, and you. His letters started showing up only once a month, then every two, until eventually they stopped altogether.
It all came to a head when you heard from Darlene that Sam got honorably discharged from service, and instead of coming back home, he chose to stay in D.C. after accepting a job with the Department of Veteran Affairs. You remember the phone call that followed when Sam told you he just couldnât face living in Delacroix right now without his father â that he couldnât handle adding that grief to his plate right now. He didnât try to convince you to join him. Sam knew that you couldnât leave his mother and sister like that, and although he knew he was making a selfish choice, he didnât want to drag you and his family along with him during his recovery process. Youâd drop everything to help him, but thatâs not what you deserve. Youâve already spent over a decade assisting the Wilson family â starting full-time at the restaurant after high school, providing funds from your savings account for numerous doctor appointments and procedures when his father got sick, and opening up your home to Sarah and her new husband after they lost theirs. Sam couldnât ask you to put your life on hold, yet again, just for him. And even though he knew he was losing you, he still ended the call with the words he only ever said to you: love you, miss you, mean it. You remember wanting to be angry with him, but, in reality, all you felt was a deep, profound sadness â because you could tell just by the sound of his voice that this wasnât the same Sam who left for the Air Force all those years ago. This isnât the Sam you fell in love with. So, even though it was the hard thing to do, you let him go.Â
You didnât see Sam again until Darlene passed away two years later. After the funeral, Sam asked if you wanted to grab a drink. And even though your brain was screaming at you to stay away from the man who broke your heart â you couldnât say no. He was surprised to hear you werenât seeing anyone, and you were just as surprised that he wasnât dating. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you couldnât help the smile that spread across your face as you realized that, although the Sam sitting in front of you was a little bit older and a little bit wiser, he still had the same boyish charm that made you fall in love with him all those years ago. And your heart almost stopped in your chest when he said the six words you havenât been able to stop thinking about: love you, miss you, mean it.Â
âI do feel loved.â
âItâs not enough to just feel it in your dreams.â
The words made you stop in your tracks. Itâs been five years since you heard from Sam Wilson â the longest youâve gone without speaking since you met him at sixteen years old. After the two of you reconnected after Darleneâs funeral, you and Sam kept in touch with the hope that one day, this tender, unspoken thing between the two would turn into something more permanent; however, for now, you both had responsibilities â Sam was the head of PTSD counseling at the Department of Veteran Affairs, and you were now a co-owner of Wilson Family Seafood. But then Sam met Steve Rogers, and his whole world seemed to turn upside down. You remember watching the news, clutching Sarahâs hand as the anchor explained that there was now a global manhunt for three men after a bombing in Vienna: James Buchanan Barnes, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson. And suddenly, your little dream life together seemed to slip right between your fingers â after all, your high school sweetheart was now a wanted fugitive. Sam couldnât risk contacting you while on the run with Steve and Natasha. And even though all he wanted was to call you and explain his side of the story â explain that he only did what he knew was right â he didn't. It wasnât until they ended up in Wakanda with Thanos on their heels that he finally reached out. He was pretty sure that this was it for him â he wasnât a super soldier, he wasnât magical or enhanced, he was just a man with metal wings. So, Sam sent you a message before he was thrown into another war because even if it was the last time you heard from him, he needed you to know that six words were still weighing on his heart: love you, miss you, mean it.
âSarahâŠâ
You trail off because youâre unsure how to respond â because you know sheâs right. Sam sent that message five years ago. You didnât believe he was gone until Steve Rogers showed up on your doorstep with a box of Samâs belongings. There werenât many items, but Steve thought it was best that you received them â after all, missing you was all he talked about during their time on the run together. After Steve left, you opened the box and pulled out Samâs old pararescue sweatshirt, a few unsent letters, his fatherâs watch, and a handful of photos: one you had taken of Sarah, AJ, and Cass on an old fishing boat, an old picture of Riley and Sam in full tactical gear while on deployment, another of Sam standing between Steve and Natasha at some sort of party, and lastly one of you and him sitting side-by-side on shiny bleachers together after his senior year championship game. With misty eyes, you put the photos on your refrigerator and pulled on his sweatshirt â desperate to feel close to your lost love in any way possible.
âHeâs gone, honey.â
You know her words come from a place of love â from a place of understanding. Sarah understands the grief you're experiencing better than anyone else. She not only lost her brother in the Blip but also her husband a year before due to a sudden car accident. Everyone else in your life told you to move on, but Sarah knows that six words keep you securely planted in the past. She watched as you threw yourself into your responsibilities to cope: draining your savings account to keep the restaurant afloat while moving in with her to help raise AJ and Cass. But she also noticed how eager you were to slip away when things were quiet at the end of the day. She knew it was so you could see Sam again. You relive your favorite moments in your dreams: kissing him for the first time while parked in your driveway, Sam surprising you at work during his deployments, dancing all night together at Sarahâs wedding. Itâs not the same â itâll never be the same â but itâs the closest youâll get to having him back.Â
âIâm not ready to move on yet.â
Youâre not sure if youâll ever be ready to move on. Youâve loved Sam Wilson since you were sixteen years old. Through lifeâs highs and lows, through steadiness and imbalance â it was always Sam. It will always be Sam. Sarah gives you a gentle, knowing smile. She knows. Of course, she knows. Sheâs confident that if Sam were in your place, heâd be just as distraught because the hardest years of Sam's life were the ones after he pushed you away after Riley passed. Even though he was sure everyone in Delacroix was better off without him, Sam would call Sarah once a month to check in with everyone. She could hear the pain in her brotherâs voice every time he asked about you â no matter how much time passed, you were an open wound that never seemed to heal. But even though Sam was hurting, all he wanted was for you to be happy â even if it was without him.Â
âAnd thatâs okay. Just know that Sam would want you to be happy.â
You suck in a sharp breath. Your chest suddenly feels like itâs about to cave in under the weight of your grief. Luckily, youâre saved from the conversation by the sound of the door opening. The lull in the afternoon lunch rush ended, and so did your discussion. Still, you spent the rest of your shift thinking about it. Sarah offers to close up for the night, and youâre grateful. You desperately need to go lay down â you feel absolutely drained after your shift, and Sarahâs words are still rattling around in your brain. The air is thick and sticky as you walk the empty streets of Delacroix. Even though it's halfway through October, the pervasive southern humidity has yet to disperse. A wave of relief washes over you as you enter the small, air-conditioned home you now share with the remaining members of the Wilson family. You kick off your shoes at the door, toss your keys on the kitchen counter, and collapse onto the couch in your living room. AJ and Cass are spending the night at a friendâs house, so your home is uncharacteristically quiet â that is, until your phone starts ringing. You pick it up off the coffee table with a deep sigh, and your brow furrows as you recognize the area code: Upstate New York. Usually, youâd send it straight to voicemail, but your finger hesitates on the decline button. Against your better judgment, you accept the call.
Your heart stops as you listen to a nurse explain the situation on the other end. Sam Wilson was just admitted to their hospital after taking one hell of a beating with his fellow Avengers, and you were contacted since youâre still listed as his emergency contact. You thank the nurse for the information before hanging up. Your hands tremble as you place your phone back on the coffee table. For a few moments, all you can do is focus on breathing in and out. A part of you thinks this is a dream â that any moment now, youâll wake up alone in your living room with an aching in your chest. But that moment doesnât come. You simply sit on your couch, staring at your phone while time slowly passes until Sarah eventually comes home. Sheâs concerned when you donât answer her question as she opens the door, and panic rushes through her veins once she spots you sitting in the living room â your expression holds an ocean of emotions fighting for dominance as you stare at the coffee table.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âI got a call. Samâs at a hospital in Upstate New York.â
âWhat?â
Sarah collapses next to you on the couch. You both sit in silence for several moments. Sarahâs at a loss for words, and youâre still not sure this is real. But what if it is? What if Sam is really lying in a hospital bed in Upstate New York right now? You have to chance it, right? Sam would.Â
âI need to go.â
Sarah finally looks at you. Tears are streaming down her face, but her expression is one of unbridled joy. After everything sheâs lost â after praying every single night to a God she stopped believing in long ago â she finally received a miracle. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.
âI know.â
Youâre out the door in under five minutes after haphazardly throwing clothing into an old backpack along with your essentials. You give Sarah one last hug before tossing the bag into the passenger seat of your car. The ride is torturously long. It takes you a full day of driving to make it to the address the nurse provided, but you refuse to stop. You can rest when you get there â once you see Sam with your own eyes. Your hands shake as you enter the hospital and approach the front desk. You feel idiotic giving Samâs name when the lady behind the counter asks who youâre here to visit, but she simply smiles at you before writing down a room number. Exhaustion has settled deep into your bones, but you push yourself forward, putting one foot in front of the other until you find yourself outside room 335. You knock your fist against the door, and your heart lurches as you hear a response from the other side. After taking a deep breath, you open the door, and you get the wind knocked out of your lungs â as if youâve been sucker-punched in the chest.
Lying in a hospital bed, looking a little worse for wear, was Sam Wilson. There is a long line of stitches on the left side of his face, a deep purple bruise is forming under his right eye, and his toned abdomen is wrapped in bandages and gauze, but itâs undeniably him.Â
âSam?â
His face immediately softens, and if he could, heâd cross the room in a heartbeat just to wrap you up in his arms. Tears well up in his eyes as he takes in your appearance. You know you look older, but he looks exactly the same beneath the injuries. Still, he looks at you as if no time has passed â as if you are still the bright-eyed, naive sophomore falling in love with the dangerously charismatic basketball captain.Â
âHey, baby.â
His voice sounds like home. And in this moment, even though your mind is foggy and your knees are on the verge of buckling, you thank whatever higher power sent him back to you. Samâs brow furrows as he clocks the noticeable fatigue in your movements.
âCome here.â
He gestures to a chair next to his bedside. You immediately do as he says, and your muscles breathe a sigh of relief as you sit down. Sam painfully repositions himself closer to you and immediately reaches out. You melt into his touch as he brushes his knuckles against your cheek.Â
âWhen was the last time you slept?â
A laugh escapes you due to the absurdity of his question. Heâs currently lying in a hospital bed after five years of being presumed dead, looking frailer than youâve ever seen him, and yet, heâs only worried about you.Â
âYouâre ridiculous, Sam.âÂ
A smile spreads across Samâs face as you catch his hand and intertwine your fingers. You hold onto him with a tight grip â afraid that if you let up, heâll slip right between your fingers again. His smile fades at the realization, and Samâs gaze is brimming with concern.
âHow long was I gone?â
âFive years.â
You donât look at him as you answer, but you can feel his body shudder in response. He takes a shaky breath, attempting to process that information as you rub your thumb across his swollen knuckles. Youâre the only thing grounding him in reality at this moment.Â
âIs everyone okay? Sarah, AJ, Cass?â
You nod, finally meeting his frantic gaze.Â
âEveryoneâs fine. Theyâre back in Delacroix looking after the restaurant. I took care of them.â
âWho took care of you?â
Samâs face falls as you press your cheek to the back of his hand, avoiding eye contact. Thatâs enough to answer his question. Youâve been strong your whole lie. Stronger than you ever gave yourself credit for â stronger than him. While he ran off to war, you stayed and fought to keep everything together at home. He realized long ago that he left you with the toughest battle, and he promised himself while on the run that heâd help relieve your burden once he cleared his name â he promised himself that heâd finally come home to you. But then Thanos snapped his goddamn fingers, and everything after that was a blur. Apparently, he has to add going MIA for five years to his long list of things to make up for. And thereâs no time like the present to start making amends.Â
âI wanted to call you every day after Hydra â after Vienna. I hope you know that I never stopped thinking about you. I tried to get a message to you before everythingâŠâ
Sam trails off, and his eyes glaze over as a faraway look sweeps over his expression. Your hand tightens around his as you realize you have no idea what heâs doneâ what heâs witnessed â since you last spoke to him. Youâve both been through hell, but somehow â some way â you made your way back to each other. That has to mean something.
âI got the message.â
Samâs face twists into confusion as you let go of his hand and pull four photographs out of your backpack. You offer them to him, and Sam grabs them with trembling fingers. A small, sad smile spreads across his face as he recognizes them from his locker at the Avengers compound.Â
âHow did you get these?â
âSteve.â
Sam should have known that Steve would seek you out after the dust settled â after they counted their losses. He was a soldier, after all; he knew the protocol. He nods as he admires the old photo of you and him: what he would give to go back, to have that time with you again.
âListen, five years is a long time. I canât imagine what youâve gone through or what youâve done to get by.â
Thereâs a heaviness in Samâs tone, and as he avoids eye contact with you, you realize heâs trying to ask if youâve moved on. He wouldnât fault you for creating a life without him â but little does he know, youâve been waiting for him against all odds in Delacroix the whole time.
âSamâŠâ
Hope reignites in Samâs chest as you wrap your hand around his again and drag your chair closer to him. Itâs the first time heâs felt that old, forgotten emotion since he kissed you beneath the fairy lights of that bar by the docks. And just like that night, six words burn in his chest as he looks at you with pure adoration.
âI love you, miss you, mean it, baby.â
A bright smile spreads across your face as the words grace your ears. You never thought youâd hear them again.Â
âStill?â
His smile rivals your own â and the sight jumpstarts the process of stitching your shattered heart back together. His gaze is incredulous as he cocks his head at your words â as if it was the most ridiculous question heâs ever heard.Â
Still?Â
Sam could never dream of loving someone else. His heart has been yours since he was seventeen years old.
âAlways.â
And then you close the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, the years of loss and longing melt away. And even though every muscle in his body aches, Sam holds you like his life depends on it. He has a lot to apologize for â a lot of time to make up â but, for right now, this tender moment with you is enough. Because itâs just you and him. It always has been, and it always will be.
(Past) Joel Miller x Reader, then Tommy Miller x Joelâs Girlfriend!Reader, Post Joelâs Death
Word count: just under 6k
Warnings: Female reader, Dead Joel, Reader Gets w/ Tommy, Grief, Submissive Tommy if you squint, but also Dominant Tommy if you squint too, smut (duh), p in v sex, oral (female receiving, iktr), fingering, angst (thereâs no getting out of it, iâm sorry), unprotected sex (use protection irl pls), only proofread a little
a/n: for the girlies who want to heal over joel's death in their own sick and twisted way ;)
tagged some lovelies who said they were interested:Â @venus-written @mmmunson @xodilfluvr @hillaryfluff @endurexxsurvive @pascalslilpunk
It had always been complicated with Tommy.
Back before everything was official with Joel, there had been moments- small, dangerous moments- where Tommy would linger a little too long, smile a little too much, let his hand brush yours in a way that felt like it meant something more.
You hadnât been with Joel then, not really. You two were still dancing around each other, too stubborn, too scared to admit what you both wanted. And maybe that's why Tommy thought there was a chance.
You remembered one night at the Tipsy Bison, after a few too many beers, when Tommy had leaned so close. Too close, his words slurred and almost as gentle as the hand he had draped around your waist.Â
His breath had been warm and minty, and you'd felt the tickle of his mustache brush against the shell of your ear when he spoke your name, soft and low, almost reverent. It had sent a shiver down your spine back then, a shiver you hadnât dared to acknowledge.
You hadn't let him finish what he was going to say. Not because you werenât flattered, but because Joel had been watching from across the room, his stare heavy, a warning. Because even then, even before Joel had claimed you, some part of you had known you werenât meant to be Tommyâs.
You were Joelâs girl.
Because when Joel looked at you, really looked at you, it was like you were the only steady thing left in a world built on ash and ruin.
You remembered the night it all changed. It was cold, a brittle sort of chill that bit through your jacket and scraped across your skin. The two of you were standing just outside the townâs walls, where the broken street lamps cast long, crooked shadows over the cracked pavement. Youâd been laughing about something, some stubborn argument you had while on patrol, some petty thing that didnât even matter now, when Joel suddenly fell quiet.
You can still remember the way he looked then: hands jammed deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a blow. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened-Â something raw and desperate bleeding through the cracks.
âI ainât good at this,â he muttered, voice rough like gravel. His breath fogged in the air between you, curling and disappearing into the cold. Youâd barely gotten out a confused, âGood at what?â before he closed the space between you.
He kissed you like he was starving for it. Like heâd been holding himself back for too long and something inside him had finally snapped. His mouth was rough and searching, his hands hesitant at first, then surer- one curling around the nape of your neck, the other splaying against your lower back, pulling you closer until there was no air left between you. He smelled like leather and cedar and that stubborn, earthy scent that was just Joel.
When he finally pulled back, his hand came up to cradle your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he couldnât quite believe you were real. His touch was clumsy, almost too careful, like he was afraid he might break you.
âSaw the way Tommy was lookinâ at you,â His voice was hoarse, and he let out a slow, shaky breath, almost a laugh. âKnew if I didnât do somethinâ, someone else would. And I couldnât stand the thought of losinâ you before I ever really had you.â
You didnât need him to say the rest. Youâd felt it too-Â all those glances, all that tension wound so tight between you it could snap at any second.
So you kissed him again, and that was the end of it. You were his.
Everyone knew it, including Tommy. He backed off after that. Kept his distance. You caught him looking, once or twice- not in the way he had before, not with a teasing smile or a lingering touch, but with something quieter, something sadder. Maybe heâd been a little surprised that Joel had finally made a move. Maybe, if he was honest, a little jealous too. But at the end of the day, Tommy had always been loyal to the people he loved.
And so he smiled that crooked, awkward smile when Joel pulled you close in public, and clapped him on the back like he was proud. The flirting stopped, replaced by an awkward politeness that never quite seemed natural.
It had been easier that way. Cleaner.
But now Joel was gone. And everything clean and easy had died with him
____
It was late- too late for visitors, but Tommy didnât seem to care. You were sitting by the window, staring out at the darkened world, feeling the weight of the night more than ever. The loss of Joel still stung, a raw ache you couldnât shake, and every sound seemed to echo louder than it should.
A knock on the door startled you, sharp and insistent, but when you opened it, there was Tommy, standing there with his shoulders hunched, his gaze a little too guarded. He didnât say anything at first, just stood there in the doorway, like he wasnât sure why heâd come, or maybe too afraid to say the reason aloud.
âYou alright?â you asked, your voice quiet, unsure if you even wanted to know the answer. The words felt strange between you- almost like a question you both already knew the answer to, but neither of you could admit.
Tommyâs eyes flickered to the ground, then back up to meet yours. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, like the words werenât quite ready to leave his lips. His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his stance was defensive, like he was bracing for something.
"I... I donât know what Iâm doinâ here," he admitted finally, his voice low and rough, the words feeling more like a confession than an explanation. "I just- "
You could see it, the uncertainty in his eyes, the same confusion you felt creeping up on you all the time. What were you supposed to do after everything had been torn apart? What were you supposed to feel when the man who was supposed to keep everything together was gone?
"You donât have to explain," you said, stepping aside to let him in. "Just- come in, Tommy."
He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, like he was trying to convince himself this was the right thing to do. Then, with a grunt, he stepped inside. He didnât seem to belong in the small, quiet space, his presence too big for the room, too loud in its own way.
âI like your outfit,â Tommy tried, a weak smile on his face
You looked down at your pajama ensemble, which consisted of a baggy t-shirt and athletic shorts, and looked back up at him, an eyebrow raised
"I wasnât sure if youâd wanna see me," Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figured you needed space, yâknow?"
You didnât answer immediately. The last few days had been a blur of grief, silence, and confusion. Youâd expected space from everyone, even from him, but there was something about Tommy that felt different. He wasnât just Joelâs brother- he was one of the few people who understood what it meant to lose him.
Tommyâs gaze flickered down to the floor again, and when he looked back up, there was something different about him- an edge of need, of something barely held back. The space between you was still there, but it felt like it was closing, pulling you both closer even though every instinct screamed to stay apart.
"I didnât think Iâd want to see anyone," you crossed your arms, voice barely above a whisper. "But here we are."
Tommy took a slow step closer, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was a dangerous proximity, but you couldnât bring yourself to step back. His presence, though so different from Joelâs, felt like the closest thing to comfort youâd had in days. Maybe thatâs why you didnât back away.
âI shouldnât be here,â Tommy muttered, almost to himself, but it wasnât regret- at least not the kind that would stop him from moving forward. There was something darker behind the words, something that tugged at you both. "But hell, it feels like this is all weâve got now."
Tommy let out a low, shaky breath. The air between you two was thick with everything unsaid, and he shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, like he didnât know where to put himself in this new, empty world. He glanced at the chair next to you but didnât sit.
âYouâre still⊠still here. After everything,â Tommy said, voice cracking, tears forming in his eyes. "Donât know why that matters, but... it does."
There was a strange, fragile honesty in his voice, and for a moment, the grief in his eyes matched your own. But there was something else there too, something that neither of you could name.
"Iâm not going anywhere," you said, the words soft but firm, as if to convince both of you. âNot yet.â
That was all it took. Tommy staggered two steps towards you, then fell to his knees with a strangled cry, burying his face into the fabric of the t-shirt at your stomach, his hands resting on the backs of your legs, clutching at you like you were the only thing left in the world.Â
Your hands instinctively moved to his head, your fingers threading through his thick hair. It felt like Joelâs.
It felt like Joelâs.
You gasped, pulling your hands back like youâd been burned, guilt crashing over you like a wave.
Tommy felt you start to pull away-Â his grip on your legs tightened in a silent plea, grounding himself there, refusing to let you go. He mumbled something against you, too broken to lift his head.
âWhat did you say, Tomm-â
Before you could finish, he shifted- slid his hands up from the backs of your legs to your hips, desperate, almost clumsy with it. The movement made you stumble a half step back, heart thundering in your chest.
âHelp me,â the words barely escaped his throat.
"Help you?" you breathed. "Wh-"
"Help me forget," he choked out. "Help me feel better, help me-" He broke off, his voice catching, as if he couldn't even put words to the ache tearing him apart.
Still, he couldnât look away.
Still, you couldnât either.
You stood frozen for a second, heart hammering against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it.
Tommy still knelt there, broken, at your feet, clutching onto you like you were the only thing left holding him together.
"Joel woulda never⊠Iâm sorry," Tommy began, his voice thick with guilt, the words snagging in his throat, a single tear streaming down his face. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame flickering over his features. "Never wanted this. I canât⊠I shouldnât⊠I shouldnâtâ he sputtered out.Â
The weight of it crushed your chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Maybe that's why I havenât sent you away," you whispered, the confession burning your tongue. Tommy froze at your words. It felt like betrayal- to Joel, to yourself- but the hollow ache inside you roared louder than your guilt. "Maybe I need this. Maybe... I need something Iâm not supposed to have."
Tommyâs eyes darkened, his hands still fisting the sides of your shorts like he couldnât bear to let you go.
Without thinking, you sank down, knees pressing into the worn wooden floor. You were level with him now, close enough to see every crack in the mask he was trying so hard to wear. Tommy sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, like it shattered the last bit of restraint he had left.
You hesitated- a heartbeat, two, before reaching out and tentatively brushing your fingers against his cheek. His stubble was rough under your touch, grounding you in this awful, beautiful mess.
His forehead dropped against yours with a shaky exhale, his body trembling from the force of everything he was trying to hold back.
"Fucking god, Tommy,â you shuddered, âWe canât," you whispered against him, your breath mingling with his. Spearmint.Â
"I know," Tommy muttered, âI fuckin' know,â but the words didnât stop him. His hand locking around the back of your neck to hold you in place, he surged forward without giving either of you another moment to think.
His mouth crashed against yours- rough, needy, almost clumsy- but you answered him without hesitation, your hands grasping at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
There was nothing careful about it. No permission asked. No forgiveness given. Just grief, aching and the feeling of being alive between your mouths, pulling you undone. Tongue and teeth and Tommyâs mustache scratching your face, the smell of leather, soap, and sweat, his smell, surrounding you.Â
Without warning, Tommy pushed off of you, and the sudden space between you two felt unbearable.Â
ââTommyâs breath was ragged, his forehead still pressed against yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to will himself back under control.
"Iâm sorry," he rasped, though he didnât let you go. His hands still clutched your waist like he thought you might vanish if he loosened his grip.
You shook your head, your fingers untangling from the fabric of his jacket and sliding up his biceps to rest on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaved, your lips burning from the kiss, but you couldnât find it in yourself to regret it. Not when it made you feel something again.
"Don't be," you whispered, your hands moving to cup his face. "Please... donât be."
He let out a whimper, becoming putty in your hands. His eyes opened and found yours, glassy and dark, and for a long moment neither of you moved, neither of you breathed.
Your thumb brushed gently over Tommyâs lips, feeling them tremble. His breathing stuttered, but he didnât pull away-Â didnât even flinch-Â just waited, he was putting everything in your hands now.
Slowly, you leaned in, brushing your nose lightly against his. His breath hitched again, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace.
You kissed him.
Soft, sure, and nothing like the desperate clash from before. This kiss was a promise. A surrender.
Tommy made a broken sound deep in his chest- half relief, half wrecked need- and his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer without hesitation.
You shifted without breaking the kiss, moving to straddle his lap. Tommy shifted underneath you, clumsy and desperate, dropping to fully sit on the floor and tugging you into his lap like he couldn't stand another second without you closer, his hands trembling as they guided you into place.
Tommy groaned low into your mouth when you settled over him, the heat of your core pressed flush to his achingly hard cock restrained by his jeans. His fingers dug into your hips through your clothes, anchoring himself to the moment, to you. You ground down on him, drawing a sinful sound from his throat, the denim providing the perfect amount of friction for you both.Â
There was no more slowing down. Tommyâs hands were everywhere now, sliding under the waistband of your shorts, gripping your hips as he now manually moved you back and forth over where he needed you most. Every motion was urgent, desperate- like he couldnât let go even if he wanted to. His lips left yours only to trail down your throat, his breath coming out in sharp gasps as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but you couldnât. Not with him this close. Not with him kissing you like he needed you to breathe.Â
Tommyâs hands stilled, one on the back of your head, one on your hip, and before you could protest at the lack of motion, he flipped you over. Swift, calculated, and with ease. You gasped, your back hitting the cool floor with a soft thud, the sudden shift in control making your heart race.
He hovered over you, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. The space between you two felt heavier now. His lips hovered above yours, torn between control and chaos, like he was waiting for you to stop him, to say something, anything to make sense of what was happening.
But you didnât. You couldnât.
His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your waist, your hips, his touch desperate, as if he were mapping you out. You could feel the intensity of his touch, the way his fingers trembled, almost like he was afraid that if he let go of you, the world might collapse entirely.
"Tommy," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, a plea that felt more like a question.
"Shh," he whispered, his lips moving to your neck as his hand slid under your shirt. His touch was hot, but still left a trail of goosebumps on your skin where his fingers had brushed.
His mouth found yours again, this time urgent, his kiss deepening with a rawness that sent a shiver through your entire body. You could feel the weight of everything between you two- the grief, the loss, the hunger for something real- and it only made the kiss more desperate. His hands, once tentative, were now firm, pulling you closer, pushing you further into him like he couldnât get enough.
The hand under your shirt moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your breasts as it slid even higher. His hand made its way up to the collar of your shirt, where he twisted the fabric around his fingers. He pulled back from your kiss to straddle your waist, his strong thighs framing you, anchoring him, before his other hand moved to grip the shirt collar from the outside.Â
Without warning, he tugged harshly, his knuckles hitting against your skin as the shirt gave way with a rip. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight to your chest. The action was raw, animalistic, the urgency in his movements undeniable as he tore the shirt open, right down the front, exposing the skin beneath.
"God, you're-" Tommy groaned, his voice breaking, words barely slipping out of his throat, his fists tightening around the fragments of shirt in his hands. "I donât... fuck..." He couldnât finish the thought, but you could hear it all- the desperation, the guilt, the raw, aching need to feel you, even if it was just for a moment.Â
He didnât give himself the time to find the words. His mouth left a hot, wet trail down your torso- over the soft curve of your belly, the band of your athletic shorts. He paused there, nuzzling against the fabric, his breath burning against your skin. He hooked his fingers over the waistband and wiggled your shorts off of your hips, tossing them aside without ceremony, letting out a borderline pained groan when he saw you werenât wearing anything underneath.Â
"Let me..." he rasped, almost begging, kneeling on the floor between your spread legs, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs. "Let me take care of you. Please."
You nodded once, almost imperceptible, but Tommy caught it.Â
His eyes locked on your cunt, looking at it like it was the answer to all of his prayers. His gaze didnât falter once as he slowly lowered himself to lay on his stomach on the wooden floor, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He looked like he was starving.Â
He pressed a kiss to your clit and finally looked back up at you. His eyes glossed over, hypnotized.Â
"Tell me to stop," he rasped, voice nearly unrecognizable, thick with emotion, "And I will. Swear to fuckinâ god, I will."
You didnât tell him to stop.
"Tommy... please,â tears forming in your eyes âPlease just-â
He cut you off by finally giving you what you wanted.
The first sweep of his tongue was tentative, almost cautious- as if he was savoring you, memorizing the taste of you. But when you cried out, your fingers yanking at his hair, something in him snapped.
He groaned against you, digging his fingers into your thighs, and licked into you with a hunger that bordered on feral.
It wasnât perfect. It wasnât slow, or teasing, or careful.
It was messy and desperate- needy, frantic. Tommy buried his face between your legs like he was starving for it, tongue moving in sloppy, devastating circles over your clit, moaning against you like he couldnât get enough.
"Tommy," you gasped, your back arching off the floor, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Oh my god, Tommy-"
He answered you with a low growl, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging you closer, pressing you more firmly against his mouth. His nose bumped your clit with every desperate movement of his tongue, the friction sending you spiraling, unraveling.
Your vision blurred, your breath stuttered, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst.
Just when you thought you couldnât take any more, Tommy's hand moved. He grabbed your thigh roughly, holding you wide open, and slid two thick fingers into you without warning.
You cried out- half sob, half gasp- and he just groaned against your clit, like he needed your sounds, like they drove him crazier.
"Thatâs it, baby," he mumbled against your cunt, voice low and ragged. "Give it to me. Let me hear you."
His fingers pumped into you hard, relentless, curling up inside you with devastating precision. Every stroke punched a broken little noise out of you, your body jerking helplessly under him.
Tommy was now propped up on one elbow, with his face and his free hand buried between your legs. Not a comfortable position for him at all, but that wasnât his focus anymore. He wanted to see you.Â
"Youâre mine," Tommy growled, rough and possessive, not caring whether the words were true or not. "Always were. Always fuckinâ will be."
The rhythm of his fingers and his tongue was overwhelming- dirty and desperate- grinding you down until there was nothing left but him.
You tried to hold on, tried to make it last, but he worked you over mercilessly, coaxing every gasp and whimper out of you until you were right on the edge, shaking and breathless.
"Come on, sweet girl," he murmured, mouth slick and messy against you. "Wanna feel you fall apart on my fuckin' hand."
He knew you were close. The way you clenched around his fingers, the way your breath hitched and broke- he felt it, heard it- and without another word, he buried his mouth against you again, hell-bent on tearing that finish out of you.
With a final rough curl of his fingers- hitting that spot inside you so perfectly it hurt- you shattered.
The orgasm ripped through you hard and fast, your vision going white, your body clamping down around him, your hands fisting helplessly in his hair as you cried out his name like a prayer. Tommy groaned into you, slow and deep, drinking down every last shudder you gave him before finally- finally-Â dragging his mouth away.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and glinting with a filthy sort of satisfaction. Cocky. Proud. Like heâd just won something. He pressed a few lingering kisses to your trembling inner thigh, then pushed himself up, moving to hover over you.
âFuckinâ knew you'd taste good," he smirked down at you, hair mussed, mouth shiny. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in. âBeen wantinâ to do that for-â
He cut himself off so fast you barely caught it. For how long? Since Joel died? Before? The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken.
You didnât let him finish. Didnât want to hear it. Didnât want to think.
You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down into a messy, desperate kiss. He sighed against your mouth, kissing you back just as rough, his body pressing hot and solid against yours, grateful that you interrupted his train of thought. You could feel him-Â hard and thick in his jeans, grinding against your hip like he couldnât help himself.
One hand planted on the floor, his other moved down to fumble with his belt, cursing low under his breath as the buckle clinked. He was rushing- hands clumsy, frantic- until he suddenly stilled.
"No," he muttered against your skin, voice rough and wrecked. He squeezed his eyes shut, like he was wrestling with himself. "Not like this,â he said, mostly to himself.Â
Before you could ask, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor. You let out a soft, startled noise, arms wrapping around his shoulders instinctively.
Tommy carried you across the room, his hands gripping you tight like he was scared youâd run away if he let go. He laid you down on the bed- gentler now- and took a step back, hands on his hips, staring down at you like you were something holy.
âThis,â he smiled, somewhat weak but still genuine, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, âthis ainât gonna be rushed, sweetheart. Ain't gonna be sloppy.â
He popped the button on his jeans, dragging them down his hips with slow, deliberate hands- his eyes never leaving yours.
âIâm gonna take my time with you."
Your eyes raked over his now naked form, drinking him in like he was something holy and forbidden all at once, because he was.
Tommy was solid- broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest dusted with dark hair that tapered down his stomach, leading your gaze lower, making your mouth go dry. He wasnât perfect- there were scars across his ribs and hips, little stories written into his skin- but god, he was beautiful. Strong, sturdy, built like he could ruin you and hold you together at the same time. There was a kind of roughness to him, a ruggedness- the soft curve of his belly, the way his thighs were thick and powerful, the way his hands were big and rough, but they touched you like you were something delicate.Â
And his eyes- Fuck, his eyes.
Dark, wild, hungry- like he was barely keeping himself from devouring you whole.
Youâd never been looked at like that before.
You'd never been looked at like that before.
Joel had loved you- you knew he had. Youâd loved him back just as fiercely. But there had always been something in the way. Some job that needed finishing. Some danger around the corner. Ellie needing him more than you did. There was always a part of him you could never quite reach, no matter how close you got.
You felt it creeping in now, the old ache, the old loneliness-
You forced it away, pushed it down deep where it belonged. Not now. Not with Tommy looking at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wanted. Like you were the last good thing in a broken world. Like heâd starve without you.
Tommy was all man, all heat, and all yours.Â
You lay there, breathless, skin flushed and buzzing under his gaze, watching him. Watching the way his chest heaved, the way his hands fisted at his sides like he was holding himself back by a thread.
You didnât want him to hold back.
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your legs falling open in silent invitation.
Tommy swore under his breath, low and rough, and crawled over you, his big hands sliding up your thighs, spreading you wider, fitting himself between them like he belonged there. He leaned down, catching your mouth in a bruising kiss- messy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling- and you moaned into it, arching your body up against his. You could feel how badly he wanted you, how close he was to snapping.
"Christ, look at you," he muttered against your mouth, his hand snaking down between your bodies, stroking himself once, twice. "So fuckinâ beautiful like this. So ready for me."
You whined, desperate, bucking your hips up. "Tommy, please."
That did it.
With a ragged growl, he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing hot and insistent against your slick entrance. He nudged in just an inch, enough to make you gasp, and froze.
"Sweetheart," he rasped, voice thick with something like pain, like worship, "you sure?"
You nodded frantically, fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer.
That was all he needed.
With one slow, devastating thrust, Tommy pushed into you, stretching you open, filling you until you couldnât tell where you ended and he began. You both gasped- his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew youâd have bruises tomorrow.
âFuck,â he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "You feel- Jesus fucking Christ, you feel like heaven."
He gave you a moment, letting you adjust, but you were already clenching around him, greedy, needy, your body desperate for more.
âMove," you whispered against his jaw, biting down just enough to make him groan.
And then he did-Â dragging almost all the way out, slow and torturous, before slamming back into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.
He set a slow rhythm, each thrust hard and deep, like he was trying to fuck the memories out of both of you.
You took everything he gave you- the desperation, the anger, the hunger- and gave it right back, meeting him thrust for thrust, nails clawing down his back, mouths colliding in fevered kisses between ragged breaths.
You didn't know when the rhythm had turned frantic- when Tommy had stopped holding back, when you'd started begging. All you knew was the sound of skin slapping against skin, the desperate little noises breaking from your throat, the thick stretch of him inside you.
"That's it, sweetheart," Tommy rasped against your ear, his voice wrecked, his hips grinding deeper, harder. "I want you to cum with me. C'mon-"
His hand found your clit, fingers rough and unpracticed but perfect, circling you with the same wild urgency he fucked you with. It tipped you right over the edge.
You sobbed his name, clinging to him like a lifeline, body seizing up so tight it sent fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. You broke apart around him, your whole world narrowing to the relentless drag of his hips and the unbearable sweetness of his touch. Tommy cursed low in his throat, feeling you clamp down on him, and he didnât stand a chance.
He spilled inside you with a hoarse, shuddering groan, burying his face against your neck as he followed you into oblivion. His whole body locked up, muscles trembling with the force of it, his hand still working you through the last waves of pleasure.
For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing, the way you both clung to each other like you'd drown if you let go.
Tommy didnât move at first. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, like he was trying to catch his breath- or maybe just trying to hold onto the moment a little longer.
His arms slid under you, gathering you up without even thinking, and he rolled onto his back, taking you with him, keeping you perched on his chest. Still joined, still trembling. Still his.
You melted into him, your body boneless and spent, your cheek pressed to the sweaty curve of his shoulder. You could hear his heart thundering under your ear, feel it slow bit by bit as the silence wrapped around you. He ran a hand down your spine, shaky and gentle, tracing your skin like he never wanted to forget the feel of you.
"You okay?" he murmured after a while, his voice rough, almost shy. Like he hadn't just wrecked you. Like he hadn't just stitched himself into you in ways you weren't sure you could ever undo.
You nodded against him. Your fingers found his chest hair and you played with it.Â
He chuckled low under his breath- a sound that rumbled deep in his chest-Â and tightened his arms around you.
"Good," he said, and kissed your hairline, your temple, anywhere he could reach. "Good, sweetheart. Ain't lettin' you go now."
You hummed, allowing yourself to close your eyes and let yourself drift asleep against Tommyâs strong chest.
_____________Â
Eventually, the cold started to creep in.
Your bare skin prickled against his, the sweat drying sticky between you, and awoke with a shiver.
Tommy felt it. Of course he did. He was wide awake while you were sleeping, not allowing himself to doze off for fear youâd need him for something, monitoring every time you shifted or sighed in your sleep.
He muttered something under his breath- too low and Southern-slurred for you to catch- and shifted carefully, sliding out from under you with a soft, broken sound. You whimpered at the loss, at the overwhelming emptiness he left behind. His hands soothed down your sides, slow and gentle, murmuring, "I got you, baby. I'm right here."
He walked a few steps toward the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab the blanket that had gotten kicked off due to your previous activities. He shook it out, his muscles rippling down his back as he did.Â
You caught glimpses of him in the low light: mussed hair, flushed chest, long lines of scratch marks blooming red down his back like some sort of claim. Your mark. Youâd done that to him.
He gently spread the blanket over you on the bed, then sank down beside you again.Â
You thought maybe heâd pull away. Maybe heâd retreat into silence, into shame.
But he didnât.
He laid back against the pillows and tugged you onto his chest again, wrapping you up in his arms. You could still feel the wild thudding of his heart, still hear the rasp of his breathing as he combed a hand through your tangled hair.
Neither of you said anything for a long time.
You just laid there, bruised and aching and still a little wet between your legs, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened settle into your bones.
Tommyâs thumb traced lazy, meaningless circles over your back. Eventually, you felt him dip his head, his mouth brushing the top of your ear.
"I been wantinâ you for a long time," he whispered, like it was a secret, like he was confessing something he couldnât take back.
You closed your eyes tight against the flood of emotion, your hand fisting weakly in the blanket.
You wanted to say it back. You wanted to tell him that maybe, without even knowing it, youâd been wanting him too. But the words stuck in your throat.
He noticed.
Tommyâs voice was a whisper as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. "Iâm sorry," he murmured, though you could hear the regret mixed with something else- something deeper. "I never wanted it to be like this."
You didnât answer. Instead, you just held onto him, the warmth of his body against yours the only thing that felt real in that moment.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
Summary : Bucky tells the team he saw his Hydra days in The Void. You are the only one who knows him well enough to know he is lying.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)Â
Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers below the cut!!!!!!! Best friends to lovers. Fluff, bit of angst, reader is mentioned to be an ex-cage fighter. Reader is part of the team. Cursing, Trauma. Implied sex. The title is inspired by the song of the same name by Stone Temple Pilots.
Requested by : anon (the ask is very spoiler-y so I have not answer that yet!)
Word count : 4.6k
Note : Please keep the post-thunderbolts* requests going! If youâd like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!
Before the Blip, you were just another number in the system. You were just another fighter in a concrete box, thrown into illegal cage matches as entertainment of the rich and corrupt.Â
You werenât there by choice.Â
Youâd been taken young, trained to fight, to break and survive.Â
You, like many that ended up in the ring, had no family. For as long as you could remember, the only love you knew of was crowds that screamed for blood.
When Thanos snapped his fingers, half your captors turned to dust.
The door was unlocked, and for the first time, no one came to stop you.
You ran.
You later spent the next few years working in the shadows: Bounty hunting, private contracts, smuggling.Â
You had no real allegiances, just a reputation: you always got the job done.Â
Youâve assisted Sharon Carter with her art smuggling, helped Xu Xialing train fighters in her more ethical, opt-in cage fighting endeavours, and ironically, some of the same people you used to fight besides turned to crime when the world lost structure, so you started hunting them for cash.Â
Others had taken to more righteous but extreme causesâlike the Flag Smashers. You tried to keep your distance until Sam Wilson showed up at a bar you get your bounties from and dropped a name you hadnât heard in years. And then Bucky Barnes sat down beside him and said, âWe could use someone like you. Sharon Carter gave you a pretty good reference.â
The mission was to track down an old cage mate of yours who was loyal to Karli Morgenthau.
So you took the job. Then the next. And the next.
Working with Sam was easyâhe had a leaderâs clarity. Getting to know Bucky, however, was a bit of a slow burn. He was distrusting at first, he had little words to say for strangers.
You didnât push, but the more you went on these missions, the more you started noticing the way he always kept you in his eyeline, the way he started covering your flank, and the way he actually laughed at one of your dry jokes on a mission in Beirut.
Over time, it stopped being just a job. You started grabbing takeout with Sam and Bucky. You stuck around their shitty motel rooms talking about music and how weird the world felt now. Joaquin started joining in, too, and somewhere along the way, you became friends.Â
By the sixth joint mission with Joaquin, you and Bucky had inside jokes. By the tenth, he was texting you first when he was lonelyâ not Sam.Â
It wasnât that he intended to spend less time with the new Cap and more with youâ but when Joaquin became his de facto second-in-command, it made sense for Bucky to seek companionship in you.Â
Then came the day he told you he was thinking about running for Congress. You blinked and laughed. He shrugged, saying something about âmaking amends on a bigger scale.â And when you stopped laughing long enough to realise he was serious, you listened. You offered advice, telling him heâd need to hire a security team to keep his campaigns safe. Â
âThatâs why I want you to oversee it,â he said that day.
âAre you kidding me?â you chuckled, sipping on your beer in the bar he had chosen to hang out in, âIâm not a fucking secret service agent.â
âExactly,â he gave you that infuriatingly charming grinâ the one you were sure would win him votes. âI donât trust those people. I trust you.â
So thatâs how you became head of security for his campaign. And it wasnât just work. Those nights often ended in long conversations. Sometimes youâd find him on his balcony after an event, and youâd just sit with him.Â
By the time the campaign was over, you began working private security gigs around D.C., your apartment only ten minutes from his. You both stopped pretending it was coincidence when he started showing up with food or youâd crash on his couch after staying out too late. Somewhere along the line, youâd become his closest friend.
After everything youâd both been through, it just made sense.
â
Post-void New York, 2027.
Bob had just quite literally been dragged out of a personal hell of his own making and nobody at the table came out unscathed. Not really. Not after that.
But at least you all were alive. And starving.
Especially after Val ambushed you with that press conference.Â
The five of you had decided on the dingy pizza joint. It was a miracle the place was even open considering what had happened to the city, the old red-neon âPIZZA BY THE SLICEâ sign buzzed overhead like it was short-circuiting from your collective trauma.
Yelena had chosen the booth closest to the back. She claimed it was strategicâ"less visibility from the windows"âbut Alexei knew she just liked to sit with her back to a wall. She had a slice of extra cheese, grease dripping down her fingers as she methodically peeled off the mushrooms.
Alexei was next to her, cutting his slice with a plastic knife and fork like it was a fine steak. âIâm civilized,â he announced when Bucky raised an eyebrow.
Ava was perched on the end of the booth, chewing through two slices stacked on top of each other, sauce smeared across one cheek. Her tactical suit. had one broken buckle that kept slipping open.
John sat across from them with his boots up on the chair next to him, leaning so far back in his seat it creaked like it was about to break. He had a half-empty cup of soda and two untouched slices in front of him.
You were tucked into the booth with Bucky beside you. He hadnât said much. Neither had you. But you kept elbowing each other every few minutes, like some kind of private Morse code. He could tell you were spiraling; you could tell he was deflecting. Classic.
The pizza in front of you was a crime scene of pepperoni and pineapple, but it was food, and no one had eaten in hours. The last time you'd all stopped was... hell, who even knew? Between the vault and New York, you probably havenât eaten in more than half a day.Â
Bob sat at the far end of the table, happily munching through the single marinara in front of him.
You tore off a piece of Buckyâs crust (because he didnât really like the burnt bits) and popped it into your mouth. âOkay,â you said, loud enough to cut through the clatter, âVoid Talk. Letâs go. Everyone cough up your horror visions.â
Everyone around you let out a chorus of groans.
âNope,â said John, around a mouthful of dough. âAbsolutely not.â
You narrowed your eyes and smacked him upside the head â not hard, just enough to remind him who was in charge of emotional vulnerability tonight.
âOw! What the hell!â
âJohnathan,â you said, sliding into your Serious Voice. Bucky turned toward you slightly, recognising the tone immediately. âWe are a family now. Families communicate. Have you learned nothing from all this shared trauma?â
âI learned youâre annoying,â John almost snapped, rubbing his head. âAlso, donât call me that. Youâre not my mom.â
âYou wish I was your mom,â you shot back. âYouâd actually be emotionally stable.â
âAnd get your horrible taste in pizza?â he snapped, but kept earring anyways. âNo thanks.â
âRude,â said Yelena, pointing at the pie with righteous indignation. âThis is quality dollar-slice. Best in New York. Kate Bishop said so.â
âOh, well if Kate Bishop said so,â Ava deadpanned, finally skewering an olive. âLet me just re-evaluate my whole palate.â
âShe has good taste,â Alexei defended, somehow sipping from two sodas at once.
You laughed. For once, you felt warmth in your ribs. You felt Buckyâs elbow nudging yours again, this time a little more gently. He still hadnât really spoken, but when you glanced his way, he gave you that half-smile, the one he reserved just for you.
âCome on, then,â you said, âTrauma-sharing time.â
Bobâs smile faltered, the small in his eyes dimming in his eyes a little. âI have a feeling you all saw me in there,â he said, though he aimed it mostly at Yelena.
She didnât answer immediately. Just reached for another garlic knot and tore it in half with more force than necessary.
Ava smiled, softer than usual, then said, âNo shit.â
Yelena exhaled through her nose, like it took effort just to stay seated. âMine was Red Room,â she said with a shrug. âAll of it. The smells. The punishments. Everything.â
Alexeiâs hand tightened around his soda. The can crinkled slightly.
âI saw the day I sent you and Natasha away,â he said, with a deep breath.Â
Yelena glanced at him, eyes still unreadable, but her mouth curved just a little. Forgiveness, maybe. Or just understanding.
Ava poked at the toppings âPain. Again. Thought I was over it, but apparently my brain missed the memo.â
You looked over, met her eyes. She offered a crooked smile and nudged your ankle under the table.Â
John cleared his throat, rough like gravel. âLemar,â he said, knowing everyone could put two and two with just the name. âAnd⊠my kid. You know the rest.â
You reached over and bumped your shoulder against his. This time, he didnât flinch.Â
Then the attention turned, inevitably, to you.Â
You rolled your shoulders, and looked down at your grease-stained napkin on the table like it was about to reveal the location to the fountain of youth. âCage match. My opponent was new. Couldnât have been more than fifteen.â You picked at the crust in your hand. âI didnât have a choice, it was kill or be killed.â
You heard murmurs of understanding around the tableâ sympathy, but not pity. Even John, who had the emotional bandwidth of a concrete wall most days, sighed.
No one noticed how Buckyâs eyes darted to you. No one noticed how his shoulders went just a bit tighter.Â
Then Bob turned, casual and curious.
âWhat about you?â he asked Bucky. âYou saw something, right?â
For half a second. Bucky looked like he might actually answer.
His eyes met yours briefly.
He looked away too fast for you to read it clearly and stood up from the booth abruptly. âYou know what? This was fun. Iâm gonna go⊠clean up,â he said. âOr get ice cream. Probably both. Anyone want ice cream?â
You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. âOh, come on, Buck.â
He shot you a look â that subtle one that said not here, not now. The one that always left you guessing.
John snorted. âWe know what you saw anyway.â
Bucky froze. âDo you?â
âHydra, right? Gotta be.â John shrugged, still a little too smug. âItâs your Greatest Hits playlist.â
âYeah,â he said, his pinky finger twitching as he looked away. âSure. Thatâs all it was. Wouldnât want to bore anyone.â
He grabbed his jacket, eyes flicking to you one last time. You watched him go and said nothing, for now.
The team went back to eating, like the moment had passed. Jokes began to be thrown around again. Slices were being grabbed left and right.Â
But you didnât move.
No one noticed how your smile faded into a worried frown.
No one noticed the twitch in Buckyâs human pinky as he stepped out.
But you did. You always did.
â
Later that night.Â
Val spared no expenseâmeaning she booked seven rooms in a hotel that had more broken vending machines than working elevators. Still, after dragging the entirety of New York back from the void, even a spring-poked mattress felt like luxury.
Yelena had already claimed the room with the least stained carpet. Ava was currently phasing her hand through a vending machine to get free Hot Flaminâ Cheetos. John passed out with a half-eaten bag of pistachios in his lap somewhere in the lobby. Alexei was arguing with a front desk clerk about how he clearly deserved the king suite because of his "reputation."
Bob didnât go to his room right away. You caught him sitting in the hallway for a while, back against the wall, head down like he was trying to recover. You passed him a granola bar without a word and walked away.Â
Thatâs what he needed.Â
Not pity.Â
Just a constant reminder he wasnât alone.
You and Bucky had been given rooms side by side. Which was always interesting.Â
â
You unlocked your hotel room door with a dull click, the metal groaning like it hated being disturbed.Â
You kicked off your bootsâone landed upright, the other flopped on its sideâand shrugged your jacket off with a sigh, letting it fall haphazardly over the armchair that shouldâve been retired ten years ago.
The beige ceiling loomed above you as you stared up and nothing. You did your rounds. You showered, changed, and drank a bottle of water.Â
Then you heard it.
The unmistakable thud from the hotel room next door.Â
He was in.
You didnât hesitate.Â
Still wearing your pajamasâ plaid pants and an oversized shirtâyou slipped out into the hallway.Â
You knocked, once, twice.Â
He didnât answer. âBucky,â you called, your voice just above a whisper. âOpen up.â
You heard nothing, but still waited. Then knocked again, harder this time.Â
This time, the door cracked open.
Bucky was in his dark shirt, the fabric clinging to his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the end. He was wearing a hoodie that was zipped only halfway, and his dog tags glinted faintly beneath the fabrics.
âHey,â he greeted, his voice frayed.
You matched it with a small smile. âHey.â
Bucky stepped aside, inviting you in.
The room was dim, washed in the amber glow of a single bedside lamp. You climbed onto his mattress, sitting cross-legged at the foot like youâd done a hundred times before.Â
Bucky stayed by the window, staring out like the skyline might offer him answers to questions he didnât even know how to ask. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie,
You picked up a pillow and lobbed it at his head.
It hit him squarely in the side of the neck, making him flinch.
He chuckled. âSeriously?â
âYou were brooding too much again,â you said, already reaching for another. âI had to restore balance to the Force.â
He caught the second pillow mid-air, tossing it lightly back at you. âWhat balance?â
âIâm the charming one. Youâre the grumpy one,â you grinned, âIt's the dynamic. We have to maintain the ecosystem.â
He rolled his eyesâ but the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile that softened all of his sharp edges.
And then, for a second, it slippedâjust a flicker. Something mustâve crossed in his mind, because you caught the furrow of his brows.Â
âYou okay?â you asked, your voice lower now.
He didnât answer, but sank down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His arm brushed yours, and he didnât pull away.
âJust tired,â he said, though it sounded like something heâd practiced saying.Â
You nudged your shoulder into his. âYou know I didnât buy what you said at the pizza place, right?â
Still, he didnât look at you. But you saw it. That twitch of his pinky fingerâ his right hand.Â
Yeah. You knew.
âWhy not?â he asked, trying to sound casual and failing.Â
âBecause youâre lying,â you said gently, without sounding like an accusation.Â
Bucky didnât bother pretending he didnât know what you meant. He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. He stared at the carpet like it might split open and offer an escape route underground.Â
âI told you,â he said, the words slurred by exhaustion, as his finger uncontrollably moved again. âIt was Hydra. Red and black nightmare sequence. All very on-brand.â
You just raised a brow. âPinky twitch.â
âWhat?â
âItâs your tell. Thatâs how I know youâre lying.â You shrugged like it wasnât a big deal.Â
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching on stubble. âYou are so fucking annoying.â
You smirked. âSays the guy who keeps inviting me in.â
âYou showed up to my door in pajamas,â he said, half-laughing as he turned to face you. âAnd you just barged in.â
âI did not,â you insisted, shrugging, âand even if I did, you wouldnât have stopped me.â
He shook his head but didnât deny it.Â
He let the silence fester in place before offering answers. âYou really wanna know what I saw?â
You nodded.
He swallowed hard. You could see the muscles in his neck working. Still, he didnât look at you.
âYou remember that mission in Munich?â he asked.
You nodded slowly. It was a recon mission that went sideways.Â
âYou jumped in front of a bullet for me,â he said, like it still didnât make sense to him. âYou didnât even hesitate.â
âIâŠâ You furrowed your eyebrows. âI didnât know you saw that.â
âI didnât,â he said, shaking his head. âNot at the moment. I was behind you. All I saw was you hitting the ground.â Then he looked at you, his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, âThatâs what I saw in the Void,â he said, voice shaking like a tightrope. âOver and over. I felt⊠useless. Iâ I⊠for a second. I thought I lost you..â
His hands clenched into fists on his knees and admitted, âIâve never been more scared in my life.â
Your chest tightened. âThat was your worst memory?â you whispered, almost in recognition. âThinking I died?â
He flinched like the words had teeth and had sunk its fangs into his legs. âDonât say it like that.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause it means something,â he said, voice breaking at the edge. âAnd Iâm not supposed toââ He cut himself off with a ragged breath, dragging a hand through his hair like it might help. âGodâ well you know what? Since weâre on this, what about you?â he asked. âYou were lying, too.â
You gasped, only a little. âExcuse me?â
He gave a sad smile. âYou donât think I know your tell?â
You squinted. âI donât have a tell.â
âYou do.â He insisted, shifting a little closer. âYou look down when you lie. You did it earlier.â
You opened your mouth to argue, but all that came out was a strangled noise of offended denial. âThat is notââ
âIt is,â he said, interrupting you. âSo. What did you actually see?â
You looked away, then back at him again.
Because he deserved that much.
Because you didnât want to lie anymore, either.
âDo you remember,â you said carefully, âwhen you got stabbed on that mission in Rabat?â
Bucky nodded. He frowned, confused.
âYeah,â he said slowly. âI remember. Back alley. Guy with the gold tooth. You iced him before I even hit the pavement. Why?â
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.
âThatâs what I saw,â you said, barely above a whisper. âYou, bleeding on the ground.â
He froze.
âThe story I toldâabout the kid in the ring,â you added, your voice more hoarse now, âwas true. All of it. It just⊠wasnât what I saw in the Void.â
The air between you thickened, like the seconds had turned to diamonds and trapped you both inside them.
âI remember thinking I was too late,â you continued, words spilling before you could second-guess them. âI remember thinking I couldnât get you to safety in time.â
Bucky didnât speak. He didnât move.
Because now he knew youâd both seen different sides of the same coin in there.
Your worst memory wasnât the ring.Â
His wasnât the Hydra orders.
Once, it might have been. But not anymore.Â
The worst thingâfor both of youâwas thinking you had lost each other.
Not cages.
Not torture.
It was each other.
You exhaled, the edges of your eyes brimming with tears. He looked back at you like he was seeing you through an entirely different lensâ like something had cracked open and the sunlight was finally getting in after a century of darkness.Â
He studied you for a long time âeyes narrowed slightly, lips parted like he might speak but wasnât sure if he should.Â
Then he said it.Â
Like heâd just thrown a grenade in the room.
âAre you in love with me?â
Your brain short-circuited. âWhat?â
âWhat,â he echoed flatly, like he hadnât even processed the question himself, as if the words had slipped out of his mouth without permission.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering in your throat like it wanted to escape. Heat warmed up your neck, your ears, your face. âBuckyââ
He leaned back slightly, like your flustered cheeks had just confirmed everything. âYou are,â he said, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. âYou are, arenât you?â
âI am not,â you snapped to quickly. Without meaning toâyou looked down.Â
Fuck.Â
âOh my god,â Bucky breathed. âYour eyesââ
You scowled, half in horror, half in deflection. âYouâre one to talk! Why was your worst memory thinking I died, huh?â
âYours is too, dumbass! So what? â he shot back, arms flaring in exasperation. âYou want me to say it?â
âI donât know!â you fired back, your voice rising. âDo you want to say it?â
Silence settled again. But this time, it wasnât brittleâ
âFine,â he finally said, a lot quieter now. âIâve been in love with you since that stupid night in Prague when you made me carry your three-foot-tall duffel bag full of grenades and gummy worms and said, âTrust me, itâs all essential.ââ
Your voice came out barely audible, cracked around the edges. âOh.â
But he wasnât finished.
âAnd ever since then,â Bucky went on, âIâve been more scared of the future than the past.â
Your breath hitched. âWhat does that even mean?â
He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on yours,Â
âIt means,â he said, like it cost him something to admit it, âthat my nightmares are less about Hydra and more about losing you.â
It hurt. God, it hurt, in the way truth always does. You could feel it echoing in your chest, splitting you down the middleâ because you were friends, right? And just friends werenât supposed to have these unbearable feelings. What was this going to do to your relationship?
Because everything had changed.
And now there was no going back.
His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, like the confession had physically cost him stamina.Â
And youâ You couldnât breathe.
âYouâŠâ The word barely made it out. âYouâre in love with me?â
He swallowed the lump in his throat. âYeah.â
You didnât answer.
Your body stayed frozen, your mind reeling, spinning, flipping through every moment you couldâve known. Every time heâd looked at you like you were the only thing in a world that had never betrayed him. Every time youâd ignored what was right in front of you because it was safer to pretend it wasnât real.
âBut itâs okay,â Bucky whispered, eyes dipping to the floor once again. âI know I might be wrong about what you feel, so you donât have to say anything. I know Iâmââ
Enough.
Your hands grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric, clinging on to it and bringing him ever closerÂ
âShut up,â you whispered.
His breath hitched in his throat like youâd just knocked the wind out of him.
âJustâdonât say anything,â you said, your voice trembling. âBecause if you do, Iâm going to say something I canât unsay, and then weâll ruin it, and I canâtâI canât lose you, Bucky.â
His hands rose slowly, palms open. He cupped your face, fingertips brushing along your cheekbones.
âYouâre not gonna lose me,â he promised. âYou canât.â
Your forehead stayed pressed against his. You could feel his breath against your lips.
So close.
âIâm in love with you too,â you breathed out
Buckyâs eyes fluttered closed, just for a second. You felt the tremor in his body ripple through yours.
âSay it again,â he whispered.
Your voice was barely steady. âIâm in love with you, dammit,â you laughed a little. âIâve been in love with you since Sam sent us on that mission to that cramped motel with one bed and no hot water. Since you patched me up in Munich. Since before Munich. Since always.â
Fuck.Â
He didnât wait.
He kissed you.
Not carefully.
But like hellhounds that had been caged too long had finally broken loose.
It was desperate. It was breathless. Mouths crashing, bodies colliding like youâd done this in every dream you hadnât dared speak of. His hands slid into your hair, holding you close like he was terrified youâd vanish. And yours gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid youâd wake up.
By the time you pulled apart, you werenât sure whose heart was beating faster. But you stayed closeâforeheads pressed, noses brushing, sharing oxygen.
For a long moment, you didnât move.
Then Buckyâs hands slid down from your face, fingers tracing along your jaw, your neck, and your shoulders like he needed to relearn you. Like he needed to prove to himself this was real.
âYouâre shivering,â he pointed out, brushing his thumb over the hollow of your throat.Â
âIâm not cold,â you said, breathless.
He chuckled. âNo. Youâre not.â
His lips brushed yours again, slower this time, like a promise instead of a question. And when your mouth opened under his, when your hands slid beneath his hoodie and found bare skin, the heat roared to life like it had just been waiting for permission.
The kiss deepenedâa little reckless, all tangled need and pent-up frustration. His hands found your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him, and Godâyouâd felt his strength before, on missions, in training, but this was different. This was personal.
This was want.
âYou always smell like gunpowder and cinnamon,â he muttered against your jaw, lips brushing the spot just below your ear.
âI just smell like gunpowder,â You laughedâhalf-dazed. âYou smell like cinnamon.â
âHmmm,â he said, trailing kisses down your neck, âwhatever.â
You sighed, tilting your head to give him more space, your fingers tugging gently at the waistband of his sweatpants.
He groaned as his hands slid under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back. You gasped at the contact and he froze, just for a second.
âYou okay?â he asked. âI donât want to screw this up.â
You looked at himâhis hair was mussed, lips swollen. He had a familiar crease between his brows that said he was afraid of wanting too much.
So you kissed it.
âWeâve survived everything else together," you whispered, "Donât you think we can survive wanting each other, too?â
He backed you toward the headboard slowly, lips never leaving yours, hands exploring like heâd been dying to touch you for two years and finally had the courage. You fell back with a breathless laugh, legs tangling instinctively around his hips.
Bucky settled over you like he belonged thereâwhich he did. Every inch of him was familiar and new all at once.
âStill in pajamas,â he complained, grinning against your collarbone.
âWhat, donât like emâ?â
âNever,â he said, mouth sliding lower, âbut theyâre in my way.â
You gasped as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your pants, his eyes locking on yours. You nodded as he peeled them off.
This wasnât just chemistry. It wasnât just lust.
This was two years of friendship, late-night missions, teasing over meals, arguments that always ended in laughterâthis was trust.
This was love, finally allowed to want.
-end.
ââGeneral Bucky taglist:
@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant
 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe
@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius
@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida
@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22
@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire
@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko
@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat
@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot
@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess
@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol
@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life
@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst
@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23
@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt
@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125
@buckybarneswife125 @wingstoyourdreams
wintersummer
PEDRO PASCAL on the set of âSomedayâ directed by Spike Jonze
"I am such a 'True Detective' fan. I was anticipating it each Sunday as it came. I'm kind of a sci-fi fan. I was really hooked on the 'Battlestar Galactica' series. I think I owned every box set of 'Battlestar Galactica.' I also really love 'Bob's Burgers.'"