ninuwrites

[ninuwrites]

summary: You didn’t expect to spend your birthday catching your boyfriend cheating in your own bed. You definitely didn’t expect to end the night on your knees for someone else while on the path for revenge. || nsfw (?) MDNI 18+, m!receiving oral, blowjobs, Joel smokes cigs, cheating (not w Joel/reader), annoying ex bf, age gap (15yr gap mentioned but not specified), no outbreak, reader is drinking age, revenge, based off a song but not gonna mention cause singer is a trumper boooooo || a/n: good morning I woke up with the need to blow joel miller like his life depended on it. had this in my docs for a few weeks and decided to finish it up with some goooood ol' smut. enjoy!

Tyler was easy on the eyes. He came from a rich family, always looked put together and had a job at his daddy’s company, but truly… that was about it. He wasn’t clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely romantic or slick. If he had tried to cheat, he didn’t have the brain cells to pull it off. But you weren’t stupid. The scrunchie under your pillow wasn’t yours and the way he started turning his phone screen down whenever you were together wasn’t subtle. You saw it coming.

But you held your tongue, waiting. You gave him rope, a chance to prove that you were wrong.

And then, on your birthday—your fucking birthday!—you walked into your apartment after a long shift, already picturing the glass of wine and that nice dinner he promised he'd made a reservation for. You were halfway to slipping off your shoes when you heard the moaning.

High-pitched, theatric as hell, and coming from your bedroom.

Oh, Tyler!

Yes, Tyler!

It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood frozen for a second, your hand on the wall. It felt like something inside you cracked. And then the heat came boiling with rage filling your chest, crawling down your arms.

You crossed the room, your steps marching and purposeful, heart hammering behind your ribs. You didn’t even knock as you slammed open the door.

There she was: naked and sitting square in your bed, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like it was a trampoline. She turned at the sound, and her face went pale. Tyler’s too. Like a couple of deer in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. There were no tears.

You looked her dead in the eye and said, calm and flat, “His dick’s not even that good.”

They scrambled, tripping over each other like some half-assed comedy sketch. You just watched, arms crossed, unmoved. Tyler, once she was gone, spent the next hour groveling. Begging, bargaining, spinning his bullshit into excuses—something about how he thought you didn’t care, how you didn’t love him enough, how it was your fault. You let him talk himself in circles until he started getting angry, like his pathetic little tantrum might undo what you’d seen with your own two eyes.

You waited until he shut up, then threw his duffel bag at his chest and said, loud and clear, “Get the fuck out.”

Which brings you to now.

You knew exactly where he’d be on a Friday night. It was with the same group of knuckle-dragging football bros, drinking cheap beer and hollering at whatever game was on. You pulled into the gravel lot and spotted his car instantly. That brand-new black Jetta gleamed under the parking lights like it was proud of itself. Rims all shiny and new, fresh wax job and leather interior. 

You parked a few spaces down and killed the engine. For a second, you just sat there, breathing, fingers curled tight around your steering wheel. Your pulse thudded hot behind your ears.

Then you looked around. The sidewalk was empty, the lot full of cars but no one to be seen. And the nice thing about dive bars was they didn’t give a damn about security, so no cameras that you could see.

Good.

You stepped out, walked up to the Jetta, and just stood there for a moment. The night was quiet, but all you could hear was the roar of your blood in your ears.

 What a stupid fucking idiot. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant for him or you were talking to yourself. Tyler was a dumbass, no question, but you knew what he was before all this. You’d seen the signs, but you ignored them, made excuses for his sorry ass. So what did that make you? 

Still, you shook your head. No. That wasn’t on you.

Any decent person wouldn’t cheat on the girl who stuck by him for five damn years. The one who pulled him through college, helped him look for internships, edited every shitty cover letter he ever wrote before he'd given up and begged his own dad for a job. And not to mention, the girl who gave the best head he’d probably ever get in his sad little life.

Your grip tightened.

You flipped your keys in your palm, pressed one between your fingers, and brought it to the shiny sleek passenger door. You dug it into the steel, and began dragging it nice and slow and deep, carving a line into the shiny paint.

The screech of metal on metal made your jaw clench, but you didn’t stop. Because it was so fucking satisfying too. You moved to the driver’s side, dragging it around to the front, then the other side. One long, continuous line until his car looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal with a grudge.

Maybe that’s what you were, afterall.

You stepped back and admired your work before turning back to your car for the next step.

Next came the knife—his pocket knife. The one he gave you last Christmas because he "forgot to buy a real present in time." You took it from your bag and knelt beside the driver’s side tire and made a clean slash, the hiss of air escaping was music to your ears.

You did all four, each one a little more satisfying than the last. By the time you were done, the car sat sagging on those dumb, overpriced rims, looking completely defeated.

And then you reached for the bat.

A Louisville Slugger. Wood, not aluminum. Shiny and classic. You’d kept it waxed and clean since high school softball. You gripped it with both hands and stepped up to the front of the car, lining up your swing.

Your body tensed, knees bent, and you drew it back.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your heart kicked up in panic as you spun, bat raised and ready, in case one of Tyler’s meathead friends had stumbled outside to play hero.

But it wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t anyone you recognized at all.

A man stood just beyond the glow of the bar’s neon sign, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a beard to match. The light above him flickered, buzzing with moths, casting a yellow wash over his face.

You didn’t lower the bat completely, but your grip relaxed just a little.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly, taking another drag. “Nope. I’m good.” He tipped the cigarette with two fingers and gave you a look. “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, raising the bat again. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He let out a low whistle. “Now you’re just makin’ me feel bad for the guy.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “He had another girl in our bed just hours ago, wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

That shut him up for half a beat. Then he gave a soft laugh behind you. “Shit. Sorry about that. Sounds like a real winner.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I believe you.” He nodded toward the car. “Still wouldn’t do that.”

You swallowed, throat dry, peering back at him, eyes dragging from his dirty boots up to the dark glint in his eye, “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You could explain away the scratches. The slashed tires, maybe. But bashed in headlights?” He shook his head. “Harder to blame that on a wild animal.”

He dropped the cigarette, pinched it out beneath his boot.

“And for the record,” he added, blowing out the last plume of smoke, “I’ve never cheated. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I wasn’t,” you said, a little too fast.

Silence stretched between you as you felt all the adrenaline, anger, and fire draining from your blood. Your shoulders dropped, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Your fingers loosened, the bat slipping from your grip and hitting the ground with a dull thud. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hold back the sting in your throat.

The crunch of footsteps moved toward you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but close. He didn’t touch you, just stood nearby, hovering. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, swiped your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m good. I just… I shouldn’t have come here.”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Come inside.”

You blinked at him, confused. “He’s in there with his idiot friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he looked at you again, steadier this time. “All the more reason.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I should…?”

He didn’t finish the thought for you, he didn’t grin or wink or push it. All he did was give a small shrug.

And now that he was closer, you noticed just how big he was. Broad in the shoulders, tall enough to cast a shadow over you even in the low light. He smelled like pine and something woodsy, warm and clean even with the leftover tang of cigarette smell. The scent clung to the cool night air as the breeze passed between you.

You looked up at him, and he met your eyes without flinching. Even in the low light, they held a thousand colors—green and gold and deep, earthy brown, all muddled together in a warm, unreadable hazel.

“I’ll buy your first round,” he said, voice softer now. “If you change your mind.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the bar with that same calm, heavy gait.

The inside of the bar was dim and loud, but not packed. Neon lights flickered above the bar shelves, a pool table clacked somewhere in the back, and country music played just low enough not to drown out conversation. You sat on a high stool, elbows on the bartop, a fresh drink in hand. Joel, you’d learned his name, was next to you, close enough that you couldn’t move an inch without brushing up against him. His legs were spread wide, thighs solid beneath his worn jeans, your knees between his, both turned toward each other in a natural way of things.

There were enough people that you at least were well hidden from Tyler and his friends who packed into a booth at the far end by the jukebox.

And you were two drinks in, starting your third, warm enough to finally feel loose.

“He wore loafers with no socks,” you said, scoffing into your drink. “Like, on purpose. He said it made him ‘look sophisticated’. I told him he looked like a youth pastor.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the beer bottle in his hand, but his smile curved deeper when you kept going.

“He couldn’t cook, couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t win an argument without quoting Andrew Tate. I swear to God, if I had to hear about ‘high-value men’ one more time—”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as his lips met the rim of his drink, shaking his head.

“Yeah, real winner.” You echo his earlier quip, tipping your drink back, then nudged his inner thigh with your knee. “But the real tragedy is he’s never gonna find another girl who gives head like I do.”

Joel choked. Like, spluttering his sip of beer kind of choking.

You watched with satisfaction as he coughed mid sip, nearly slamming his beer down on the bar as he wiped his mouth, eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Warn a guy first.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just…say shit like that outta nowhere,” he said, still recovering, voice lower now, rougher. He looked over at you, eyes flicking to your mouth, then down to your legs before dragging back up again. “Damn near killed me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You walked up on me with a bat in my hand, remember? I’m not exactly the ‘ease into it’ type.”

Joel laughed, a quiet sound that curled low in his chest. He leaned toward you more fully now, his thighs pressed warm against yours. His eyes twinkled in the dim bar light as his grin settled across his face. He was handsome. Not polished or pretty, but rugged and built like a man who worked with his hands. Masculine in a way that felt rare now, like he was made of dirt and calluses and something heavier. You couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but he had to be at least fifteen years your senior. And somehow that didn’t bother you. Not one bit.

You were leaning in too, your fingers wrapped around your glass, the condensation slipping over your knuckles as your blood warmed beneath his gaze. The space between you buzzed.

But then, remembering yourself, you looked away and sat back a little more.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said, voice a little softer now.

Joel’s smile faded into something more curious. “For what?”

“For... this. For making it so my birthday didn’t totally suck.”

His brows furrowed, the smile wiping from his face entirely. He was just opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the sound of your name beside you.

You turned, and standing there, in all his fuckboy glory, was your ex. 

You rolled your eyes as you set your sight on him, turning away as soon as you could. Joel’s knees still bracketed yours, still facing you, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you.

“The hell do you want, Tyler?” you asked, voice flat.

You didn’t look to see the expression on his face, and you wondered what the slow cogs in his brain were thinking as he looked between you and the man in the barstool across from you.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, voice pinched and high with something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy.

You took a slow sip of your drink, thinking through how you wanted to go about this. 

You could feel Tyler standing there, stewing, his presence irritating as the whine of a mosquito. Joel didn’t move, didn’t even look his way. He just kept sipping his beer, calm as anything, one hand still resting on your leg.

Tyler finally broke.

“So what—what is this?” His voice was tight, defensive. “You cheating on me now?”

You turned, purposely slow, and looked at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Then you laughed. Not a chuckle, a full, disbelieving bark that caught the attention of the bartender and a few people down the bar.

“Cheating on you?” you repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? We’re broken up, you asshole.”

Tyler blinked, thrown off by your tone. “We didn’t break up.”

“Yes,” you said, voice clipped. “We did. You just weren’t listening when I kicked your ass out of the apartment and told you never to speak to me again. You remember? When I came home from work to the sound of you fucking some girl in our bed?”

His face twitched, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” you snapped. “You couldn’t even give me one night for my birthday.”

Tyler looked confused, like the words hadn’t registered.

“I was gonna take you somewhere nice,” he said, voice rising as he gestured between you and Joel. “I figured you just needed to cool off. We were gonna go out tomorrow.”

You stared at him open-mouthed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I had a whole thing planned.”

“Tyler,” you said, voice flat with exasperation, “my birthday is today.”

He blinked again. It took a second, but then he winced.

You gave a soft, bemused laugh, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe the universe had really let you waste five years of your life on this man.

And then, beside you, Joel started laughing.

Not a big, loud laugh like yours, but just a low, quiet one. A little huff that grew into a full chuckle, deep in his chest. He shook his head, sipping his drink casually.

Tyler’s head whipped toward him.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Joel didn’t look at him right away. He tipped his beer toward his mouth again, finished the rest in a few slow gulps, then set the bottle down on the bar with a soft clink.

“Just amazed she lasted five years,” he said as if reading your mind and finally glancing over his shoulder. “You make dumb look like a full-time job.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Joel didn’t so much as blink.

Tyler bristled, standing up straighter. “You don’t even know her.”

Joel shifted beside you, his legs brushing yours as he twisted on the stool, planting one boot firm on the floor. He didn’t look at Tyler, hardly even acknowledged him. Like the kid wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer.

“Know enough,” he said easily.

Tyler scoffed, puffing his chest like he could make himself bigger. “She’s not some prize, you know. She’s a fucking slut.”

The word hung there for a second. Long enough to feel the floor shift under you.

Joel went still.

Completely still.

His hand left your knee.

He stood and looked down at your ex.

And for the first time, Tyler actually looked nervous.

Joel stepped forward, close enough that Tyler had to tilt his head back just slightly to look him in the eye. Joel didn’t yell, didn’t shove. He didn’t need to.

He just looked at him hard and cold and steady.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid.” he said, not blinking, not smiling. “You’re gonna turn around and walk back to your little friends, and you’re gonna keep walking and count yourself lucky, because if you stick around long enough to say one more word to her, you and I are gonna have a different kind of conversation. One that ends with you choking on your teeth.”

Tyler didn’t move at first. He just stood there like he thought he might still be able to win whatever stupid pissing contest was playing in his head.

But Joel didn’t look away. He barely blinked, barely even moved.

And something in Tyler finally folded.

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed away. His footsteps were loud against the sticky floor as he turned and stalked over to the other end of the room.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding harder than you’d expected.

Joel turned back to you, his eyes softer now.

“You alright?”

You nodded. Your voice wasn’t quite ready yet.

He sat back down beside you, the warmth of his presence sliding back into place. His legs bracketed yours again, your knees brushing his upper thighs.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he added, picking up his empty bottle and signaling the bartender for another.

You looked over at him, studying the curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders, the slow breath he took like nothing had just happened.

“That was…oddly really hot.” you said, almost before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, but his grin tugged wide.

“That right?”

You blushed crimson, feeling the warmth of blood rush to your cheeks, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, soft and pleased, and when the next drink landed in front of him, he slid it your way instead.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Looking back, you couldn’t exactly say how it happened. 

You remembered following Joel outside for a smoke, the air cooling your flushed, feverish skin. You shared the little white stick between you, the cigarette passing hand to hand, his fingers rough and warm every time they brushed yours. That simple touch felt electric.

You knew it was you who leaned in first. You were the one who grabbed his shirt, pushed him back against the siding, your fingers going straight for the thick hair at the base of his neck.

He smelled so damn good. Beneath the cigarette smoke and cheap beer was something deeper—pine, woodsmoke, a trace of sweat and musk that made your stomach twist with heat. He seemed so masculine and wild and grounding all at once.

His arms wrapped around you fast. One slid down to your lower back, the other tossing the cigarette aside without a second thought before wrapping a fist through your hair. He kissed you back just as hard, tongue sweeping into your mouth, like he’d been waiting all night for you to get the courage.

From there, it all moved very quickly. 

Because now Joel was looking down at you on your knees, the shadows of the side alley carving deep lines across his face. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a breath.

“What was it you said before, huh?” he said as his hand touched your hair, fingers curling around your ear as he tucked some of it back, “About givin’ the best head that prick ever had?”

You looked up at him with a slow, wicked smile, your palms dragging up his legs. You squeezed the thick muscle of his thighs, fingers digging into denim. Your heart thudded with anticipation, your mouth already watering as he cupped your cheek in one hand, thumb brushing your skin.

The other hand went to his belt.

The sound of the buckle unfastening made your breath hitch. The sharp metal clink, the slow drag of the zipper felt like a dare.

Joel’s hand dropped, wrapping around yours. He pulled your fingers from his thigh and placed them right over the hard bulge in his jeans, pressing your palm down slowly.

“Go on then,” he murmured, voice like asphalt, steady despite the heat you could feel radiating off of him. “Show me.”

You lifted your hands to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the band of his briefs, just far enough to free him.

His cock sprang up in your face, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening for you. It slapped lightly against his stomach, curved upward with a heavy weight before falling back into your eye line—aching, proud, and impossibly hard.

You swallowed.

He was thick from base to tip, the head swollen and flushed a deeper shade of pink, a bead of slick gathering at the slit and catching the low light. His cock twitched once as you stared, greedy for touch, for heat, for your mouth.

You wet your lips with a slow sweep of your tongue, your hand lifting as if drawn there by instinct. Joel hissed softly when your fingers wrapped around him. He was warm, so warm, the weight of him heavy in your palm. The dark, coarse hair at his base tickled your skin as you pressed your hand flush to him, steadying him as your grip tightened.

You glanced up, eyes meeting his.

He was so beautiful like this. Pants half down, jaw tight, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising with a slow, shaky breath. 

And in that moment, you made a decision. You were going to ruin him.

You were going to make him come in your mouth.

His expression told you he already felt it coming. His brows drawn, lips parted, eyes so dark they barely looked human. There was pride in that stare, but something else too. Need, barely held together, a tension you were about to unravel. He knew you’d ruin him too.

Your mouth opened slowly. Your breath stopping as you leaned in, the scent of him thick and heady, musk and skin and arousal coiling low in your gut.

You leaned in and ran your tongue along the slit at the tip of his cock, catching the bead of precum as it touched your tongue. He moaned breathlessly, and the sound went straight to your head, turning your thoughts to static.

You flattened your tongue along the underside, dragging it along the ridge where head met shaft. Then you pressed slow, wet kisses to the bulbous head, your lips soft, your breath warm. You licked and suckled, easing into a rhythm, teasing until his hips gave the slightest jerk.

Joel groaned, his breath hissing through bared teeth as he looked down at you. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on the sight of you between his legs.

And then, casually, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette.

You blinked, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He just grinned, the cigarette resting between his lips as he cupped the lighter and struck the flame. His eyes never left you, even as he took the first drag, the orange tip flaring in the dark.

You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t laughing. Something about it made your blood run hotter.

You sank down and took him fully into your mouth, lips sealing around the thick heat of him, your tongue flattening to feel every vein and ridge as he slid deeper. He let out a quiet curse under his breath, and his head dropped back against the brick behind him as he exhaled smoke into the night air.

You hated to admit it, but there was something so hot—so unfairly, stupidly hot—about watching him smoke while you blew him.

"You got the prettiest lips, baby," he groaned, "Look so good around my cock."

You pulled back slowly, letting your lips glide over him with just enough pressure to make his stomach flex as you moaned at his praise. Your hand wrapped around the base, slick with your spit, and you stroked him, watching his abdomen tighten with each pass of your warm slick palm.

Then you took him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue traced the underside, catching every pulse of blood in his veins. Your jaw ached almost immediately from the sheer stretch of him, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it to ache, to feel it for days after.

Joel groaned, quiet at first, like he was trying to keep it in. But the longer you worked him, the less restraint he seemed to have. His hips rolled slightly, not enough to choke you, just enough to meet your rhythm. You could hear the drag of his breath between his teeth, the low rumble in his throat as he let out a breathy curse. His free hand slid into your hair, just holding, his fingers curling loosely at your scalp.

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves. The glow of the cigarette tip pulsed with each drag, the smoke curling upward and disappearing into the night as he watched you again.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base as you bobbed slowly, building a rhythm he could sink into. Every time you pulled back, your tongue dragged along his length, warm and wet and unforgiving. You twisted your wrist when your hand met your mouth, just like you knew drove a man insane.

You could feel the tension in his thighs now, in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hand, in the little shudders that ran through him each time you went a little deeper. His groans were getting rougher. Louder.

You pulled back for a second, just long enough to kiss along his shaft, your mouth slick and open, tongue dragging up the side before you sucked his head in again, swirling your tongue in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word barely audible, his voice rough as gravel, "Gonna let me come in your mouth? That what you want?"

You looked up at him, nodding as best you could as you licked at his cock again with eyes wide and doe-like. His head tilted back, lips parted around the cigarette, brows drawn tight. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, and you took that as agreement.

You smiled, slow and smug, and ducked your head again.

This time, you didn’t stop. You let him hit the back of your throat again and again, worked your hand in tandem, made every pull of your mouth feel deliberate. The kind of rhythm that unraveled men. You moaned around him, lost in it too.

You felt him start to shake.

"Oh god, oh god," he chanted.

His thighs were trembling now, the muscles locked tight. His hand fisted in your hair, not to stop you or guide you, but to hold on for dear life.

And when he came, he swore. Loud, rough, his body curling forward over you like the force of it knocked the wind out of him, cigarette burning forgotten on the ground. You hadn’t even noticed when he dropped it.

His cock pulsed in your mouth as thick ropes of his come painted your throat, and you took it all, salty and thick but somehow not entirely unpleasant. You were surprised how easy it was to swallow every drop.

You didn’t move right away. Just rested there, mouth soft around him, lips still closed as he twitched once, twice, breath dragging heavy from his chest. When you finally pulled off, slow and careful, your chin was slick, your mouth swollen, your throat sore in the best way imaginable.

Joel stared down at you, completely undone. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then looked up at him, breathless.

“Told ya,” you said with a sly smile, voice a little hoarse but playful.

He let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle, then leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the sky, needing a second to recover before remembering how to speak.

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your thighs before reaching into your bag for your lip gloss. The little click of the cap echoed in the quiet alley as you twisted it open and ran the wand over your mouth, smoothing it back to its glossy sheen. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the nearby window: hair wild, lips swollen, eyes a little too bright, and gave a small, satisfied smirk.

Joel hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the wall, pants zipped back up, cigarette now completely gone, the filter crushed under the heel of his boot. His chest was still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite gotten a full breath back yet.

“Well,” you said as you tucked the gloss away and gave your jacket a tug into place, “thanks for the fun, Joel. I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the mouth of the alley, but his voice stopped you before you could take more than two steps.

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?”

You glanced back over your shoulder, brow lifted. “You seem tired, old man. Didn’t think you’d make it to round two is all.”

Joel pushed off the wall with a slow roll of his shoulders, his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a challenge. He stepped toward you, his boots crunching quietly in the gravel.

“You live far from here?” he asked, voice low again, steady and curious like he already knew what answer he wanted.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, lips twitching. “Why?”

Joel stopped just to the side of you, looming close enough that you could smell the last trace of smoke on his breath, the salt of his skin. His hand reached up to push your hair behind your shoulder, and he dipped his head, speaking just beside your neck.

“Because I’d much rather fuck the birthday girl in a bed than in some dirty alley,” he murmured. “Somewhere I can really take my time.”

The goosebumps hit instantly, your lips parting as the space between your legs pulsed with fresh heat.

“Ten minutes,” you managed. “Give or take.”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, but his hand moved to rest at your waist.

He looked down at you for a beat, then gave a small shake of his head. “You’ve been drinkin'.”

“So have you.”

“Neither of us should be drivin',” he said, voice still soft but firmer now, threading just enough authority through the warmth. “I’ll call a cab.”

You let out a slow breath, a half smile playing at your lips. “Being responsible is such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers skimming your side, tracing the curve of your hip, his hand up under your jacket, “but I’d rather make through the night so I can live to hear what you sound like with my cock in you, pretty girl.”

That shut you up.

[ninuwrites]

[ninuwrites]

joel isn’t good at saying “i love you”, but he shows it in ways that words can't express.

he cuts you fresh flowers in the morning from his garden, arranging them in a beige vase on the kitchen table so you can see them when you wake up.

he cleans and laces up your boots for your patrols, making sure they are well kept since you can't care less about maintaining them.

he braids your hair on the porch while you sit in his lap, smiling at the end at how beautiful you look, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

he builds and carves you anything you want even after only mentioning it once, like your rustic vanity and a small deer sculpture that sits on your nightstand.

he gently wipes your tears when you cry, bringing you into his chest as his hand runs down your back, soothing you with his soft voice and warm touch.

he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your body when he notices you’re shivering in the middle of winter.

he calls out of patrol and stays home by your side during your time of the month, knowing you need some extra love and support despite telling him you can take care of yourself.

he gazes at you and listens attentively as you let out all of your problems and worries, his presence providing you comfort when you can't seem to get out of your own head.

he holds you in his big arms until you fall asleep, lightly grazing your soft skin with his fingers. he kisses your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. upon deafened ears, his voice vulnerable and tender, he musters up the courage to murmur those three little words.

“i love you”

[ninuwrites]

what is it about a man with rolled up sleeves and straight cut jeans that makes me lose my shit

[ninuwrites]

ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴜᴘ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴜᴍʙ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴍᴏᴛᴇʟ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ

one - shot inspired by ethel cain’s song “thoroughfare”

Joel Miller never planned to take her with him. she was just a hitch in the road, twenty years younger and all bright eyes and soft questions. but somewhere between truck stops, cheap motels, and stolen glances, she became something more. now, a motel bed and a moment of weakness threaten to unravel everything he's been trying not to feel. just two lonely people trying to outrun their pasts—and maybe, finally, running toward something that feels like forever.

based on this ask | masterlist | 7.3k words | mutual pinning & yearning (I can't stop writing art this old man yearning im sorry), age gap (22&45), pov switches, joel being a bit possessive, vaginal sex, light edging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it in fiction only!)

The air was heavy enough to bite.

You’d already tied your hair back twice, but the heat didn’t budge. The pavement outside the diner shimmered like it was trying to disappear, and the cicadas had been singing since dawn. You were clocked out early, an apron slung over your shoulder, a duffel bag kicking at your heels. Not much in it—just a couple changes of clothes, your toothbrush, and your busted-up walkman with the Heaven or Las Vegas cassette still jammed inside. It barely played anymore, but you liked the way it sounded: warped and a little sad.

You’d told your boss you were leaving. She didn’t ask where. You figured she knew the look in your eye—like someone standing too close to the edge of something wide and unknown. The kind of look you get when you’ve finally run out of reasons to stay.

That’s when you heard it. The low, rough growl of an engine that didn’t belong to anyone local.

You looked up just in time to see a pickup roll into the lot, dust curling around the tires. It was all dented metal and sun-bleached paint, and behind the wheel sat Joel Miller—grayer than you remembered, beard thick and eyes squinting behind scratched-up sunglasses. You’d seen him once or twice before. He used to come through town hauling lumber or equipment, maybe something less legal. He always stayed quiet, nodded politely when spoken to, never lingered longer than he had to.

He climbed out, boots hitting the gravel with a thunk, and made a beeline for the diner door.

“You Joel?” you called, before he could reach the porch.

He turned, slow and skeptical.

“Who’s askin’?”

You hooked your thumb toward the truck. “Heard you’re headed west. Texas?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just eyed you the way a man might eye a stray dog—curious, cautious.

“Maybe.”

You stepped forward, your bag swinging. “I need outta here. I got cash. I don’t take up much space, and I won’t ask questions.”

Joel raised a brow. “That so?”

You nodded. “That’s so.”

The wind shifted. A long second passed, like he was waiting for something—maybe for you to flinch, or backpedal, or crack a joke. You didn’t. You just stood there, sweat sticking to your neck, heart hammering behind your ribs like it wanted to get in his truck before your body did.

He sighed through his nose, like he already regretted opening his mouth.

“You got anyone who’s gonna be lookin’ for you?”

“No.”

“You in trouble?”

“No more than usual.”

That one made the corner of his mouth twitch. Not a smile. Not yet.

“Alright,” he said, finally. “You ride quietly, you don’t touch the radio, and you pay half for gas.”

You smirked, tossing your bag into the truck bed.

“You got it, cowboy.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Jesus Christ, but he didn’t stop you.

By the time you hit the state line, the sun had dipped low, casting a bruised orange light across the fields. Joel’s hand stayed steady on the wheel, his forearm tanned and strong and marked with little nicks and scars. You didn’t stare, but you didn’t not stare, either.

He didn’t talk much. Not unless he had to.

But when you pointed at the horizon and said, “Never seen it look like that before,” he glanced your way and said, quiet as gravel—

“Stick with me. You’ll see a lotta things you ain’t seen before.”

You didn’t know if it was a promise or a warning.

Either way, you leaned your head against the window and smiled to yourself.

You were finally going.

And Joel Miller—rough, unreadable, too old for you Joel—was the one taking you.

You figured the silence would kill you.

Not the heat. Not the truck’s sticky vinyl seats or the stench of sunbaked roadside motels you’d been passing for hours—but the silence. Joel wasn’t much for small talk. He drove like he was on borrowed time and kept his thoughts zipped up tighter than his duffel. You tried, at first. Pointed out funny signs, asked if he’d ever been to New Mexico, made a comment about the shape of a cloud looking like a middle finger.

Nothing.

Well—maybe not nothing. A grunt here. A look there. You were learning to read them like road signs.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t driving you half mad.

“So,” you said finally, your foot up on the dash despite knowing it annoyed him, “are we ever gonna talk about the fact that we don’t actually know each other’s last names, or are we just gonna die on the highway someday and let the cops guess?”

Joel didn’t look over. Just adjusted the AC vent and muttered, “You talk a lot.”

You smiled, picking at the frayed hem of your shorts. “That wasn’t a no.”

He sighed, like he was tired of pretending to be annoyed. “Miller.”

You blinked. “Like... Joel Miller?”

He cast a sideways glance at you. “You knew that already.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” You shrugged. “Nice to hear it from the source.”

He didn’t ask for yours. Just waited.

So you gave it, simple and soft. Your first name, your last. It felt weird, saying it out loud. Like handing someone a piece of yourself that had been boxed up for too long.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “now if we crash, at least they’ll spell your name right in the paper.”

“Aw,” you cooed, “you do care.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t not say it either.”

That earned you a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But you caught it, and your heart did something stupid. Quick and fluttery, like a moth hitting a porch light.

The afternoon bled into golden hour, and the sky softened to a watercolor haze. You rolled the window down and let the air whip your hair around your face.

Joel reached across the bench seat, plucked your sunglasses off the dash, and tossed them into your lap.

“You’re gonna blind yourself.”

You held them up, squinting. “These are scratched to hell.”

“Better than nothin’.”

You slid them on anyway. They pinched your nose and made everything look sepia. You turned to him, letting the lazy drawl slip back into your voice like syrup.

“So what’s your story, Miller? You some kinda loner outlaw type? Haunted past, broken heart, scars that mean something?”

He didn’t laugh. Just kept his eyes on the road.

After a long pause, he said, “Somethin’ like that.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s cool. Real mysterious cowboy of you.”

“You got a story?”

You shrugged. “Nothin’ worth printing. Just needed to leave.”

Joel didn’t press. You liked that. Most people, they wanted the whole truth—or worse, they wanted to fix you. Joel didn’t offer comfort or advice or any of that fluffy shit. Just gave you the silence to breathe in.

You stopped for gas in a nothing town off the state highway. A one-pump station with flickering lights and a vending machine that still sold RC Cola.

Inside, Joel handed the cashier a twenty without a word, then glanced over his shoulder at you, already grabbing snacks off the dusty rack.

You held up a bag of sunflower seeds. “These say they expired last June. Think I’ll die?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” he muttered, pulling a bottle of water off the shelf.

You caught him looking at your reflection in the glass cooler door when he thought you weren’t watching. It was quick—blink and gone—but your stomach flipped anyway.

He looked at you like a man who didn’t mean to want something. Like want was a disease he thought he’d outrun years ago.

And maybe he had. Until you.

Back in the truck, you tore open a bag of gas station trail mix and tossed a raisin at him.

It hit his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“Seriously?” you grinned. “Not even a blink?”

Joel glanced over, deadpan. “You throw like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

He gave a small, sarcastic tilt of his head. “Huh. That explains the talkin’.”

You gasped, dramatic. “Joel Miller, you dog. You better watch yourself. I might just hitchhike to Phoenix with someone who respects my conversational skills.”

“You try that, you’ll end up chopped to bits behind a Cracker Barrel.”

You snorted. “Okay, fair. Guess I’m stuck with you, then.”

He didn’t respond, but you could see the smirk behind his beard.

You drove until it was nearly midnight, and Joel’s shoulders finally slackened. The road signs started mentioning Tucson. The stars came out, washed faint and soft above the highway glare.

There was a motel just off the exit—Starlite Inn, with flickering neon and a Vacancy sign swinging in the breeze.

Joel pulled in, turned off the ignition.

“You takin’ the floor or the bed tonight?” he asked, grabbing his duffel from the back.

You arched a brow. “Oh, are those the only options?”

“Unless you wanna sleep in the truck.”

You gave a mock sigh. “So chivalrous.”

He handed you your bag. “One bed. I’ll stay on my side. You stay on yours.”

You both knew how thin that line really was.

The front office of the Starlite Inn smelled like lemon cleaner and stale cigarettes. You leaned against the counter while Joel handled check-in, watching the old man behind the desk type with two fingers like he was unlocking national secrets.

“One queen left,” he muttered, squinting at the monitor like it might bite. “Don’t get much traffic this time of year. You folks just passin’ through?”

Joel gave a noncommittal grunt. The kind that said don’t ask more than you want to hear.

You watched the man slide over a single brass key. Old school. No digital locks here. The plastic tag said Room 12 in faded gold print.

Joel handed it to you without looking. “You get the door.”

You bit your tongue, mostly to stop yourself from smirking. Something about being given the key like that, like he was trusting you with it, made your chest tighten in a strange way. Too soft. Too warm.

Room 12 smelled like mildew and air freshener. The bedspread was some kind of polyester nightmare in faded shades of teal and peach. There was a tiny table, a single plastic ice bucket, and a TV from another decade.

You dropped your bag near the foot of the bed and turned in a slow circle, arms stretched.

“Classy.”

Joel didn’t respond. Just locked the door behind him and set his duffel down with a soft thud.

He went straight to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. You watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt—broad and solid, carrying too much. Always carrying too much.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said, voice low.

You turned toward him. “You said we’d both take the bed.”

“Changed my mind.”

You folded your arms. “Why?”

Joel glanced at you in the mirror, water dripping down his jaw. “’Cause I don’t trust myself to keep to one side.”

The air thickened. Not hot, but heavy. Like a held breath between lightning and thunder.

You didn’t know what to say, so you sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced your boots.

“I trust you,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Twenty minutes later, the lights were off.

You lay on your back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. The hum of the AC unit filled the space between you like a third body. Joel was on the floor beside the bed, one arm folded under his head, a thin motel blanket thrown over his lower half.

You should’ve been asleep by now. But your brain was racing. Replaying the way he looked at you sometimes—like you were something he didn’t want to want. Like the whole road ahead was getting shorter and more dangerous with every mile you traveled together.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated. “Why’d you say yes? To all this.”

He was quiet long enough that you thought he’d fallen asleep.

Then—“’Cause you asked me like nobody else ever had.”

You turned your head toward the dark, toward the shape of him on the floor. The moonlight through the blinds striped the carpet across his chest.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled. A soft sound. “Didn’t think I would either.”

The silence settled again. But it wasn’t empty now. It was full. Dense. Electric.

“Come up here,” you said, not sure if you meant it or just needed him closer to survive the weight of this feeling.

Joel didn’t move for a long moment. Then the mattress dipped under his weight.

He lay down on top of the covers, stiff at first. Then—inch by inch—he let himself relax. Just enough.

His arm brushed yours. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t move away.

Outside, a neon light flickered. Inside, the two of you lay in the same bed, a breath apart.

Still not touching. Not really.

But you could feel it. The line. The one he’d drawn in sand and shadow and motel dust. And how close you were to crossing it.

And how badly he wanted you to.

She was asleep. Or pretending to be.

Joel kept his eyes on the water stain above the bed, an abstract little thing shaped like Texas. Fitting. Everything came back to Texas these days—heatwaves and hard feelings.

The mattress was too soft, too warm on his left side where her arm had brushed his earlier. She’d been quiet for a while now. Her breathing had evened out, slow and shallow, the kind of sleep that meant she was too tired to keep holding whatever it was in.

And him? He was wide awake. Had been since she said come up here.

He shouldn’t have.

Should’ve stayed on the floor like he said he would, like a man who meant to keep his distance.

But Joel had never been good at keeping lines uncrossed, not when it came to things he wanted. And this—whatever this was between them—it was getting dangerous. Not because she was twenty years younger or too soft for the world he came from, but because she looked at him like he could be something else. Something better.

That kind of faith? That kind of sweetness?

It scared the hell out of him.

She’d asked him earlier why he said yes to the trip. You asked me like nobody else ever had, he’d told her. True enough. But it was more than that.

She reminded him of the kind of life he used to want before the world got heavy. The kind of life that smelled like motel soap and roadside peaches and fresh tires on hot pavement. She was young, yeah, but not fragile. Not dumb. She saw things. Paid attention. Asked questions that meant something.

And now she was asleep next to him, hair all messy on the pillow, lips parted just slightly like she’d been dreaming something gentle.

He had no business being here.

No business watching the curve of her shoulder or wondering what it would feel like to touch the skin there. No business remembering the way she laughed earlier in the car, all sunbeam and southern drawl, feet on the dash like she owned the highway.

Hell, no business wanting it. Wanting her.

But there it was, right under his ribs. That low, pulsing ache. Old and familiar. Something between guilt and gravity.

If she moved even an inch closer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Stay put? Pull away?

Or finally reach for the thing he wasn’t supposed to want.

And God help him, he did want her.

Not just in the motel bed way. Not just in the long-legged, lip-biting, pretty-girl kind of way. He wanted her laughter. Her late-night questions. Her songs on the radio and her theories about the clouds and the way she always seemed to find the quiet parts of him, even the ones he didn’t know were still there.

That scared him worse than anything.

Because she wasn’t his.

And he wasn’t hers.

But tonight? With the blinds drawn and the moonlight on her skin?

He almost forgot that part.

Almost.

You wake up to sunlight slanting through thin yellow curtains and the smell of coffee. Cheap coffee, the kind that comes from powdered packets and hotel lobby machines. But you’re not complaining. Joel’s sitting in the corner chair, legs spread, one hand curled around a Styrofoam cup like he’s guarding it.

He glances up when you stir. “Mornin’.”

His voice is rougher than usual, low and slow like it dragged itself out of sleep behind you. He doesn’t ask how you slept. Doesn’t need to. The two of you had laid there last night, backs straight, arms careful, like your bodies weren’t begging to shift closer.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Little after seven. Figured you might want somethin’ warm before we hit the road.”

You blink at him, hair a mess and mouth dry, and for a second—just a second—you let yourself look at him like he’s yours. Like this is normal. Like it’s always been this way: his coffee, his quiet, his steady presence in your morning.

It’s a lie, but it’s a nice one.

“Thanks,” you say, and he hands you a cup. His fingers brush yours for half a heartbeat. He pulls back too fast.

You both pretend not to notice.

The coffee’s awful, but it’s hot, and that’s something. You drink in silence while he packs up. No radio. No TV. Just the rustle of a map, the zip of a bag, the soft creak of old carpet under his boots.

When you finally get moving again, the motel behind you, there’s a stillness to the car that wasn’t there before. You roll the window down and let the wind tangle your hair, let the sun spill across your thighs like it has every right.

Joel doesn’t say much.

But when he hands you a gas station pastry a few miles later, you take it, and that’s how you know everything’s still okay.

Not simple. Not clear. But okay.

The pastry was lemon. Too sweet, too dry. You ate it anyway.

Joel didn’t even glance when you unwrapped it, just kept one hand on the wheel and the other drumming his fingers on his thigh like he was thinking hard. You didn’t ask what about. You kind of didn’t want to know.

There were two hours of Mississippi ahead of you before you hit the Louisiana state line, and not much to look at but cotton fields and stray billboards peeling in the heat. You’d rolled your window back down, one leg tucked beneath you in the seat, the other stretched out toward the dash, toes tapping to the faint hum of some old country song he’d let play low on the radio.

“You always this quiet in the mornings?” you asked eventually.

Joel glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Only when I’m stuck in a car with someone who talks too much.”

You snorted. “Rude.”

“The truth.”

“Fine. But I’m not the one who practically sighed with relief when I handed you your half of the sandwich yesterday.”

He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

You looked out the window to hide your own grin, pretending to watch a hawk circle over a line of trees. It was easier this way—teasing him, pushing a little and letting him push back. Every so often you caught the way his eyes softened when you said something funny, or the way his hand would tighten briefly on the steering wheel when your laugh lingered a beat too long.

There was a lot you didn’t say.

And that silence? It was starting to feel like its own kind of conversation.

By the time the gas light came on, the road had stretched flat and pale in the sun, and the air had that thick Louisiana cling to it. Joel pulled off into a gravel lot with one of those gas stations that hadn’t seen a health inspection since the late ‘90s.

“I’ll fill it,” he said, already reaching for his wallet. “You go stretch your legs.”

You didn’t argue.

The station had one of those coolers full of off-brand sodas and melted ice, plus a dusty rack of sunglasses and fake knives. You grabbed two waters and some fruit jerky just because it made you laugh. The place smelled like cigarettes and plastic. You kind of loved it.

When you came back out, Joel was leaning against the truck, cap pushed low, eyes on the highway.

You handed him the water. “I got you something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me it’s that damn jerky.”

You held it up proudly. “The fruit kind. Mystery flavor.”

He gave you a look like he was genuinely questioning your sanity, but took it anyway. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I regret a lot of things,” you said, climbing back into the truck. “But not this.”

He paused. Stared at you for a second too long, water bottle hanging from his hand, the plastic crinkling slightly in the heat.

Then he got in, started the engine, and didn’t say a word.

But his eyes kept drifting over to you as you unwrapped the jerky with mock ceremony and took a dramatic bite.

And even though the flavor was somewhere between cherry cough syrup and sadness, you smiled through it. Because Joel Miller was trying not to smile back, and failing.

By late afternoon, the sun had turned a deep, syrupy gold, washing everything in warm light. You passed through towns that looked like backdrops from a dream—shuttered shops, rusted swingsets, a church sign that read “GOD’S NOT DONE YET.”

Neither were you.

Joel hadn’t touched the fruit jerky, but he kept it on the dash like it meant something. You didn’t ask why. Just let the silence between you settle into something companionable. Something steady.

A few more hours and the light started fading. The road grew quieter. You noticed Joel’s hands flexing on the wheel more often, his jaw tight.

“You tired?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell it was a lie.

“Don’t be a hero,” you said gently, turning in your seat. “You’ll get us both killed swerving into a ditch ‘cause you wouldn’t stop for the night.”

He glanced at you, tired but amused. “That how you talk to all your chauffeurs?”

You smiled. “Just the handsome, grumpy ones.”

He didn’t respond, but his ears turned a little red.

You found a motel just outside a tiny town called Marais. The kind of place where time moved slower and the stars actually showed up once the sun dipped below the trees. There was only one room left. One bed. The clerk didn’t even try to hide his raised eyebrows.

Joel paid without flinching.

Inside, the room was cleaner than you expected. Faded quilt. A working ceiling fan. That same familiar hum of an old A/C unit struggling to keep up with the Southern heat.

You kicked off your shoes and collapsed face-first onto the bed, groaning. “God. I forgot how nice it is to lie down.”

Joel chuckled low in his chest. “You’re dramatic.”

You peeked at him from the pillow. “You’re old.”

He turned the bathroom light on, but you saw the smirk anyway.

Later, you brushed your teeth while Joel stood outside smoking. You could see the flick of his lighter through the thin motel curtain. He didn’t smoke much—not around you—but you figured he needed it tonight. The way he’d been quiet again. The way his eyes lingered on the road too long, like he was thinking himself into a hole.

You came out in a T-shirt and sleep shorts. The kind of thing you used to wear around your old beat up apartment. The kind of thing Joel tried not to look at.

Tried.

He put the cigarette out and turned away fast, like he hadn’t noticed the way your bare legs caught the hallway light. You climbed into bed without a word, curling toward the wall.

He took the other side, careful to keep distance between your bodies. Maybe a foot. Maybe less. You felt the heat of him anyway. The quiet of him. The sheer presence of Joel Miller, like gravity itself had decided to rest in the middle of this bed.

Neither of you moved.

Sometime after midnight, you woke up to the sound of rain. Soft and steady against the window, like fingers tapping the glass. Joel was still on his side, breathing deep. But his hand was close now—only inches from yours where it rested on the mattress.

You didn’t think. Just moved a little.

Your pinky brushed his.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t say a thing.

But his breathing changed. Just a little. And somehow, that was louder than anything he could’ve said.

You lay there like that for a long, long time. Neither of you are speaking. Both of you are awake.

And though you didn’t reach for him, didn’t say his name or press your lips to his throat or thread your fingers with his—

You could have.

And he would have let you.

You both knew it.

He didn’t sleep much.

Not that he expected to. Not with her that close.

It wasn’t her fault—she hadn’t done a damn thing. Just laid there breathing, all soft and warm and barefoot in his periphery, like it was normal. Like this whole thing wasn’t tugging something loose in him.

Joel stared at the ceiling until the rain stopped, then at the crack in the curtain where the early light leaked through. He kept thinking it would be easier if she’d been louder. If she talked too much or chewed with her mouth open or snored like hell. Anything to give him a reason to shake this off.

But she wasn’t like that.

She was kind. Sharp, but never mean. Curious in a way that made him feel seen, even when she wasn’t asking questions.

And God help him, she looked at him like she saw something worth keeping.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Joel rolled onto his side carefully. She was still asleep, one arm curled under her cheek, the hem of her shirt rucked up just enough to show the slope of her lower back. His chest ached.

Twenty-two years old and it still hit him like a gut-punch—that quiet, simple vulnerability. The kind of thing he hadn’t let himself want in years.

She moved a little, brow twitching, and he closed his eyes fast, pretending to sleep.

Because if she caught him staring, he wasn’t sure he could explain himself.

Or worse—he might try.

He got up before she did, let the door click shut behind him as gently as he could. The air outside was thick with the aftermath of rain, still cool but warming fast. He sat on the curb by the truck with a paper cup of motel coffee and his second cigarette of the morning, neither of which did a damn thing to calm him down.

He didn’t want to be that man. The one who let himself get soft over a girl half his age just because she was sweet and pretty and kind to him in ways he didn’t think he deserved anymore.

But he was that man.

He could feel it. In the way he hesitated before getting back in the truck yesterday. The way he wanted to hear her say his name even when she was annoyed with him. The way he’d nearly taken her hand last night, just to feel something steady before sleep took him.

It scared him.

Because Joel didn’t want to break her. Didn’t want to hurt her or ruin the quiet good thing they had going, even if it was nothing but shared meals and motel stops and that long stretch of road between them.

But she made him feel younger.

No, not younger. Alive.

And that? That was even more dangerous.

He heard the door creak behind him.

Barefoot steps on the pavement. A yawn.

“Is that coffee?” she asked, voice still low and rough from sleep.

Joel didn’t look at her. Just held the cup out. “If you can call it that.”

She took it and sat beside him without asking.

And for a moment, with her shoulder brushing his and the rising sun spilling gold across the parking lot, Joel forgot all the reasons why he shouldn’t want this.

Forgot about age. About guilt. About how this couldn’t possibly last.

Because she smiled at him with sleep-warm eyes and a soft “thanks,” and all he could think was: Goddamn, I’m in trouble.

They got back on the road after checking out, her hair still damp from the motel shower. She tied it up on the ride out of town, twisting it messily with a hair tie pulled from her wrist. Joel caught himself watching her in the rearview, the reflection just enough to see the slope of her neck, the soft crease at the corner of her eye as she squinted against the sun.

She didn’t talk much at first. Just tapped her fingers against the window ledge, humming under her breath to a song on the radio that he didn’t know. Something soft and female and longing.

He didn’t ask what it was.

He liked it better not knowing.

They stopped for gas at a quiet station just off the interstate. While she went inside for snacks, Joel stayed at the pump, eyes on the curve of her retreating back, the way she moved like she was half-wrapped in sunlight.

Jesus Christ.

He leaned on the truck door, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in a way that made his throat tight. It was that she looked at him like she trusted him. Like she saw something he didn’t think he had left in him.

He wasn’t used to that.

But this girl?

She talked to him like he mattered in a different way.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that.

Back in the truck, she tossed him a pack of trail mix and slid a cold can of Coke into the cup holder.

“I guessed,” she said. “You don’t seem like a fruit punch guy.”

He raised a brow. “And what kind of guy do I seem like?”

She didn’t look at him. Just smirked faintly and buckled her seatbelt. “The kind who only likes the original stuff. No cherry flavor. No peach twist. No bullshit.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

They drove in comfortable quiet for a while.

Later, she fell asleep again. Slumped against the window, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her lips parted just slightly.

Joel’s grip on the wheel tightened.

There was a part of him—some selfish, buried part—that liked the way she trusted him enough to fall asleep like that. Like she knew he’d get her where she needed to go. That he’d keep her safe.

And God, he would.

Whether she asked him to or not.

That realization scared him more than anything. Because Joel had spent years avoiding attachments. Keeping things clean. Transactional.

But this? This wasn’t clean.

It was quiet and messy and dangerous.

She wasn’t just some girl hitching a ride anymore.

She was herself.

Warm. Smart. Brave in a way that snuck up on you. The kind of person who picked wildflowers out of a motel parking lot and braided them into a napkin ring for no reason at all. The kind who hummed to Fleetwood Mac and offered you the last piece of candy without even thinking twice.

And the worst part?

Joel wanted to keep her around.

Wanted her beside him in the passenger seat, one knee pulled up, telling him stories he didn’t ask for but always listened to. Wanted her curled up in bed with him again, not touching, not speaking—just there.

He hadn’t wanted something like that in a long, long time.

And now that he did?

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It was late.

They pulled into a random motel.

The sun was long gone, and the air was thick with humidity and the hum of cicadas, wrapping around the night like a second skin. The neon vacancy sign buzzed weakly overhead, casting red light across her face as she leaned against the check-in counter.

Joel signed the paperwork with a cheap pen and let the desk clerk assume they were just another couple passing through. Let her think what she wants.

Hell, he didn’t even know what this was anymore.

He was too tired to lie to himself about it.

The room was small. One queen bed. Old AC rattling in the window. A lamp with a cracked base and floral shades that hadn’t been washed since the nineties.

She dropped her bag by the chair, kicked her shoes off with a sigh, and sat on the edge of the bed like she owned it.

Like she’d always belonged there.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Joel nodded. “Just tired.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been quiet since the gas station.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like that.”

He swallowed hard. Turned away, pretending to fiddle with something in his duffel just to avoid her eyes.

She saw through it. Of course she did.

He didn’t know why he was still pretending. The air between them was too hot, too thick, too full of everything they hadn’t said. Every brush of her knee against his in the truck. Every glance. Every goddamn moment where he almost let something slip.

Almost told her he wanted her.

Almost admitted he hadn’t thought about anything but her for days now.

She stood behind him suddenly, close enough that he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“I know you’re fighting it,” she whispered.

Joel’s whole body tensed.

“I can feel it. You think you’re protecting me,” she said, voice gentle. “But you’re hurting yourself.”

He turned, slowly, and met her eyes.

There was no teasing in them. No manipulation. Just warmth. Certainty.

Like she already knew.

He stepped back out of reflex—but she followed. Hands brushing his chest. Fingertips tracing the edge of his t-shirt like she was memorizing the shape of him.

“You don’t have to be scared of wanting something,” she murmured. “Not with me.”

Joel let out a shaky breath.

She was the one who closed the distance.

He didn’t remember how they ended up this close, only that her hands were on him and his heart was breaking open in his chest. He’d spent every mile of this drive trying to hold the line, keep her safe behind the walls he’d built for women like her—young, sweet, not for him.

And now she was standing there, telling him he didn’t have to pretend.

Telling him she already knew.

When she leaned in, he didn’t stop her. Couldn’t.

Her mouth brushed his like a question, one he answered with both hands gripping her waist, holding her still while he kissed her deep and slow—like he’d been waiting his whole life for the chance. He tasted mint on her tongue and something softer, something hers. Something he’d been dying to have again since the last time she smiled across the truck cab.

She sighed into it, arms sliding around his neck, body arching into his like she already knew the shape of him. He backed her up, step by step, until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sank down with a soft gasp.

Joel stood over her, just looking.

The low motel light painted her skin in soft gold, her thighs pressed together, breath shaky as she looked up at him.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“I’ve been sure,” she said, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. “Since Amarillo.”

He let out a breath that sounded more like a groan and leaned down, kissing her again—deeper now, rougher, fingers gripping her jaw as she pulled him down with her.

They undressed each other in pieces.

Her shirt was the first to go, then his. She traced his chest like she couldn’t get enough of the sight, trailing her fingers over old scars and muscle and warmth.

“You’re so goddamn handsome,” she murmured, and it hit him like a brick.

Joel ducked his head, almost embarrassed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m telling the truth.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed her instead—kissed her slow and deep, until her body melted beneath him.

Her bra came off next. He didn’t rush, didn’t fumble—just pulled the strap down her shoulder and watched it fall like it was sacred. Then he leaned in, took her breast into his mouth, and sucked gently—felt her shiver beneath him, her thighs spreading just slightly in response.

“Joel—” she whispered, breath hitching.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” he rasped, one hand trailing down to the button of her shorts. “You want me slow? Easy?”

“I want you, however you’ll give yourself to me.”

His jaw clenched. Christ. She knew how to break him open, piece by piece.

He took his time undressing her.

Her shorts slipped down over her hips, panties damp. He could smell her arousal, thick and sweet, and when he dropped to his knees between her thighs, she gasped.

“Wait—”

“I wanna taste you,” he said, voice low. “Been thinkin’ about it every night since Mississippi.”

She didn’t stop him after that.

He slid her legs open with both hands and leaned in, groaning against her when he finally pressed his mouth to her. She was warm and slick and already so ready for him, thighs trembling as he licked slow, patient circles around her clit. She reached for him, fingers tangling in his hair, back arching up as she bit down on her wrist to keep quiet.

“Joel—oh, fuck—please—”

He flattened his tongue, licked long and slow, then flicked gently until her thighs shook around his ears. Her orgasm built like a wave and broke with her legs wrapped around his shoulders, her hips rocking into his face as she whimpered his name over and over like a prayer.

He didn’t stop.

Not until she pulled him up and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.

Joel undid his jeans with shaking fingers, but she touched his wrist.

“Let me,” she whispered.

She pulled his belt open, tugged his jeans down just enough, and wrapped her hand around his cock.

Joel groaned deep in his chest—her touch soft, reverent. He was hard and aching and nearly lost it when she pressed a kiss to his chest.

“Condom?” she asked.

He nodded toward the bag.

She retrieved it, ripped the foil open with trembling fingers, and rolled it onto him slowly, like she wanted to savor every second.

Then she laid back.

Spread her thighs.

Waited.

“Come here,” she said.

Joel settled between her legs, lined himself up, and paused.

Because this wasn’t just a hookup.

This wasn’t just sex.

This was everything he’d been scared to feel.

He slid in slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around him, and bit back a groan when she gasped and clung to him, nails digging into his back.

“Goddamn, you feel—fuck, baby,” he muttered, burying his face in her neck. “You feel perfect.”

She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him closer.

He moved slow—deep, steady thrusts, letting her feel every part of him, letting himself feel everything. The warmth of her body. The way she whispered his name. The soft, pleading sounds she made when he hit that spot deep inside her just right.

“Joel, I—fuck—I think I—”

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her. “Come for me.”

And she did.

He felt her clench around him, felt her body fall apart, and finally—finally—let himself go.

He came with a groan, buried deep inside her, every muscle tensing before he collapsed on top of her, breath hot and ragged in her ear.

They laid there in silence.

Her hands traced lazy patterns across his chest. He kissed her shoulder once, twice.

Then, in the dark, she said:

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just held her tighter.

Then—

“Not sure I’ve ever been.”

She smiled against his skin.

“Me neither.”

You wake up to birdsong and silence.

No trucks passing on the highway. No boots on gravel. No Joel rummaging through the duffel for coffee or keys or his worn-out map. Just stillness, and the warm weight of his arm slung across your waist.

For a moment, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into his chest, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. It’s steady. Heavier than usual, like even he’s allowed himself a rare kind of rest.

The motel room is still dim. One of the curtains is half drawn, letting in a sliver of morning sun that catches on the dust in the air. Everything smells like last night—like motel soap and sweat and him. Like something real.

Your thigh brushes his when you shift slightly, and that’s when you feel it again—that ache between your legs, the good kind. The kind that reminds you it wasn’t a dream.

You press your face to his chest, hide the stupid smile that spreads across your mouth.

You’d never seen Joel like that before.

You’d seen him tired. Sharp. Guarded. Patient. Stern.

But not undone.

Not the way he was last night—hands trembling, voice breaking, whispering your name like he’d been holding it in for years.

And God, the way he looked at you afterward—like he’d seen the edge of something and chosen to fall anyway.

When he stirs beside you, it’s slow. A grunt under his breath, his arms tightening just slightly around your middle. His nose brushes the top of your head. He breathes in like he knows exactly where he is—and who he’s with.

“Morning,” you whisper.

His voice comes out rough. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t roll over or grab his jeans like he’s got somewhere to be.

Instead, his fingers trail lightly along your spine. Absentminded. Gentle.

You tilt your head up. “You okay?”

Joel looks down at you, eyes soft in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Think so,” he says after a beat. “You?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

More than good. But saying that out loud would make your chest crack open.

He studies you like he wants to say something else. His brows furrow like he’s weighing it. Maybe wondering if last night changed everything—or if you’ll pretend it didn’t.

So you speak first.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

His expression doesn’t change.

But something settles in him. Like a rope pulled tight just slackened.

“It ain’t,” he says. Simple. Final.

“Good,” you whisper.

Joel leans in, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. His hand slips under the blanket, warm and possessive against your back.

“I got no plans of leavin’ you behind,” he says quietly. “Not now.”

And something in your chest flutters—something dangerous. Something hopeful.

You rest your cheek against his heart and close your eyes.

Out there, the road’s still long. There’ll be towns and weather and tension. There’ll be bad days and good ones and probably some kind of reckoning when you get to wherever the hell he’s taking you.

But right now?

He’s staying.

And so are you.

divider by @strangergraphics

🏷️ @xodilfluvr @zevrra @joelmillersonlyprincess @alyhull @bluekat707 @catch1ngmoths

[ninuwrites]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

just one bite omfg 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

[ninuwrites]

watching joel in episode six

[ninuwrites]

The Trade (jackson!joel x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jackson!joel x doctorf!reader Word Count: 5.7K Rating: E

Summary: Joel is on a mission to find a guitar as a birthday gift for Ellie. After searching through various places and facing numerous challenges, he finally gets a guitar—thanks to you—Maria’s best friend.

Warning: acquaintances to lovers, minor spoilers / dialogue from episode 2x6, language, sexual tension, mutual pining, competency kink, smidge jealousy, pet names, sexual touching, allusions to joel miller dicking you down (as he should), descriptions of explicit smut, size kink? smidge dirty talk, fluff, acts of service galore, nothing bad ever fucking happens omg

A/N: Months ago, when that trailer came out with Joel holding that fucking guitar, I became unhinged and started writing this. But, thanks to episode 6—it inspired me to finish it and incorporate what I felt was missing. How fucking dare Joel Miller look so fucking good in 2x6.

You had overheard Joel talking about it one night when you were visiting Maria for her three-month postpartum check-up.

Maria had recently welcomed a healthy baby boy—Benjamin—also known as Benji and you were there to ensure both mother and child were doing well. You carefully examined Maria, checking her recovery and addressing any concerns she might have. Afterwards, you took the opportunity to examine her adorable little boy, making sure his growth was on track and that he was developing properly.

You could hear Joel’s deep voice, a bit frustrated, and Tommy’s more laid-back tone as they chatted in the other room.

"...Been scourin’ a ton of locations when I do patrols, but fuckin’ nothin’ out there," Joel was saying, voice tinged with annoyance.

Tommy chuckled softly. "You still tryin’ to find one?"

There was a pause, then Joel grumbled, "Yeah, havin’ a hell of a time trackin’ one down."

Maria rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Oh my god, it’s all he’s been talking about for weeks."

"Hey, what’s Joel been trying to find exactly?" you asked softly, glancing toward the door where their voices drifted in muffled tones.

"A guitar. He’s been searching everywhere. A gift for Ellie. Said he wants to get her something special for her fifteenth birthday."

You nodded quietly, absorbing the information. You couldn’t help but think about when Joel and Ellie first showed up in town. When they rolled in, there was an immediate shift in the atmosphere—like everyone instinctively knew not to mess with Tommy’s older brother. Joel had this rugged, imposing presence that made folks keep their distance. His rough demeanor and gruff voice earned him a reputation as a 'scary guy.'

But you didn’t feel like he was a scary guy. And he wasn’t a scary guy with Ellie—he was fiercely protective and tender with her.

Maria noticed the thoughtful look crossing your face as you listened to the muffled conversation. A gentle smile touched her lips, and she reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Don’t do it."

"Don’t do what?”

"You know what. Joel doesn’t need you doing him any favors."

Your eyes narrowed, stance hardening, trying to pick your words carefully. "You know, Maria, you give Joel a hard time,"

"I do not," she defended.

"You do," you stated matter-of-fact.

That made her pause. She looked away for a moment, considering your words, then nodded quietly. "You’re right. I do."

"You do. And besides, a favor I do to Joel is a favor I do to you. Ellie’s practically your niece now."

You had been thinking about Ellie’s birthday yourself. You really enjoyed spending time with her. She had this curious, eager energy that was contagious, and you found yourself looking forward to your little chats whenever she would stop by the clinic. She was always asking questions about your job, about the things you saw and did, and you could tell she was genuinely interested. It was nice to have someone to share a bit of your world with her.

Over the past few months, you had gotten to know her better—and you knew that she appreciated having another female adult to talk to.

Maria smiled softly, her eyes warm as she looked at the little boy in your arms. "I’m glad he has her for a cousin. I mean, I’m terrified his first words will be 'fuck' whenever Ellie babysits him, but I guess there are worse things."

You laughed, carefully lifting Benji into your hands, cradling him gently. As you settled him comfortably, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his chubby cheek.

The next day, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Joel standing there, his face a little more relaxed than usual, though his eyes still held that familiar intensity. He tipped his head slightly. "Maria said somethin’ about the plumbin’ in your sink actin’ up."

"Yeah, come on in. Take a seat," you said invitingly. Joel stepped inside, his boots heavy on the floor as he made his way into the living room.

Joel had never been the type to drop by unannounced, and you had never been the kind to invite him over casually. Your interactions with Joel had mostly been limited to brief exchanges during visits to Tommy and Maria’s place or quick moments in town. You had seen him around plenty, but those encounters were usually quick and functional—checking on the health of Maria and the baby, or passing a nod in the street.

This was the first time Joel was stepping into your house, and you could tell he was a little uncomfortable about it. His broad shoulders, which usually seemed so confident and steady, carried a slight tension as he moved inside. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar space, taking in the decor and the quiet, lived-in feel of your home. You noticed how he hesitated just a moment before settling onto the couch and rubbing the back of his neck.

You headed upstairs, then quickly returned with something in your hands—a guitar.

As soon as he saw the guitar, Joel’s eyes widened, and he immediately pushed himself up from the couch. His hands instinctively reached out, as if to grab the guitar from you, but he paused, eyes locked onto the instrument. "Where the hell did you find this?"

"It’s a long story. But I heard that you were looking for this—for Ellie’s birthday."

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, eyeing the guitar. "What d’you wanna trade for it?" he asked.

You shook your head slowly. "Nothing."

"What d’you mean?"

"I don’t need anything in return."

He frowned, clearly confused. "Why are you doin’ this?"

"Doing what?"

“Givin’ me this guitar,” he clarified, voice wary now. "You’re Maria’s best friend. Why would you do somethin’ like this?"

"What does me being Maria’s friend have to do with anything?"

"Maria don’t like me very much."

"Maria likes you just fine." you paused. "But don’t tell her I told you that," you grinned, tilting your head.

He paused, studying the guitar again, then glanced back at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, I’ll be damned."

You stepped closer to Joel, the guitar cradled carefully in your hands. As you reached out, your fingers brushed against his rough palm for a brief moment. The contact was electric, sending a subtle jolt up your arm that you tried to ignore. You looked up into his eyes, which were dark and intense, yet somehow softer than you had ever seen them before.

There was a quiet pause as you held the guitar out to him, your gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary. You could feel your heart beat a little faster, a strange flutter in your chest that you hadn't expected. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—focused, slightly tentative, as if he was trying to read you or understand something he hadn’t before.

Joel’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up to your face. The way he looked at you made your stomach tighten, a strange something spreading through you. You’d always thought he was handsome—if you were honest, maybe you had a little crush on him when he first came into town.

And, maybe it was the way he carried himself, the quiet strength behind his gaze right now, that drew your attention in a way you’d never allowed yourself to consider before.

You’d always pushed the idea away, telling yourself Joel was your best friend’s brother-in-law. But standing here now, feeling the heat of his stare and the subtle brush of your fingertips, you wondered if he ever saw you as more than just Maria’s best friend.

Joel’s expression softened just slightly as he took the guitar from your hands. "Appreciate it. Means a lot." Joel’s eyes lingered on the guitar, then slowly shifted back to you, "Can I engrave somethin’ on the neck?"

"Joel, you don’t have to ask my permission. It’s your guitar now," you replied softly.

He hesitated for a beat, then held out his hand, as if to return the guitar. "I really can’t take this without a trade," he said, a bit stubbornly.

"What about this?" you said, gesturing toward the guitar. "Let me think about it," you gave him a playful look, "and I’ll get back to you."

"Fair enough," he said quietly. "Just… think about it. I’ll be around. Which reminds me, which sink of yours is actin’ up?"

You snorted.

He looked at you in surprise. "What?"

"Maria lied to you. She told you I needed help with the plumbing, but it was just to get you over here. I was afraid of bringing the guitar over incase Ellie was home."

He licked his lips. "Good thinkin’…" he cleared his throat. "but if you ever do need help with anythin’ round’ here—” he paused, eyes serious now—“don’t hesitate to—uh—reach out."

"I know."

He paused again, then stepped toward the door. As he reached for the handle, you suddenly blurted out, "Legos."

He looked confused, tilting his head. "What?"

"If you want a cake for Ellie’s birthday, talk to Seth. He loves Legos for his grandkids. You should find some so Seth can make you a cake."

Joel’s eyebrows raised in amusement, a small smirk curling on his lips. "Thanks for the tip."

With that, he waved shyly at you and headed out, leaving you smiling to yourself, the image of him trying to find Legos for Seth already playing in your mind.

A few days later, Joel’s brow furrowed with concern as you and Tommy carefully carried Ellie up the stairs. His voice was tight with worry. "What happened?"

"Oh, where’d you come from?" Ellie asked Joel, still loopy from the drugs

"Painkillers. She’s all right." Tommy kept a calm, but steady tone.

Joel’s face went blank. "Painkillers?"

"No, no, no, no, no. Leave it. Don’t touch it," you told Ellie when you saw her gently fiddling with her bandage. You sat down with her on the bed.

"Tommy what happened?" Joel repeated.

"She was working KP, and she burned her arm."

"Well, how?" Joel asked.

Ellie stayed quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line. The three of them exchanged a look—something unspoken hanging in the air—and you sensed there was more to the story.

Finally, Joel broke the silence. "Who let this happen?"

"What do you mean 'let'? No one saw this coming’. I was just eating dinner’ man." Tommy replied, slightly frustrated.

Ellie winced, clutching her arm. "It hurts. Ow."

Joel’s expression softened as he reached for her sitting down next to her, voice gentle but firm. "Easy, babygirl. Easy."

He was so soft with her.

You had never heard him use that particular endearment with her before—something soft and familiar in his voice that didn’t quite fit the tough, guarded man you’d come to know.

It was clear his usual stoic exterior had cracked, if only for a moment, revealing how worried he was about her. That small, vulnerable side of him made your chest tighten—seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both comforting and a little heartbreaking. It struck you then how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, and how much he’d do to keep her safe.

"I’m here to give her another shot," you said, pulling out a syringe.

Joel hesitated, looking concerned.

Ellie looked up at him. "I just really wanted to wear short sleeves again. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry."

What did that mean?

"Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay." Joel looked up at Tommy and then kissed Ellie’s forehead.

You remembered patching Ellie up after she burned her arm. Her story about how it happened hadn't quite added up— she’d said she was trying to cook something in the kitchen and accidentally knocked over a pot, but her nervous behavior and the way she avoided your eyes made your stomach tighten. You’d briefly wondered if she might have done it on purpose, but now was not the time to question her. Right now, she needed care, and so you focused on that.

You gently inserted the syringe into her arm, watching her carefully as she cringed slightly. Once the medication took effect, her expression softened, and she relaxed a little.

Suddenly, her voice drifted out, slow and a little slurred from the pain meds. "You know… today I overheard Dr. Karev saying he was gonna fucking ask you out. Something about how you have a nice ass."

You blinked, caught off guard, then saw Joel’s face immediately turn red, his jaw tightening as he yelled, "Ellie!"

Dr. Karev—Alex was another doctor in town. Your mind scrambled to process what Ellie had just said. Alex, always struck you as a bit of a ladies’ man—smooth, confident, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious smile. Hearing that he was interested in you, that he might ask you out, was honestly a bit shocking. You hadn’t given him much thought before, just knew him as one of the guys in town.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, giving Joel a look that said, I’m not offended.

"Please, tell me you’ll say no. He fucking sucks." Ellie continued.

Joel looked up at the ceiling and then shut his eyes, "Ellie. Let’s mind our manners," his rough voice grumbling, "even if Alex is a fuckin’ asshole,"

You glanced at Ellie, who giggled softly, her cheeks flushed. "No worries," you added, "he’s not my type."

Curiosity flickered in Ellie’s eyes. "What’s your type, then?"

You hesitated for a moment, then caught Joel searching your face with his beautiful brown eyes. His hand twitched slightly as if he was weighing whether to say something, but instead, he simply looked at you with that penetrating stare, which made you wonder if he was just as interested in the answer as Ellie. Just then, your walkie crackled to life.

Saved by the fucking bell.

"Hey, Astrid says she needs you back in the clinic—urgent."

You nodded, pushing aside the moment of distraction. "I’ll be right there," you said, then turned back to Ellie. "Remember everything I told you at the clinic? How to care for your burn?"

She nodded quickly, repeating the instructions with focus. You smiled softly. "Good. That’s perfect."

Standing up, you gently ruffled her hair. "Happy almost birthday, Ellie."

She looked up at you with a small, shy smile. "Thanks. Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

You shook your head.

Her face brightened. "Maria’s hosting this dumb birthday thing at their place tomorrow," she pointed at Tommy. "Can you come?"

You looked at Joel, gauging his expression. You weren’t trying to overstep during family time.

"I don’t want to intrude," you said softly, glancing at Joel and Tommy.

Tommy chuckled and shook his head. "That’s silly. You ain’t intrudin’. Come on, it’d be good to have you there."

"What he said," Ellie said, sounding drunk, eyes fluttering shut.

Your eyes flicked back to Joel, searching for his cue. He looked at you, steady and unbothered, giving a small nod. It was enough.

"Alright," you said with a small smile. "I’ll come."

As your shift at the clinic finally came to an end, you let out a relieved sigh, stretching your arms above your head before gathering your things. The thought of heading over to Tommy and Maria’s for Ellie’s birthday party crossed your mind, but a sudden impulse made you pause.

Instead of heading straight out, you decided to swing by your place first. It had been a long day, and you were craving a quick shower to wash away the exhaustion. Once home, you headed straight for the bathroom. You turned on the shower, adjusting the water to just the right temperature, and stepped in. The warm water surrounded you, relaxing your tense muscles and helped you unwind. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the steady stream wash over you, clearing your mind.

After a few minutes, you stepped out, rummaging through your closet and settled on a light, breezy sundress—something simple but flattering, perfect for a spring evening and a small gathering. You slipped into it, feeling comfortable yet put-together. Looking in the mirror, you took a moment to assess yourself.

And then, a flicker of doubt crossed your mind.

Were you trying too hard?

Was this outfit enough?

Or maybe too much?

Without overthinking it too long, you reached down and grabbed your jeans from the chair nearby. Your hand hesitated for a beat, weighing whether to change into something more casual. But then, you paused, took a breath, and decided to stick with the dress.

You quickly grabbed Ellie’s gift and headed out the door. When you finally arrived at Maria’s house, you took a deep breath and knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Maria, in a soft, flowy dress that matched your own casual but put-together vibe. She smiled warmly when she saw you, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved—you didn’t feel overdressed anymore.

"Hey girl," Maria greeted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on in."

Inside, the living room buzzed with familiar chatter. Tommy was sitting on the couch, gently rocking a sleepy Benji in his lap, while Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling the guitar Joel had given her.

Ellie looked up at you, eyes shining with excitement. "Look what Joel fucking got me," she announced proudly, voice a little giddy. "He gave it to me this morning, and I asked him if I could bring it over. Isn’t it cool?"

She shifted slightly, then held out the guitar so you could get a better look. You stepped closer, your eyes immediately drawn to the neck. And there, beautifully engraved, was a moth—intricate wings spread wide, with tiny details emphasizing its beauty. You could see the care, the painstaking effort Joel must have put into it. The lines were smooth, so precise that it looked almost alive.

You reached out gently, your fingers tracing the engraving, appreciating the artistry behind it. "Wow," you murmured softly, glancing at Joel. He was standing nearby, and he nervously ran a hand through his hair before awkwardly placing a hand on his neck, trying to hide his blush.

You wondered what else Joel could do with his hands—and you couldn’t help but imagine his touch in ways you shouldn’t.

Which was bad. Especially now.

In front of his brother, sister-in-law, and pseudo-daughter.

You decided to distract yourself from your thoughts, so you reached into your bag and pulled out a well-worn comic book, its cover glossy and vibrant despite the pages inside being slightly creased from careful handling. Holding it out gently, you said with a warm smile, "Happy Birthday,"

Ellie immediately sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. As you handed her the comic, her face lit up the second she saw the plastic cover, the familiar logo of Savage Starlight unmistakable. Her eyes widened with excitement, "No fucking way," and she reached out to clutch the comic close to her chest.

"Where’d you find this?" she asked eagerly.

"It’s a long story," you replied, kneeling down slightly to be at her level. "I know you and Joel have been collecting these."

Ellie’s face broke into a bright smile, and without hesitation, she threw her arms around you in a quick, grateful hug.

Across the room, Joel caught your eye. He looked at you softly, then mouthed a quiet 'Thank you.'

You gave him a small nod in return.

As the evening settled into a comfortable, lively rhythm, laughter and chatter filled the dining room as everyone gathered around a long table filled with food and leftovers from Ellie’s birthday cake. Despite Seth’s misspelling of Ellie’s name on the cake—it fucking tasted good.

Ellie suddenly glanced at her watch, and a flicker of urgency crossed her face, she excused herself, explaining that her friend had wanted her to join a gathering in the dining hall with some other teens.

"Go on," Joel said gently, giving Ellie a reassuring smile. "Have fun. I’ll see you later."

Ellie nodded eagerly, already slipping out of her seat and waving goodbye as she hurried off with her gifts.

Tommy, Joel, and you moved to help clear the dishes and tidy up the extra plates of food. Tommy was already stacking empty cups and leftover food containers, while Joel grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the table. You grabbed a few napkins, wiping down the surface next to Joel, who looked up at you. "Thanks for coming," he muttered. "It meant a lot to Ellie."

You offered a small smile, feeling a gentle warmth spread in your chest. "Wouldn’t miss it. Ellie’s a great kid."

"So, how did you find that comic book?" Joel asked, peeking at you from beneath his lashes, his tone casual but curious.

"Surprisingly, Jesse had a copy."

"What did you trade him for it?"

"Weed," you said simply.

Joel looked genuinely caught off guard. "Where the hell did you find weed?"

"Eugene," you replied, nonchalant as ever.

"Eugene?" he repeated, processing the information.

"Yeah, he and Gail are like…total stoners."

Joel barked out laughter that made you smile massively. You realized you were obsessed with the sound. His dimple formed deep craters of joy in his cheek, and his brown eyes held a warmth that melted your heart.

Maria had slipped away into the nursery, softly singing a lullaby to Benji as she rocked him gently in her arms. The little boy’s eyelids fluttered, and soon, he was softly drifting into sleep, his tiny fingers clutching a small blanket.

As you finished wiping down the last of the table, Joel set the cloth aside and approached you, his expression more relaxed than earlier. He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I can walk you home."

"Oh, you don’t have to do that."

"I want to," he gave a small, no-nonsense shrug.

Your cheeks heated up suddenly, as Joel's words lingered in the air. You glanced away, pretending to be focused on—literally anything else. As you both started walking, occasionally your hands would brush—a fleeting touch that made you feel giddy inside. You felt like a teenage girl getting walked home by the most popular boy in school, your heart pounding a little faster each time his hand accidentally grazed yours or when his arm swung casually by your side.

The walk was quiet but comfortable, an easy rhythm between the two of you. Joel's presence was steady and reassuring, and you found yourself stealing small glances at him.

When you reached your front door, you turned to face him. "Thanks for walking me home, Joel."

He looked down at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, then reached out, grabbing your hand gently but firmly. His touch was warm, deliberate, and you felt your pulse quicken again. His eyes searched for yours, a quiet intensity behind them.

"Have you thought bout’ what you want for the trade?" he breathed your name, his voice dropping an octave. His thumb skimmed across your knuckles, and he touched you as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before answering softly, "I’m not sure you can give me—" you decided to change your words. "Or—I mean," you whispered. "Find me what I want."

"What d’you want, sweetheart?" he asked, slowly leaning towards you, his eyes locked on yours. You were caught off guard by his proximity, and as he got closer, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath mingling with yours. With one hand on the door beside you, he trapped you in his grasp, his other hand trailing down your arm and resting on your hip. Just as your lips were about to meet, he paused, a mere fraction of an inch away from you.

"Am I readin’ this wrong?" he asked, his nose brushing against yours.

Swallowing hard, you shook your head.  

He hummed. A low sound that vibrated from deep in his chest.

Your heart was lodged in your throat, and you were afraid to move.

He sought out your mouth, and you inhaled deeply as his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow.

Intentional.

And, the longer his lips were on yours, the harder your heart thumped wildly in your chest.

You threw yourself into the kiss. You wanted him to touch you. It had been a while for you. A year. Give or take. You felt a deep ache in your core, and you wanted relief. It would be so easy for him to slip his hand under your dress and—

"You’re beautiful. So, fuckin’ beautiful," he groaned as he kissed you back and grabbed your ass possessively. You wanted him to find you attractive. He pushed you against the door and stared deeply into your eyes. You weren’t wearing a bra, and realized his eyes were traveling downward, looking at your cleavage. He trailed hot kisses down your throat, and you melted against the door while Joel then took the opportunity to kiss your mouth and teased you with his tongue.

He kissed you like he was starving.

Swallowing your whimpers.

Swallowing your gasps.

Swallowing your whines.

"Joel," you moaned, his breath feeling warm and ragged against your skin. You could tell your sounds were creating a reaction for him, and you felt his massive erection grow against your thigh.

"You have one hot fuckin’ body, you know that darlin'?" he confessed, his fingers finding yours, lacing them together like he needed you. "Fuck. I like this dress. A lot."

"Yeah?" you whined softly, realizing his voice was deeper than usual and his Texas drawl felt like it was really coming out.

He pulled away to catch his breath. "You know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this? For you?"

"How long?"

He breathed roughly, lifting one of his hands to your cheek. "From the first moment I laid eyes on you."

His eyes roamed your face appreciatively.

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips, and you managed to choke out, "I don’t believe you."

"I’m serious," he said, nostrils flaring. "Let me show you how fuckin’ serious I am."

You let out a low, deep moan when you felt him wedge his knee between your legs, and you instantly spread them, allowing him to settle there.

He growled and shoved his cock against your clothed cunt.

"I think—kiss—you—kiss—should come—kiss—inside," you gasped out, feeling the slick between your legs growing.

You felt his hands go underneath the fabric of your dress, and he slid his fingers between your legs, two thick fingers stroking you over the soaked fabric of your panties. "I—kiss—fuckin’—kiss—agree,"

You nodded, your face slack and your mouth hanging open as you struggled to turn the doorknob behind you.

ONE YEAR LATER

You were in your scrubs, standing at the kitchen counter, carefully packing breakfast and lunch for Joel and Ellie. You meticulously arranged a couple of sandwiches, some cut-up fruit, and a small bag of her favorite snacks. You made sure everything was organized neatly, the way Ellie liked it—nothing too fancy, just thoughtful and simple. A little note was tucked inside, wishing her a happy sixteenth birthday.

You slipped a thermos of coffee for Joel, knowing he’d appreciate it during his long day. 

Just then, Joel came down the stairs, fresh from his shower. He was dressed in a well-fitted blue t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, and a pair of well-worn jeans. He leaned down, placing gentle butterfly kisses along the side of your neck, his lips soft but insistent. His warm breath fanned across your skin as he pressed his lips to your neck again, lingering for a moment—his arms tightened slightly, holding you secure, grounding you in his touch.

Joel leaned in closer, his rough thumb brushing the side of your face as he looked into your eyes with that familiar, gentle seriousness. "Gonna miss you, baby," he murmured, his scent wrapping around you. You smirked, teasing him softly. "Oh, I should have known you’d be all clingy today." He chuckled darkly. "Clingy? Me? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I think that was you this mornin’ when you were beggin’ me—" he pressed his lips to the side of your neck, slowly down to your collarbone and pressed his teeth against you, "to fuck your perfect little pussy," You rolled your eyes playfully but felt a warmth spread through you. Honestly, you were just as bad—missing him whenever he was gone, worrying during patrols, counting down the moments until he was back.

So, this morning, you might have begged for it.  

But, it was his fault. He had woken you up with the thick feel of his cock pressed into your ass and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation.

He teased your pussy with his fingers, whispering filth into your ear, and you practically cried when you felt the swollen head of his cock notched against your entrance—but not entering you.

So, you begged, your voice getting high and desperate—saying things like 'please fuck me' or 'need you so bad'

You moaned out his name as soon as he slid into your wet cunt from behind, slowly sheathing himself inside of you. He was so big. You always had to adjust to the sheer fucking size of Joel—but the stretch was always so oh-so-delicious.

He fucked you deep and slow this morning, making sure you felt every inch of him. Joel’s fingers dug into your hips, his grip was bruising, and he turned your head to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

You could feel his desperation in his kiss, feeling his beard scraping against your skin in a way that was sure to leave a burn. His breath was hot and uneven as his mouth moved down to your neck, tongue darting out to taste your sweat.

When he felt that you were close—he brought one of his hands to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger while his other hand found your clit right away.

It didn’t take much more before you felt your orgasm rip through you when Joel’s cock nudged that spot inside of you that made you see fucking stars. You felt his thrusts become erratic, signaling his own release rapidly approaching. Suddenly, he pulled out, flipped you on your back, and grabbed his cock with a loud groan before painting your breasts with his release. "You’re terrible," you said softly in his kitchen, leaning into his touch. "Yeah, but you love it." He grinned, kissing you deeply as his hands found a home on your ass.

Ellie appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes and groaning. She rolled her eyes openly and declared, "Gross," but her smile betrayed her affection.

"Happy Birthday," you said.

Ellie stood at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed. "Are you seriously not gonna tell me where Joel's taking me?"

"Nope," you said.

Joel smirked, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on your shoulder before pulling away. He reached for his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder as he straightened up. Glancing at the table, he grabbed what you had packed, carefully placing them inside his bag.

"Have a great day, Ellie. I’ll give you your gift later, alright?" You reached over and gently squeezed her shoulder.

Ellie grinned widely, already bouncing on her heels. "Okay, okay! Thanks, I’ll see you later!" She grabbed her backpack from the floor and slung it over her shoulder, her face lit with anticipation.

As she turned to head out, she shot a playful glance back at you. "Hey, on a scale of 1 to 10, how good is Joel’s gift?"

You chuckled softly. "That’s an easy one—an 11."

Ellie gasped.

Joel then gave you a quick goodbye kiss. "I love you, baby. Have a nice day at work," he told you.

"I love you. Be safe."

He winked and responded with a grin, "Yes ma’am."

"Okay, old man," Ellie said, her voice full of excitement and impatience. “She'll be here when we get back. Let’s fucking go.” She was practically bouncing on her heels now, eager to get underway.

When the front door closed, your fingers absentmindedly reached for the necklace around your neck, a familiar habit you often did when deep in thought or feeling a bit nervous. You gently tugged on the chain, the cool metal slipping slightly between your fingertips.

Joel had given you this necklace three months into your relationship, calling it a 'trade'—a playful way to show you he was serious about not accepting the guitar without giving you something in return. He had overheard you telling Maria how you’d lost a necklace a couple of years ago, something your mother had given you. You’d told her you thought you’d left it in a cabin in Boise before making your way to Jackson. Raiders had emerged, and time seemed to compress as you and your group scrambled to gather your belongings—your mind racing to remember what you could grab in the chaos—and you forgot your necklace in the process.

When Joel had been away for a few days, telling you he needed to handle some business, you had been a little worried. When he finally returned, he handed you this very necklace. It was simple—a thin silver chain with a tiny charm shaped like a star, but to you, it meant the world.

He had done the fucking impossible for you. Gone back to that cabin to get you back the necklace your mother had given you.

The item you had secretly wanted for years.

That night, he told you he loved you for the first time. He told you about Ellie's immunity—and what happened in Salt Lake City.

He told you he wanted to be honest with you, even if it meant losing you.

You kissed him and told him you loved him, and that he could never lose you.

You also told him that he had to tell Ellie, or else he could lose her.

When he told Ellie, she didn't speak to him for a week. Then one evening, you found them on his porch talking intimately, and you just walked inside, giving them privacy.

The next morning, when Ellie joined you both for breakfast, you realized things would be okay.

And now it was Ellie's 16th birthday, and Joel was going to blast her off to space in an old capsule.

Because that's what Joel Miller did. The fucking impossible.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

credit to @iamasaddie for all these stills you've shared on your profile.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

^saw @daryltwdixon include this recently and I think it’s funny. Thank you for reading, drop a comment or reblog thots if you liked this!

[ninuwrites]

me reading a smut fic trying to figure out what position they’re in

[ninuwrites]

I AM GOING FERALLLLLL

[ninuwrites]

pedro pascal at cannes believer

[ninuwrites]

joel lost weight in five years due to all the sex we started having after returning from salt lake city

[ninuwrites]

I love these two grumpy, lonely old men. They make me just want to be their controversial young wife, a housewife, and give birth to all the children they want.

[ninuwrites]

I miss your gorgeous face, joel miller

[ninuwrites]

From This Time, Unchained

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel doesn't know why, of all the people in jackson, you've chosen him.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), BIG age gap (20s/60s) (does it look like igaf), smut, begging kink, praise kink, oral (f. receiving), breast play, dacryphilia, hurt/comfort, soft!joel, insecure!joel, fluff bc my dying man deserves it💔 #joelmillerapologistclub

word count: 8,554 words

side note: joel miller widow club where u at??? i wish i could write a fix-it fic but my heart is too heavy even after a week lol and my ass too people pleaser-ish to write allat. (i haven't seen last night's ep yet bc this weekend has been ass!!) so, instead, have this piece because peepaw deserves love and a good fuck with his glasses on! (shout out to my joel miller playlist, u saved me girl) (also girl why did i battle with this like for four days lmaoooo not me posting it 9 seconds before midnight)

Joel Miller is a busy man.

All of Jackson seems to need him. Be it his neighbours, with a broken faucet or be the council, for his skills in construction, or even Maria and Tommy, when they wanted some time alone and he got to be the fun uncle for a couple of hours. Even Ellie, who didn't need him, as she liked to remind him, yet he still found himself in her garage, where she moved despite his reluctance, dusting off shelves or the forgotten guitar in a corner, all to feel useful for the one who he cared for the most.

That spot was debatable, thought. There was his brother, his niece, maybe Maria, Ellie, recently Dina and well, you.

You. Sweet you. Town's favorite girl. A complete dream. The girl next door embodied. Looks that aim to kill. It killed him. So damn perfect he can't help but wonder why, of all Jackson, you'd choose brooding old Joel Miller.

The one you'd give your smiles to, because even if you shared it to the world, your reserved your best for him only. His patrol partner, the beauty of the snowed-in landscape barely rivaling your own. Who you'd give your hours, always appearing when he needed you most, eyes open wide with that shine of theirs it was impossible to resist, not to trust. He had been a faithless man for too long, wandering in the dark. Eyes closed. Then came Ellie, and it was gone, coming back the days when Sarah was his babygirl. But it returned when she pushed him away, but you had stepped in, not as a replacement but as an oath. Something to hold on.

To believe.

In anything. In you. In the us, silent but strong. Watchful, like the stars shinning above in the sky, twinkling as the sound of your laugh when you and him would watch them, sitting on his roof. He let this things happen, let his guard down and allowed himself to be childish and soft, even if his joints ached when he got up and he could fall. But you were there, and falling... It didn't sound bad.

(He knew you'd be there to catch him, anyway. Even if you weren't that strong and he wasn't exactly... well, featherweight)

Right now, he's working. Not for Jackson, but or you. Furrowed brow and shoulders slumped over his table at the workshop, concentrated, his glasses perched on his nose. He hates them, another reminder of the time passed by, yet there's no option. At least not if he wants to give you the very best.

Ah, yes. His latest project. A little wood carving. Doesn't have a shape yet, like your relationship. He chuckles to himself, feeling silly. What where labels anymore in this world, anyway? Still, he can't fanthom the nature of it. It sounded more like a perverted old man's fantasy, if he's being honest, the glances thrown his way from townsfolk a little cruel reminder. You're no good, you'd jokingly sing that one song and, despite the judgment, he'd smile. For you, anything.

Like the figurine. Joel finally sees it take shape. And then there's a knock in the door. Sharp. Same as yesterday, and as the year before ever since he's had you like this.

"Come in" he says, not looking up as you enter.

He's too focused, voice sounding gruff for the long hours of silence since he sat down with an idea in mind; pounding heart, trembling hands.

"Hey, Joel"

He takes his glasses off, placing them on the table, before standing up to greet you. He crosses the short distance and wraps his arms around you in a tender hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He smells like wood and sweat. His musk lingers, so does his tight embrace. As if you'd dissappear if he didn't.

"Missed ya', sweet girl" he mumbles, voice muffled.

You giggle a bit. "I was gone for an hour. Are you getting clingy on me, Miller?"

You loved to tease him. Bad habit of yours. He lets out a low chuckle that rumbles on his chest and against your skin. He pulls back from the hug, yet his arms now drop to your waist, because he's addicted to keeping you close.

"Too damn long" he protests, carrying his southern accent within.

"I love when that Texan drawl slips in" you sigh, poking his cheek. He leans into your touch, like a touch-starved puppy. You then look at him, pouting your lips with a small frown. "Hey, and your glasses?"

"Huh?" he looks at the pair, sitting on the table. Forgotten. "Over'ere. For?"

You shrug. Joel shoots you a suspicious look. "Darlin', why you so interested in my glasses?"

You avert his gaze. The floor is more interesting now.

"Honey... Look at me. S'okay if you don't wanna-"

"I like how you look when you wear them" you finally blurt out, too fast and too quiet.

He's taken back by that. Eyes wide, probably written all over his face. Yet you refuse to look at him. He tips your chin up, so you can meet his gaze. It's soft, making your legs wobbly.

"Is that so?" he asks, teasingly. He still can't believe you actually like them. "You like when old men wear them glasses, baby?"

"Hhm, yeah" you hum. "More if it's you"

His heart skips a beat at your response. Fuck. He's gone soft, too soft. He feels his face heat up, chuckling in an attempt to cover it. Then, runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the base of his neck, a tell-tale sign he's feeling awkward. Flustered, even.

"You gon' give me a heart attack, honey. 'M too old for ya' to say things like that"

"Aw, old man can't take a compliment?" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. Then, you stand up on your tiptoes to whisper on his ear. "You're cute when you blush"

Joel's sure his face has gone redder, breath hitching as well. Still, he manages to put his arms around your waist, holding you close.

"You're real bad" he grumbles, though there's no bite on his tone. He hides his face again in the crook of your neck. "And I'm not blushing"

You giggle, patting his head lightly as your fingers trace his now long hair. If it didn't drive you wild...

"Then stop hiding"

Joel relaxes under your touch. "You're trouble. I'm serious 'bout the heart attack"

"No" you exaggerate, rocking him slightly. "Don't die"

He looks up at you, smirking as he groans with fake annoyance.

"If you keep that up, I might do"

"Then who will I bore with my failed recipes and gossip?"

"Thankfully, not me"

You groan. "Oh, shut up you old man"

You're always calling him that. Not that he minds, he knows you're not doing it with malice, but sometimes it annoys him. For example, today.

"Well, you chose 'tis old man so don't go complainin', honey"

You huff. "Unfortunately, I love this old man with his old-man ways. Like your woodcarving"

After saying so, you take a small peek over his figure, still drapped over your chest and neck, to the table behind. "Speaking of, can I see what you're doing?"

He looks back, where he's left the figurine unnattended after your arrival. Lets go of you, taking a step back so you get a better look.

"Sure, darlin'. Go'head"

Joel thinks he's good at hiding the nervousness in his voice as you approach the table. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, anxiously.

"Your glasses" almost in a reflex, passing them to him before seeing what's on the table. "Can you wear them, Joel? Pretty please"

He takes the glasses from your hands, fingers brushing. It may be that or your request that make his heart jump. You can see some hesitation on him before he puts them on. Looking down at you, smirking, Joel smiles.

"There ya' go, sweet girl. Happy now?" he asks, a hint of huskiness in his voice.

"So much better" you tap them lightly, "and so is your vision"

Joel let's out a small chuckle, grinning like a fool. Honestly, he loves the attention.

(He's never going to admit it out loud, though)

"You do know how'da flatter an old man, huh"

You smirk, moving to the table again. "Oh, I love flattering him. Now, show me what you're working on"

There's a block of wood on the center. Cut sharp. Perfectly. He's been obssesive with it, maybe. There's a sketch, and the figurine only has been carved at the bottom, where a tail begins to take shape.

"I know am not an artist, but I tried"

You remain silent, making him a little nervous.

"S'a deer" he explains, gruffly, looking into your eyes for a reaction.

"A deer? Like, Bambi?" you ask in awe, softly tracing the wood. Your words get stuck, like honey. Sweet but sticky. "Joel..."

His heart swells a bit at your tone, expression soft as he recognizes admiration in your tone.

"Yeah, like damn Bambi" he murmurs, hands itchy. First, he shoves them on his pockets, just to take them out and place them on his hips instead, his jacket now open, the silhoutte of his tummy under his shirt showing, the flannel stretched on the middle. He watches you closel as you face him again.

"Is it- Is it for me?" you ask in that voice that, goddamn it, makes Joel want to give you the whole world if he could.

He slowly nods, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Yeah" he admits, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "S' for ya"

Then looks away, feeling vulnerable for some reason. But your lips quiver, and before he can register, you throw yourself at him, hands around his neck, body practically swinging. He stumbles a bit, yet manages to catch you alright.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you gush, peppering his cheek with kisses. "I know it's not even done but, wow. Thank you, Joel!" an adorable squeal leaves your mouth, and as soon as that is out, your lips find his to leave a sweet kiss on his mouth. When you calm down, your voice goes soft. "It's... No one had ever done something like this for me"

He's clearly taken by surprise by your affection outburst, his heart swelling at your reaction and giddyness. He's also a bit overwhelmed, kissed cheeks now a pretty flushed pink. There's something so warm and fond on his eyes as he looks down on you, cupping your cheek after your final kiss.

"S'nothin', sweet girl. You're welcome"

"You're so special, Joel. Did you know that?" you whisper, leaning into his touch while closing your eyes.

Good. He's probably a mess right now, his heart clenching on his chest, a mix of emotions washing over him. God, he hates getting compliments, but yours always stirred things he long ago thought dead.

"Special, huh?" he grumbles while sporting a half-smile. "I reckon that's you"

You smirk. "We can both be special, then. There's always room for two"

He runs his thumb over your cheek, chuckling a bit. "Deal. But you're a bit more"

"Oh, you want to compete?" you tease.

He smirks at the challenge, pulling you closer with a tight arm around your waist.

"Damn right I do. Y'know I like winnin'. 'Sides, 'm more than willin' to play if it means ya' get competitive 's well. You're cute when you challenge me, baby"

You feign hurt. "I'm always cute, how dare you"

"Oh, forgive me" he chuckles. "At this age I tend to forget"

"Don't worry. I'll beat your ass so bad, you won't forget it"

He archs an eyebrow, amused. "Now you abuse the elder? Bad girl"

Your face flushes and core pulses.

"I can be a bit of a brat if I want to" you tease, fingers roaming over his warm chest. "Will you punish me for that?"

Joel's eyes darken on an instant. There's a shadow of desire coating his brown when a low rumble escapes his throat. The air feels charged with a new found tension suddenly.

"Careful, sweet girl. You ain't know what you playin'"

He closes the gap between you, his body pressing against yours. His hands move from your waist to grip your hips, holding you against him.

"You're quite mouthy tonight, aren't 'cha?" he growls, his voice carrying a rough edge.

"Just to get what I want. Besides, your little project tug at my hearstrings" you quip. "And something else"

"Oh, yeah? You gon' tell me what's that?"

You smirk. "What do you think it is?"

He hums. "I'd rather hear you say it"

"That's not fair" you pout your lips.

He chuckles, "Nothin' ever is fair, I reckon. But you're a troublesome little thing, ain't ya'?"

You send him a little flirtatious wink.

"I am looking for some trouble tonight"

He's not amused by your words. You're a greedy insatiable little thing sometimes. So far, Joel's been able to deflect all of your attempts. The farthest you'd ever made it was when you straddled his lap on the old couch of his workshop, and even then, he limited his reactions to grunts and seeing you come. God. It had been tortuous waiting for you to go so he could piston his aching cock to the memory of your little sounds.

"Ain't that interesting?"

"Oh, but it is" you're quick to counter, "and I take you and your little friend are into it"

His breath hitches, eyes and cheeks burning alike with intensity. The heat travels down his spine, straight to his throbbing dick, the reason he's been caught red-handed.

"You surely are looking for trouble" his voice reduced to a rough gasp.

Joel's struggling to maintain the control he so prided himself in, you not making it any easier with your teasing. "Y'a temptress, doll. Know that?"

"Is my magic working?" you ask, batting your eyelashes.

He's resolve is quickly crumbling, self-control tossed to the bin in the corner. Joel loves as much as he hates your big innocent yet teasing eyes. No wonder he was carving you out a deer.

"Damnit, sweet girl. Y'know it's. You gettin' me all worked up in'ere"

"Take me upstairs, then. I'm sure we can find a solution"

He can feel the heat radiating off of you, eyes darkening at the invitation.

"Doll, you're playing with fire here" he warns, despite the obvious effect your words are having on him.

"It's fine. I don't mind the burn"

He knows he's done, Joel's growl an indicator of his control snapping completely.

"Damn it" he mutters before his lips crash against yours. It's heated. Desperate. His hands grip your hips, holding you tighlty against him while he devours your mouth like a starved man, as if you didn't kiss just this morning, before going on your patrol.

You moan into the kiss, Joel swallowing your sounds as if they were his own. Fuck. His mind goes fuzzy when you grab his face with both of your hands, deepening the kiss. He thinks he's backed you against a wall, by the small Thud sound. He's lost: on the way your lips move, on the way they taste, in the sounds they make.

You pull out first. Joel thinks you belong in a museum: with your lips, swollen and parted. It's too your dilatated eyes and chest, rising and falling. He can't resist and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingers tenderly brushing your soft skin.

"Aren't you the prettiest man in Jackson?" you blurt out, adoring.

He's not used to being praised like this. Not even by you, even after months of doing so. Always feels like the first time. And then, he feels stupid: for blushing too much, heart skipping too many beats, chest clenching too hard. Like a damn highschooler. Joel's as embarrassed as content that you make him feel all sort of ways.

"Easy, sugar" he mutters, voice gruff. "You gon' give 'tis old man an ego"

"No need to blame me when you can look at yourself in the mirror" you're quick to reply. "I believe that's enough reason to give you some ego"

He's smirking at your response. Yeah, he definitely loves when you stroke his ego. Especially as of late, where he feels... rather, old.

"Oh. Oh" you begin to tease through giggles, playfully hitting his chest. He huffs, catching where this is going. "Do you like it when I call you pretty?"

Joel's cheeks flush a little at your question, his stoic nature faltering a bit at your teasing.

"Maybe" he mumbles, eyes avoiding yours. "But don't let it get to your head, doll"

"Too late" you murmur, wrapping once more your hands on his neck. "You're pretty, Joel. Especially when you flush"

Pretty isn't exactly a word he'd used to describe himself. But when you call him pretty, out of that sweet mouth of yours, his name along as well? You can call him however the fuck you want.

He can feel his body reek out vulnerability, and he hates himself a bit for getting weaker. He tried, really did, but his walls had been down for a while. His defenses had crumbled. He was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Yet here you were, looking at him with your big adoring eyes like he was the only thing that mattered. Joel lets your words sink for a moment, letting out a small sigh, not being able to deny it feels good. Maybe it does matter.

"You're too damn sweet, sugar. Y'know that?" he mutters, finger tracing lightly your hip.

You smile, sickenly saccharine. "I'm aware. Trust me, I have a cute grumpy boyfriend to remind me so"

His expression softens even more at your easy loving. He's so fucking putty in your hands, Tommy would laugh in his face.

"Y'got me wrapped 'round your damn finger, sweet girl" Joel whispers in his usual gruff voice, but it's laced with affection.

You raise a finger, moving it in front of his face like one would with a bone and a dog.

"You mean this?"

Joel watches your finger with amused eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. It scares and excites him how easy it's to fall under your spell. With soft movements, he reaches and captures your hand, bringing it to his mouth. He then presses a gentle kiss to your finger, eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, doll. This one" his voice is husky, "All of 'em. Y' got me good"

You gulp under the intensity of his gaze. "Don't do that..."

He smirks at your reaction, finally feeling like he has some leverage. He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as he holds you even closer, your chest pressing against his. You even feel the soft curve of his stomach over your own.

"Don't do what?" he asks, playing coy. "We're not backin' down now, are we, sugar?"

At your lack of answer, cheeks bright, he huffs, hand moving to gently cup your chin. Joel's brown eyes lock with yours when he speaks again.

"So, what now? Or did y' just come by to check up on your ol' man?"

"No. That's not what I want"

His smirk grows as the dark shade on his eyes. He's not dumb, of course he knows what you want. Just wants to hear you say it.

"What'da ya' want, then?"

You pout your lips, whining.

"Joel... Just give me what I want"

He leans in a bit closer, voice gruff and filled with desire. His thumb strokes your chin softly.

"Depends" he grumbles. "You gon' ask nicely?"

"On my very best behavior" you raise your hand, "I swear it"

He smirks, letting go of your face. "Good girl"

You stand on your tiptoes, leaning against his ear. His heart skips a beat, a small shiver running down his spine at your lips ghosting his skin.

"I am" you kiss his earlobe. "For you. Just you" you leave a little bite on it. A low rumble escapes his throat. You lick the red little spot to soothe it. "Your best girl"

"My only girl" he's quick to reply. You're up in the air in a minute, his hands supporting you as he carries you, your legs dangling at his sides. It amazed you how strong he continued to be, despite his age. Strong men make good times, you suppose.

You giggle a bit. "Oh, Joel. I'm so lucky"

His heart races at your words. All this banter fills him with a warm fondness, making him feel young again.

"I reckon that's me, doll"

Your noses brush after his comment, in silence. You close your eyes, as so does he. You break the aphony first.

"Joel"

"Yes?"

"I want you to have me"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest swelling with a mixture of emotion. No one has ever spoken to him with such tenderness, even with what your request implies. It's overwhelming.

"Ya' want me?" he asks gruffly, his voice hoarse with desire and emotion.

Fuck. It's happening. What he avoided so badly, but right now? His mind has gone blank, and when it starts working again, it's filled with lewd images of sweet you. Jesus. If he had doubts he was going to hell before, now he's certain. At least, he got heaven on Earth with you.

"Y' sure 'bout that, sugar?" he asks gruffly, his voice husky. "You're so damn young, deserve someone better"

You nod, slowly, caressing his cheek, your voice just barely above a whisper.

"I've never been more sure"

He takes a small moment to gather himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He's suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable, and it scares him as much as it excites him.

"I mean, would've I done all this if I didn't?"

Joel lets out a small laugh. "You little devious minx. I'll give ya' that"

"Give me what?" you tease.

His lips crash into yours as your hands find his face, holding as you deepen the kiss. His fingers dig in your thighs, making you moan and a spark of electricity run through his spine. He lets out a low moan in response to yours, pulling away from your lips momentarily, his eyes darkening with want. Joel looks at you for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

He lets out a low rumble, his voice gruff and rough.

"Yeah" he mutters. "Keep talkin' like that, and you'll get more than a kiss"

"So, I'll keep talking then"

"Y' little brat" he grumbles, voice dripping with frustration. "If ya' don't stop, I'm gonna..."

Joel trails off, his eyes dark with promises left unspoken.

"Say it" you challenge. "Or are you backing down?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of self control, despite loving your teasing and how it's driving him wild. He lets out a small laugh, his mind swirling with desire and frustration.

"Y' gon' pay for that later, darlin'" he threatens gruffly, his eyes locked on yours.

"How about now?"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your question, the idea sending a surge of desire through him. He can feel his self-control slipping away, your words pushing him closer to the edge.

He lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his hand tightening around your chin. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of desire and anticipation in them.

"Sure you wanna know, doll?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

"All of it" too eager. He can't help but smile, resolve unraveling. "Don't spare any details"

"And you gon' be a good girl?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Didn't I promise so?"

Those simple words are all it takes for Joel's resolve to finally crumble. Fuck what other people think. Fuck his own fears. He can't resist you any longer, the desire within him reaching boiling point.

"Shit, doll" he rasps, voice rough. "With words like that I'm just gon' give y'anythin' you want"

"Please, Joel" you utter his name in a little whimper.

"Please what?"

Loves to see you beg. Has imagined you squirming, like you did when his fingers would drift too close to your aching cunt. Straddling feels so stupid now, when he could've have sweet you like this a long ago.

"Fuck me"

The sound of your whimper goes straight to Joel's throbbing dick. He's completely undone, powerless against your desires.

"That's right, good girl" he rasps, his voice gruff and rough. You let a little whimper at the praise. "I'll give y'anythin' you want, angel"

He carries you upstairs while you giggle at his huffs, teasing him when his knees creak like the old wooden stairs. Still, he insists on carrying you when you offer to walk, maybe trying to prove his strength to you or something. When his face turns a deep shade of red, you can't tell if it's out of shame or effort.

"Taking me to your bed? I've never seen your bedroom" you muse out loud, once he reaches the final stair.

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"There's always a first" he rasps.

Your nose brushes against his cheek. "Can't wait"

The door opens when Joel kicks it lightly. It's very him, you think, as soon as it comes on view. There's a guitar in the corner, you notice too.

"It's very you" you say out loud now. He drops you on the bed, making you giggle. "It's simple and cozy"

He's still trying to calm his racing heart, but it's difficult when he's hovering over you, so close to your body, he can feel the heat of it. Can even smell your arousal in the air.

"'M not sure simple's a nice thing t' say 'bout someone"

For a moment, the room goes quiet. He hesitates to continue.

"There's just... somethin' I need to discuss with ya' before we get carried 'way"

Your doe eyes look up to him. "Yes?"

Joel takes a deep breath.

"I've... It's been a while, y'know, since... I'm just used to bein' alone. In that sense. And I... I haven't been with someone in a long time"

His voice trails off, a vulnerability settling in his expression.

"Joel..." you whisper, sitting as he backs up a bit.

"'M not good with people" he admits gruffly. "I tend to scare 'em off"

You extend your hand to softly trace over his stubble. Joel leans into your touch, his expression softening, your presence providing a sense of comfort. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You're not scaring me. I'm here"

His mouth tastes like sand when he swallows.

"Yeah, but I-"

"Yes?"

He pauses for a moment, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"'M not exactly young anymore, sugar"

"And what's bad about not being young?" you look at him, voice soft. "Are you afraid your knees will crack when you go down on me or what?"

He lets out a clipped laugh. The tension in the room lightens a little, and he's grateful for your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh, very funny, sweetheart." he grumbles, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And no, 's not that. I can eat ya' just fine" Joel spits, making you laugh at his cocky demeanor. But then he goes quiet again. "It's just... 'M not as young and good lookin' as I used to be" he finally blurts out.

Why is he even saying this things out loud. He didn't care before. He thought about himself better before. Yeah, before. What is it about the now that he cares, worse, admits out loud his insecurities?

Your expression morphs into one of sympathy. God, he hates it. Looks away from your warmth and pity. No, not pity. Compassion, like Joel was some sort of wounded old dog.

"Joel" you close the distance, tracing his face tenderly, drawing little heart shapes over his stubble. "That's not true. You're as handsome as back in the day, baby. I didn't meet you then, I know that, and this may be biased, but I'll choose the old you always, my pretty boy"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his expression softening even more. He's not used to such tender affection, and it's overwhelming.

He takes a moment to process your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He can see the sincerity in your eyes, and it touches him more than he can express. Words were never his thing, anyway.

"Y/n" he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with emotion. He even used your name. "You're too good fo' me"

"I just... I think it's because I love you"

He's taken back, almost falling in top of you, yet quickly regaining his posture. Still, his heart jumps into his throat, dangerously close to falling out from his mouth at your sudden confession.

It's been almost a year of being his and him being yours, yet those three words hadn't even been close to being said. Joel never thought he'd get to hear them again from the lips of a lover. Yet here you were, so damn young and sweet, letting them roll off your tongue in a soft echo of your loving. Safe. Like a home. You were his home.

He looks at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

"Y'... Y' love me?" his voice rasping a bit as he questions you.

"It's okay if you don't say it back" you laugh quietly, probably to make him feel better. Always thinking about the others, you pure thing.

He looks you in the eye, his hand still cupping your cheek. There's a warm tenderness in his expression, despite his gruff tone.

"No. Don't think that" he goes quiet for a moment, as if the weight of your declaration was sinking him. He lets out a shaky breath, as if unsure if the world around him was real, his eyes locked on yours. "I... love you too"

Your eyes widen, a smile appearing instantly on your face as it lights up. His heart swells immediately at the sight of your happiness, and all he wishes for is to see it everyday. When he wakes up, to be first, and when he goes to sleep, your face the last thing to see. To be there, even as he closes his eyes and dozes off to sleep. Your giddy giggles are so fucking contagious, a rebellious smile creeps up his lips.

"You do?"

His chest tightens, vulnerable. Filled with an affection never known before.

"Yeah, sweet girl" he mutters gruffly. "I do. I love you"

Your smile is probably the most beautiful thing in the world, pleased and vicious like a cat's.

"Now, if you love me so dearly as you say, please" your lips part in a shaky breath, "have me"

So damn impatient. He may have spoiled you too much.

"Ya' want me t' have ya', honey?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide down your thighs, tainting untouched skin.

You squirm, nodding eagerly. "Please. I want you so bad it hurts"

His voice, so soft and low, may have passed as a grunt. But you saw. Heard. Noticed. Like the way his face frowned, eyebrows furrowed as if you just told him you were sick. As if he wanted to be the cure to the disease he gave you.

"Tell me where it hurts"

Demanding in a tender way. Almost benevolent. Not even hurting you, but wanted to take every pain of yours away. You didn't deserve not even a scratch of this angry dirty world ruining your soft heart.

You point to the middle of your legs, parting them slowly open. His eyes turn glassy as he tugs your jeans down, and the first sight he gets, is your underwear, damp with your sticky arousal. He gulps, eyes darkening with desire.

"Please. There" you whimper.

"I've got eyes" Joel lets out a small, gruff chuckle. "You're impatient, know that?"

He cups your chin, eyes locked on yours. His breath is shallow, voice raspy and low.

"Don't worry. Lemme help"

He places himself in between your legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties.

"Gon' show ya' what'a man with experience has to offer, al'ight? Now, spread y'r legs open for me" he commands softly. "Lemme see that beautiful, needy cunt"

He pulls your panties down, his throat dry when he peels the drenched fabric down your legs, revealing glistening folds. He can see how swollen and puffy they were. The sight makes his mouth water and his cock pulse with desire.

Joel lowers his head, knees and bed creaking, inhaling the sweet intoxicating smell of your arousal, his facial hear ghosting over your trembling skin until it tickles. Your nervous giggling get stuck in your throat when Joel buries his face between your thighs, tongue delving into your slick folds to lap up the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. He groans at the taste, as if savoring the best meal to exist on Earth.

"So sweet" he growls, voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His mouth latches onto your clit, suckling the throbbing needy bud as his tongue flicks over it. "Too damn sweet"

It still hurts. It's across your face.

"Gon' help with 'tis. Just wait" he thrusts two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to stroke a spot that reduces you to a quiet muffled mess. "S' right, sugar" he praises. "Wanna see you come f' y'r old man"

The feeling of having you here, so needy and responsive, is doing things to him. Joel's lost on the way you beg, his name out of your parted lips in a secretive manner, as if reinforcing the nature of your desires and needs. How this moment was only yours, a whole new world past his door, creeping up the sweaty sheets, making way to his lonley heart, poisoned by the infectious warmth of your own.

He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, cute cries and whimpers serving as a motivation to bring you to the edge. Joel devours you, sucking like a starved man, flicking and lashing at your gushing cunt mercilessly with his tongue. It's experience, he made damn sure you knew about that. He also pumps his fingers faster, plunging deeper into your clutching heat.

"Come on, doll" he urges, voice a low rumble against your sex, "wanna feel 'tis tight little pussy spasm 'round ma' fingers"

"Joel!" you moan out loud, hands clawing into his arms for support.

He can feel your body tensing, your tight walls fluttering around the digits plunging in and out of you. Joel knew you were close, so he sucks your clit with fervent intensity as he curled his fingers just right, stroking that special spot that made your toes curl.

"That's it, y/n" he growls, eyes flashing up to meet yours, dark and intense with lust. "Drench me, y' sweet thing"

With a keening cry, you feel your body burst. Your back archs as your body quakes and shudders, your orgasm washing over you. Joel feels your pussy clench and spasm around his fingers, hot liquid gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist.

Joel's a gentleman, languidly licking and suckling as you ride out of your high. Once your breathing slows, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to clean off your essence. He meets your gaze, eyes hooded with the same hunger as your own.

"Like I said" he praises softly, making your spent cunt throb. "You're too damn sweet, sugar"

You giggle. "You're insane"

He leans in, planting a soft fluttering kiss to your quivering lips.

"Just f' ya'"

There's only one thing left to do. You know. He knows. You both know. But the way he takes in your pause, as if you're going to discover the most powerful secret, makes you believe there is so much more. His expression turns curious at your deliberate choice of aphony.

"Tell me what ya' want now. I could give ya' the world if 's what ya' want"

You avoid his gaze, playing with the collar of his flannel.

"I need you"

He lets out a clipped chuckle. "That I know, dirty one"

You roll your eyes, playfully.

"We're both aware. But it's not that, it's just..."

"Yes?"

"Can I see you, please?"

His eyes meet your expectant ones. His voice is gruff but soft, his desire for you mixing with a hint of vulnerability.

"Y' wanna see me?"

You nod as he gulps harshly, mouth tasting like sand.

"Can I take off your clothes?"

Joel's heart skips a beat again at your request, a mix of desire and vulnerability warring within him. It's too revealing and intimate, but God knows he just wants to give you all you want.

There's a hint of huskiness to his vulnerable voice. Unsure.

"Yeah" a beat. "You can"

You start unbuttoning slowly, licking your lips with eager trembling hands and pupils blown wide. Like a child on Christmas, knowing they're opening what they asked for. What they wanted. What they wrote at the top of their list. Your slow, deliberate unbuttoning has him practically holding his breath.

"Joel..." you bite your lip, removing his final button. Finally. "You're...."

Joel's heart stammers at the sight of your eyes on him, your obvious desire heightening his own. Yet, he avoids your stare as you reveal his bare chest, pose faltering a bit as if his strength succumbs to your hungry stare. He gulps under the intensity gaze, feeling so fucking vulnerable. It shakes him to his core, foreign to all this fuzzy things that make him sick.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his voice gruff and raw.

"Yeah…?"

"Perfect" you whisper out loud, his whole world crumbling down.

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest tightening with a mix of vulnerability and affection. Despite it, he feels self-conscious.

"Perfect…?" he teases, a hint of a dumb smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah" you hum. "So pretty"

A word that doesn't fit in Joel's world. Feels off-putting. He has never been called such, but once it falls past your lips, coated in adoration, it feels as if it's the only truth ever. His heart skips another beat, body responding to your words.

You can tell he can't believe you're saying those words about him by the hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Joel"

He lets out a gruff huff in response.

"Look at me"

"Pretty" Joel repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you believe me?"

Joel's heart skips another beat, the vulnerability growing stronger. He's still not used to hearing compliments about his body by you, by anyone at all. It's making his head spin a little.

He can't quite meet your eyes as he responds.

"Take it easy on me, sweet girl. I ain't exactly in m' prime"

"Joel. Look at me" your voice a little firmer this time.

Joel takes a moment, his heart racing. He can't resist your plea, even if he hates feeling vulnerable. Slowly, he meets your eyes.

His voice is almost quiet. "I'm lookin'"

"Good. Do you want me to know what I'm looking at?" you extend your hand to reach his face, brushing a strand of hair that's fallen to his forehead. "Your greys" then, you tug his bottom lip down, "your lips", you circle the wrinkles around his eyes, "your warm eyes" and afterwards, your fingers dwindle on his nose, "just... all of your face: scars, spots and wrinkles. It leaves me breathless"

Joel's heart races as you speak, your words sinking in. He feels seen, in a way he's rarely felt before. Its messing with his mind.

"You describin' what you seein'?" his voice hoarse with emotion. It sounds far away, as if it didn't belong to him.

His lips part as your hand moves down, grazing his neck and his chest before landing on his belly. The sincerity in your eyes is making him feel even more vulnerable, and Joel can feel himself crumbling under your intense stare and firm hands.

"No, I'm describing what I love"

He looks at you, eyes filled with vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Y/n"

It was like being peeled, layer by layer. He hated how he was built now. Rough. Too sharp around edges. Soft on ones he wished he wasn't.

"All of you"

He chuckles, but it's a defeated dying sound. Almost bitter.

"That's impossible, honey"

"What's impossible is not to love all of you"

He gulps, throat raw but unable to say anything.

"Please. Let me love you"

As if he hadn't already hand you his soul. Swallowed all of your words with a feverish desperation, placed them inside a space that had gone cold with time, now feeling like a warm home where he finally belonged.

"My sweet girl..."

You feel Joel pressing you up against the mattress, his bigger body pinning you in place with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your naked curves with a fevered intensity, a low growl of frustration escaping his lips when you break the kiss to take some air.

"You can do with me anything you want"

Joel's breath stops. With a trembling but sure hand, he reaches out, his calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh until your nipples strain against the cloth of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your stomach.

Joel leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers. 

"Anythin'?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire as you nod, desperate. 

But then, he's laughing, as if pleased with your eagerness. Amused.

"That much? Oh, baby, you that desperate for 'tis ol' man? That bad you want me?"

You whine, at loss for words, the throb too painful to think straight. Joel laughs again, but it's devoid of malice.

"No, don't just nod. I wanna hear you say it, y/n. Wanna hear ya' beg fo' me like the desperate sweet little thin' y'are"

You've never been one for begging, but something about the way he's looking at you, the raw, unbridled hunger in his eyes, makes you want to give him everything he wants and more.

"Please, Joel" you breathe, voice reduced to a needy tremor, "I need you so bad, Joel, please. I need you inside me. I want you filling me, claiming me, in every way possible"

"My sweet girl" he coos, followed by a flurry of heated kisses and desperate groping. You barely have a chance to catch your breath before he's pressing you up with more insistence, his body pinning you in place with a hunger that leaves you desperately aching for more. "S'pretty"

Joel's eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. He smirks at the desperation written all over your face, something wicked and tender circling inside his brown eyes.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers huskily. "Ts' it, doll. Keep on beggin'. Lemme hear how much y' need ma' cock 'nside 'tis tight little cunt"

You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as you feel his fingers slide down to brush against your sensitive clit, a wave of arousal coursing through you.

"Please, please, please, Joel" you whimper, your voice high and needy as you grind yourself shamelessly against his hand. "I'm so wet for you. Please, I'm begging you, make me yours"

He growls. "S'eager, huh? Who would've thought ya' were such'a dirty girl for 'tis ol' dick? Just had ya' bein' all lovey dovey a second ago and now y'are beggin' fo' me to ruin 'tis pretty pussy, baby?"

He quickly sheds what's left of his clothes, revealing to your wide eyes the thick, hard length of his cock, springing free and bobbing heavily against his soft belly. Alright, you had some thoughts about dating a much older man, even if Joel seemed the type of guy to be doted, given his energy. You're glad to be proven wrong in the very best way.

"Fuck, Joel" you breathe, licking your lips as you imagine the taste of him on your tongue. "You're so big"

His cheeks color a pretty pink, sweat beads adorning his forehead. The heat of his body envelopes you like a furnace.

"Now I truly believe ya' like what ya' seein'" he chuckles, "such'a greedy little thing" a beat. "S' fucken hungry for ma' cock. Don't worry, baby. 'M gon' give it to you, nice and slow, until you're screamin' fo' me to let you come"

Joel settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, effectively swallowing your needy whimpers.

"M' gon' take real good care of what's mine" in that southern drawl that drives you crazy. Hungry. Poisoned with a ravenous desire to possess every inch he can reach of your body. For everyone to see. Know. For all the prying stares. Judgeful. To appreciate in secret under the watchful gaze of the weak sunrays that filter through the courtains of his bedroom.

He then leans to take one of your nipples on his mouth, suckling and teasing the rosy peak, lapping the sensitive bud with his tongue, his hand kneading and squeezing the soft flesh of your breast. You arch into his touch, a symphony of moans and whimpers falling from your lips as he works your body.

At the same time, Joel begins to slowly, teasingly push forward, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking inch by tortuous inch into your tight heat.

"Joel!" you gasp, your nails sinking down on the soft expanse of his broad back as you take in his girth, walls clenching and fluttering around his size.

Joel's breaths come in harsh pants against your skin as he fights the urge to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Y'are so fucken tight" he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Don't wanna hurt you, my little fawn. But ya' feel s' good, sweet girl. S' perfect 'round ma' cock."

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, using the leverage to rock your hips up against his, taking him a little deeper with each desperate roll. He's impressed by your hunger, your desire fueling further his consuming own.

"Joel" you mewl, voice breaking with need, "I can take it, please, I promise. I just need all of you, Joel. Please, fuck me hard and deep until I can't think of anything but the feeling of your cock inside of me"

With a feral growl, Joel surrenders to your plea, slamming his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt inside you. A scream that sounds like his name tears from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of all of him devouring your from inside, your body convulsing with the force of his thrust.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that shake the bed frame and echo through the room. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the sounds coming out of your mouths.

"Please, please. I wanna come, please"

Tears well in your eyes at the insistence that rocks your body. Joel's eyes widen, perhaps in surprise, this new and strange, yet, his cock twitching makes this all the more intriguing. Arousing even.

"S' you cryin' over my cock?"

You deny it, but the salty trails have started to pool down your cheeks, your prettu fluttering eyelashes damp. Joel gulps, feeling blood rushing to his cock again.

"Don't worry, little fawn" doesn't know why but his tongue runs across your tear-smeared face, the taste of your damp skin, musk and sweat strong, make his mind go numb. "I think ya' look pretty when ya' cry"

Joel feels your velvet walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, signaling your coming climax. He doubles his efforts, slamming into you with a wild, primal intensity that steals your breath away.

"That's it, sweet girl" Joel growls, voice ragged with lust as he feels your body tensing beneath him. "Come for me, y/n. I wanna feel you comin' undone on ma' cock, screamin' ma' name as I fill you up nice"

You're a sight to savor in, like basking the first rays of sunlight on the morning. Like his bitter coffee on his favorite mug. But you're sweet on the inside and the outside, he thinks as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. Joel is lost on you, he's aware, as he leans down to capture your lips in a consuming kiss. He just wants to have all of you, day and night, body and soul, in and out, because just a taste, and he's gone down the deep saccharine trails of your neck and quivering heart.

Your back arches as the pleasure becomes too intense to bear, your body convulsing uncontrollably as your climax crashes over you. You scream his name, you think, lost in a sea of desperate pleas and incoherent whimpers spilling from your lips.

Joel hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm and milk his cock, your release triggering his own, followed by a grunt akin to surrender, perhaps. To you, now fully his. This is the end, he thinks. Now, he's truly yours. God help her, the townsfolk say when you tell them Joel's your man, but when a hoarse shout of your name comes out of his mouth, pulses hot and hard as he grinds against you, you think this is all you need.

Fuck it.

This is what it feels like.

Joel collapses onto you, his bigger softer body blanketing you as he struggles to catch his breath.

"My sweet girl" he coos, peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves with a gentle, reverent touch. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, when he whispers, voice low and sated. "Mine"

You can't help but laugh in awe. "Yes, Joel. Yours"

He props himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the delicate line of your jaw.

"I know I said I was scared, before. That I've tried to push you 'way. God, y'are stubborn, know that? 'M just glad you ain't a quitter"

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss that makes your heart leap. It tastes bitter like grains and whiskey, but sweet with love and devotion. It's not only a spark between your lips, another of many, but a promise, burning with the same intensity the old coffee pot heats his coffee in the morning.

"Y'are my everything, y/n" your name pronounced like never before. Now ever since.

A heart. A home.

"So are you, Joel" his name in a fervent whisper. Born to be said like a prayer.

And for the first time in so long, Joel Miller feels the same thing he felt when he held Ellie close. I've got you, babygirl.

Hope.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @pedgito / dts: @joelscowgirl ⋆˚✿˖°

[ninuwrites]

summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work. 

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes. 

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him. 

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels. 

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal. 

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline. 

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff. 

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night. 

And Jesus, he found it. 

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible. 

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair. 

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh. 

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man. 

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home. 

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time. 

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock. 

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager. 

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin. 

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too. 

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been? 

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything. 

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms. 

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.  

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips. 

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down. 

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in. 

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue. 

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat. 

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair. 

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck. 

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you. 

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole. 

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs. 

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle. 

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you. 

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him. 

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more. 

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away. 

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him. 

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure. 

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room. 

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’ 

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’

[ninuwrites]

he got up :) here i am nursing him back to health