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buckysloverrr · 9 days ago

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a vow — joel miller x reader

𝑅equest: “HI!! Was wondering if you could write something where Joel Miller isn’t big on PDA, or anything really despite reader being in a relationship with him, and after a fight over it with the reader he gets mad that she’s holding hands or something cute with another guy at Tipsy Bison? Followed by some smut/possessive apologetic Joel”

𝒮ummary: After a fight, Joel’s jealousy boils over when he sees you with another man.

𝒲arnings: possessive!joel, hurt, joel and reader fight at the beginning, comfort, age gap, unprotected sex, riding, slaps, idk how to tag anymore

𝒜uthor’s 𝒩ote: well this made me realize that maybe i like to write fights sorry

𝒲ord 𝒞ount: 6k

It started in his kitchen.

Where most things did — the fights, the makeups, the silences that said too much.

You were leaning against the counter, arms crossed, still in his denim jacket, backpack slung over your shoulder like you weren’t planning on staying. And Joel? He was standing near the sink, jaw tight, hands braced on either side of it like the metal might anchor him.

“You really gonna get mad about this again?” His voice was low. Tired. Irritated in that way that made you want to poke harder.

“Again?” you echoed, eyes narrowing. “I’ve barely said anything about it. But yeah, I’m getting mad — because it’s fucking weird, Joel.”

He looked over at you, eyes flat. “It’s not weird. I just don’t like people bein’ in my business.”

“It’s not just people being in your business!” You threw your hands up, voice rising. “You don’t even look at me when we’re outside. Won’t touch me, won’t talk to me half the time unless no one else is around. It’s like I only exist in your house — or your bed.”

He flinched at that. Just barely. But you caught it.

“And what, that’s not enough for you?” he said sharply. “Me takin’ care of you, keepin’ you here, riskin’—shit I haven’t risked in a long time—for someone? That ain’t worth nothin’ unless I’m makin’ some public show of it?”

You crossed your arms tighter, heat in your chest. “It’s not about some show. I’m not asking you to fuck me in public. I’m asking you to hold my hand when we walk into a bar. To stand next to me like I’m yours instead of some secret you keep in your back pocket.”

He stared at you for a beat, then looked away — jaw flexing hard, that stubborn set to his shoulders that you knew too well by now.

“I don’t do all that cute shit,” he muttered. “I never have.”

You blinked. “Yeah. No kidding. You’re a fucking robot half the time. Meanwhile, I’m out here looking like the stupid girl hanging on the grumpy old man who won’t even admit we’re together.”

Joel’s eyes cut back to you, dark and sharp. “You fucking done?”

You tilted your head, stepping toward him, mouth curling just enough to twist the knife. “Yeah, I’m done. Done trying to get you to act like you give a damn outside your bedroom.”

And with that, you grabbed your bag, turned, and walked out — the screen door slamming behind you hard enough to rattle the frame.

You didn’t expect him to come after you.

And he didn’t.

Which is exactly why, two nights later, you were at the Tipsy Bison wearing your tightest pair of jeans, drink in hand, laughing at something one of the guys across the table said — one hand casually resting on his arm, your smile just a little too sweet.

Joel walked in then.

Big and brooding in that flannel and denim, the weight of him practically sucking the oxygen out of the room. He saw you in less than five seconds. Saw you — and the way that kid leaned toward you like he had a fucking chance.

And that was the first time you’d ever seen Joel Miller jealous.

The Tipsy Bison was louder than usual. But you weren’t listening. Not really.

You were perched on the high stool, drink in hand, legs crossed just right. Laughing at something that wasn’t funny. Smiling at a guy whose name you’d already forgotten.

What was his name again? Tim? Troy?

Didn’t matter. He was sweet enough. A little younger than Joel. Definitely not as interesting — or as dangerous — but that was the point. He was harmless. Just enough to make sure Joel saw.

And oh, he saw.

You could feel it before you even glanced his way — that heavy, unblinking stare from across the bar. He hadn’t come in with anyone. Just walked straight to the far end of the room, sat alone, and ordered a whiskey. Same as always. Except this time, he didn’t look away when your eyes met.

He didn’t even blink.

You let your gaze slide past him, casual, like he was just another stranger. Sipped your drink. Laughed again, brighter this time, fingers brushing the guy’s forearm like he’d said something charming — which he hadn’t. He was boring as fuck, talking about crops or horses or patrol routes. You weren’t listening.

You were acting.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t.

He didn’t move. Didn’t drink. Just sat there, watching you like you were something feral he was trying not to chase. One hand clenched around his glass, the other twitching against his thigh like he wanted it somewhere else.

Probably on your waist.

Or your throat.

You smiled wider, legs crossing tighter, leaning forward just a little as the guy beside you asked another question you didn’t hear. You nodded anyway, tilted your head, gave him a look that you knew was dangerous when used correctly.

Joel shifted in his seat.

You saw it.

The flick of his jaw. The slow exhale through his nose. Like he was trying real hard to be civil — and failing. Because Joel Miller didn’t do jealous. He didn’t do soft. And he sure as hell didn’t do being ignored.

But that’s exactly what you were doing. Ignoring him.

Just like he’d ignored you on the street, in the mess hall, at the market — brushing past like you were nobody. Like months of sweat and skin and soft, sleepy mornings meant nothing in daylight.

So now?

He could sit in the dark and watch.

The guy beside you leaned in closer, and you let him. Just enough. You laughed again, letting the sound carry — high and teasing — then finally turned your head to glance at Joel.

Just for a second.

Just to let him see that glint in your eyes.

You’re not the only one who gets to pretend.

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.

But his hand left the glass.

And curled slowly into a fist.

You’d just started tracing the rim of your glass, that little bored swirl of your finger that only showed up when your patience ran thin — which it had. The guy beside you — Troy, you remembered his name now — was halfway through another story about patrol routes and some close call near the fence when you felt it.

A shift in the air.

That slow, unmistakable pull of gravity — like a storm rolling in behind you.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

You felt Joel before you saw him.

Bootsteps. Heavy. Measured.

Then a pause. And his voice, low and sharp as a blade.

“She’s with me.”

It cut clean through the room.

Troy blinked, looking up. Confused. “Sorry, what?”

You finally looked over your shoulder — and there he was.

Joel fucking Miller.

Standing behind you, jaw locked tight, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, heat practically pouring off him. His eyes were pinned to Troy, but his hand was already settling on the back of your stool — not quite touching you, but claiming the space around you like a perimeter.

Joel didn’t repeat himself.

Didn’t have to.

The silence around your little corner of the bar stretched tight. Troy glanced at you, uncertain, half-laughing. “Uh—she didn’t mention—”

“I don’t give a shit what she mentioned.” Joel’s voice was flat. Dangerous. “She’s mine.”

Your heart kicked in your chest.

He finally looked at you then — eyes dark, unreadable — and you saw it all written there in the way his jaw twitched, the way his nostrils flared with each breath.

Possession.

Not the sweet, romantic kind.

The raw, territorial kind.

You arched a brow, playing with the rim of your glass again. “Oh, now I’m yours?”

Joel didn’t blink. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your stomach twisted — heat flashing low. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

Troy stood awkwardly, glancing between the two of you like he’d accidentally stepped on a landmine.

“I—I didn’t know, man. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Joel gave a tight nod, still watching you. “Yeah. I know.”

Troy gave you a quick, embarrassed smile. “Uh, thanks for the drink. I’ll, uh—yeah.”

And then he was gone, retreating toward the other side of the bar with a speed that would’ve been funny if your body wasn’t already thrumming with adrenaline.

Joel stayed where he was. Right behind you.

You turned back toward your drink, lifted it halfway to your lips. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know.”

“I do know,” he said, voice low, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against your ear. “But I don’t share.”

Your skin prickled.

He let the silence sit for a second. Just long enough to let that line sink all the way into your bones.

Then his hand finally touched you — not rough, but deliberate. Spreading over your lower back, fingers warm and firm, pulling you just slightly toward him on the stool.

“Get up,” he said quietly.

You turned, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Joel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“Because if you stay on that stool any longer, I’m gonna put you over my knee right here in front of everyone.”

Your breath caught — involuntary — and his lips twitched at the corners.

He saw that.

And he liked it.

“Now,” he said.

And like hell you’d admit how fast you stood.

The air outside was cooler now, wind sneaking between buildings as the two of you made your way through Jackson’s dim, quiet streets. Your boots clicked angrily on the path. Joel’s were silent. You didn’t look at him.

Not at first.

He was a step behind, as always — shadowing you. Not guiding. Not pulling.

Just there.

Like a warning.

You didn’t speak until you were clear of the bar, out where no one else could hear — the hum of the Bison fading behind you, replaced by the crunch of gravel and the soft rustle of trees.

And even then, you didn’t start soft.

“‘She’s with me,’” you mocked, glancing over your shoulder. “That’s the line you go with? Not even a ‘hey, can we talk for a second’? Just full-on caveman.”

Joel said nothing.

His eyes were on you, though — steady, unreadable, jaw tight like he was holding back something vicious. Not anger. Not quite.

Possession.

You kept walking, too fast, but he kept up like it cost him nothing.

“Is that what I am to you?” you snapped, voice sharp, “Some… thing you get to claim when you feel like it?”

Still nothing.

You stopped suddenly, spinning on your heel, forcing him to halt just inches from you. “Seriously, Joel. Say something. You don’t talk when we’re in public. You don’t talk when we fight. You barely talk when I’m in your bed.”

He stared down at you, the lines in his face deepening in the moonlight. Still silent.

You shoved his chest. “What, now you’ve got nothing to say? After you scared that poor guy off like a fucking dog?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. His breath came through his nose — slow, controlled. His hand lifted, catching your wrist in a loose grip before it could push him again.

“I didn’t scare him,” he said finally. His voice was low. Measured. “I told him the truth.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you hissed, stepping back, trying to break his grip — and failing. “You don’t get to ignore me for weeks in front of everyone and then pull that ‘mine’ shit like you’ve earned it.”

Joel took a slow step toward you. You backed up — only to find your back pressing up against the wood of someone’s fence. The edge of it bit into your spine.

His hand let go of your wrist.

But it didn’t feel like freedom.

“You done?” he asked quietly.

You stared at him. “No. Not even close.”

He stared back. Silent. Waiting.

And it hit you — the restraint. The way he wasn’t grabbing, wasn’t yelling. That he wasn’t cold, not really.

He was simmering.

A pot about to boil, and you were standing too close to the flame.

You scoffed, shaking your head, voice quieter now. “You don’t get to pick when I exist, Joel. Either I’m yours or I’m not. You don’t get to claim me when it’s convenient.”

His eyes darkened, and his silence deepened.

And suddenly, the stillness wasn’t passive.

It was heavy. Intentional.

He wasn’t ignoring you.

He was letting you talk.

Letting you dig the hole. Letting you burn your anger down to ash. Letting you unravel — until there was nothing left but that thin, frayed thread of control keeping you upright.

And when you finally stepped away from the fence, chest rising hard, trying to breathe through it — he reached for you again.

Not rough.

But final.

His hand slid to the back of your neck — warm, firm, unmoving.

Not a pull.

A promise.

You shivered.

And he still hadn’t raised his voice.

“Walk,” he said simply, voice deep and even. “Before I lose whatever’s left of my fuckin’ patience.”

You stared at him, lips parted, heart pounding. Your mouth opened — but nothing came out.

So you turned.

And you walked.

And this time, he stayed close.

One step behind.

Just like a wolf.

The front door shut behind you with a heavy thunk, the lock clicking into place with Joel’s key.

You didn’t move.

You stood there in the middle of his entryway, heart beating too loud in your chest, jacket still on, fingers curled into your palms. The quiet was deafening.

And then—

Boots behind you.

A slow approach.

You felt him before he touched you. The heat of him, the weight of his silence, the barely-contained energy rolling off him in waves. You held your ground, refusing to turn — even as he stepped up behind you, close enough that his chest brushed your back with every breath.

Then his hand slid around your waist.

Not gentle. Not rough.

Just certain.

He pulled you back against him — tight — until you could feel the shape of him, hard and deliberate through his jeans, pressing into the curve of your ass.

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“You wanna know why I didn’t say it before?” he said, voice low, raw, hot enough to melt bone. “Why I kept it quiet?”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

His other hand came up, dragging your jacket slowly down your arms, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric.

“Because I don’t want to share you with this place,” he muttered. “Not the patrols. Not the bar. Not the fuckin’ streets.”

His fingers traced up under your shirt, brushing warm skin, climbing slow — claiming you with nothing but touch.

“I keep it quiet ‘cause when I think about someone else lookin’ at you…” He let out a slow, dark breath. “It makes me want to break things.”

Your breath hitched, and he smiled against your neck. Not sweet.

Predatory.

“Tonight?” he murmured. “You did it on purpose. Sat there touchin’ him, laughin’ like I don’t own every sound that comes out of your mouth.”

His hand slipped up, fingers wrapping gently around your throat — not squeezing. Just there.

A reminder.

“You wanted to make me jealous.”

You swallowed, barely.

Joel hummed low in his chest. “Congratulations, baby. You did.”

Then he finally turned you — slow, controlled — pressing your back to the door, pinning you there with his hips, his hand still at your neck, thumb stroking your pulse.

His eyes locked on yours, and his voice dropped to a gravel-dark promise.

“Now I’m gonna show you exactly what it means to be mine.”

You didn’t argue.

You just let him take.

Your back hit the door, breath shallow in your chest as Joel held you there — not just with the weight of his body, but with everything unspoken finally surfacing behind his eyes.

His hand was still at your throat, thumb tracing your pulse like he needed to feel it, to know you were still here. Still his.

He leaned in, slow, gaze flicking down to your mouth — and then he kissed you.

Not soft.

Not rushed.

Sure.

The kind of kiss that said no one else gets this. That made your knees weaken even as his hand slid to your jaw, holding you steady.

And then, between kisses — mouth brushing yours, breath hot, words like sin wrapped in gravel — he spoke.

“You wanna know the truth?”

You nodded, dazed, lips parted.

He kissed you again. Slower this time. More careful. Like it hurt.

“I don’t show you off because I’m afraid they’ll look at you,” he muttered, voice rough. “Afraid they’ll look at you and wonder why the hell you’re with me.”

You blinked, the breath catching in your throat.

Joel didn’t stop — couldn’t. Not now.

“You’re twenty-something. Young. Beautiful. Got that mouth on you that drives me fuckin’ insane.” His forehead pressed to yours. “And I’m—fuck, baby, I’m not young. Not shiny. Not safe. Not what you’re supposed to end up with.”

You opened your mouth, but he silenced you with another kiss. Harder. Needier.

“I watch you walk through this town, all lit up like you’re made of fire, and every part of me wants to tell the world you’re mine.”

His hand slid down to your waist, gripping tight.

“But another part…” His voice cracked low. “Another part thinks one day you’ll wake up and realize you should’ve picked someone your age. Some kid with soft hands and a nice smile who don’t come with all the damage I carry.”

You stared up at him, chest rising hard, throat tight.

“But I can’t let that happen,” he said, softer now — and somehow darker. “I noticed that tonight.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I’m too selfish, baby. I won’t let you go. You’re mine. Always have been.”

Then, quieter — almost like it hurt to say.

“And that ain’t gonna change. Not ever.”

You could feel it in the way he kissed you again — not to claim, but to keep. To beg. To promise. All at once.

There was nothing polished about it. No sweet speech. Just Joel. All cracked pride and brutal honesty and hands that had never learned to let go once they’d held something real.

And you?

You kissed him back like you were never leaving.

Because you weren’t.

You were breathing hard now — lips swollen, chest rising against his, the air between you charged and electric.

Joel’s confession still hung in the air, raw and exposed like something bleeding. His hands gripped your waist like they didn’t know how to let go. Like he couldn’t trust himself to.

You stared up at him, fire still in your eyes, throat tight with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t soften.

So you didn’t soften.

You tilted your head, lips ghosting over his jaw, your voice a rasp against the edge of him.

“I’m still fucking mad at you.”

Joel’s breath hitched — like maybe he’d expected something sweeter. Something forgivable.

But then you grabbed his shirt in both fists, yanked him back to your mouth.

“And I’m still yours,” you growled against his lips.

You kissed him like a weapon — hard, teeth clashing, your body pressed against his with reckless force. Joel grunted into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you into him until you could feel just how far gone he already was.

“You think I need soft?” you breathed, voice ragged, grinding your hips up into his. “You think I want sweet little love taps and quiet words?”

His hands were on your thighs now, lifting, carrying you across the room like nothing weighed anything — until your back hit the wall next to the coat hooks and the picture frame tilted crooked.

“I think you want to get fucked so hard you forget why you were mad,” he growled.

You gasped, laughing breathlessly — head falling back as he pressed kisses to your throat, open-mouthed and bruising.

“Not forget,” you panted, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. “Just… punish you for it later.”

Joel’s laugh was low, dangerous. “You wanna punish me?”

“I will,” you hissed, nails dragging up the back of his neck. “After you fuckin’ earn it.”

That was all it took — the line snapping.

His mouth crashed into yours, rough, unrelenting. His hands were everywhere — under your shirt, under your bra, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize them by touch. You tugged at his belt, cursing under your breath when it didn’t come undone fast enough.

He dropped you down — hard enough to make it creak — and dropped to his knees in front of you, shoving your jeans down, kissing up your thighs, biting just to feel you jolt and curse and grab his hair.

“I want you to remember this,” he muttered, breath hot against your skin. “Every time some other idiot tries to make you laugh — every time you open that smart mouth and test me — I want you to feel what being mine fucking means.”

And when you moaned his name, sharp and ragged, you knew he already had you marked deep.

And he wasn’t even close to finished.

The denim barely hit your knees before his hands were on you — hot, rough, and demanding.

He grabbed your thighs, shoved them open without asking, like the answer had always been yes — like your body was his to position, to spread, to ruin.

"Goddamn," he growled, dropping his head between your legs, breathing you in like he was already drunk on it. "You get this wet for some kid talkin’ about patrol duty?"

You gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

“Not for him,” you snapped, breathless. “For you, asshole—”

His hand came down, sharp slap to your inner thigh.

"Then act like it."

Before you could snarl something else, his fingers were on you — thick and calloused, slipping between your folds and dragging up through the mess he’d made of you just by looking.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice thick with something darker than lust. "This was mine, the whole time. And you let him sit there thinkin’ he had a shot at my pussy?”

You gasped as he pushed two fingers inside — deep, no warning, curling hard as he filled you with the kind of force that left your mouth hanging open.

"Joel—"

“Quiet,” he snapped, thrusting again, slower now, but brutal in rhythm. “You don’t get to talk back right now. Not when you’ve been actin’ up like this. Not when I own every inch of you, and you’re sittin’ out there touchin’ some guy like I’m not fuckin’ enough.”

His thumb pressed hard to your clit, circling tight, dragging a ragged cry out of your throat. Your hips bucked, but his other hand slammed your thigh back against the wood of the bench, holding you still.

"That’s right," he hissed. "You wanna be a brat, you get used like one."

You tried to move — tried to roll your hips for more, but he held you down, fingers pistoning in and out of you, fucking you with the kind of ruthless focus that made your vision go blurry.

"You belong to me," he muttered. "Say it."

You whimpered, back arching, mouth struggling to form words.

“Say it.”

“I—I’m yours,” you gasped.

His fingers pushed deeper, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours, Joel—fuck, I’m yours, I’m yours—”

"That’s fuckin’ right," he snarled, mouth hot against your throat now, biting a mark into your skin. "You let anyone else even look at you like that again, and I’ll fuck you right in front of 'em. Make sure they see who this pussy really belongs to."

You were so close now, thighs trembling, nails raking down his arms as your body clenched around his fingers like it didn’t know how to let go.

"Come for me," he growled into your mouth. "Come on my fuckin’ fingers like the needy little mess you are."

And when it hit — it crashed.

You came with a cry that barely sounded human, grinding down against his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the goddamn earth. He didn’t stop — not right away — just kept working you through it until your voice cracked and your body begged for mercy.

He finally pulled his fingers free, soaked to the knuckles, and dragged them slow across your inner thigh — painting his name into your skin without saying a word.

Then he looked up at you — eyes dark, wild, and full of everything he hadn’t said before tonight.

“You’re not walkin’ tomorrow,” he said.

And you believed him.

You were still trembling when Joel hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off the bench like you weighed nothing — your jeans kicked off somewhere behind, shirt hiked up just enough for his rough palms to press against bare skin.

“Joel—” you breathed, but he didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His mouth was hard on yours again as he carried you down the hall — bumping into the wall once, not caring, growling low in his throat when you moaned against his lips. His grip tightened around your thighs.

“I told you,” he rasped, pushing the bedroom door open with his shoulder. “You’re not gettin’ away from me. Not tonight. Not ever.”

The room was dark, moonlight cutting across the bed. He dropped you there — not careless, but with the weight of someone who knew exactly how much you could take. You barely had time to blink before he was on you, tearing his shirt off over his head, belt unbuckled and jeans shoved down in seconds.

Then he was pulling you up, flipping you over onto your knees.

“Hands on the headboard.”

Your body jolted — the command hit harder than it should’ve. You hesitated just a second too long.

Joel’s hand came down on your ass, sharp and perfect.

“Now.”

You scrambled forward, gripping the wood at the top of the bed, your cheek against the cool pillow as you felt him move in behind you — heavy, warm, the head of his cock dragging between your thighs, teasing.

And then — he pulled you back.

One strong arm wrapped around your waist, dragging your spine up against his chest. His body was hot, solid behind you, the rough scratch of his chest hair against your bare back, his cock thick and hard, pressed right up against your soaked entrance but not pushing in yet.

His other hand found your neck again — not choking, just there. Just holding.

“You feel that?” he growled into your ear, the head of him nudging against your folds, slick and slow.

You whimpered, nodding.

“That’s mine.”

He thrust in with one brutal stroke.

You cried out, eyes squeezing shut, back arching hard against his chest as he filled you — all the way, no pause, no mercy.

He held you like that — impaled, helpless, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make your head fall back against his shoulder.

“You’re mine,” he said again, panting now, rolling his hips into you, deep and rough and relentless. “Say it.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours,” you gasped, clinging to the headboard even as your legs shook beneath you.

He slammed into you again, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Joel!”

“Damn right you are.”

He fucked you like he had something to prove — and he did. Every thrust was deep, punishing, his arm like steel around your waist, holding you up, keeping you from falling even as he fucked the fight right out of you.

His mouth was at your ear, teeth grazing your skin.

“You think some dumb kid could make you come like this?” Thrust. “Think he could handle you?” Thrust. “Think he’d still want you after hearing the way you scream for me?”

You were sobbing now — overwhelmed, split open on him, every muscle shaking, his cock hitting that spot so deep and perfect it made your brain go white.

“Tell me no one else gets you.”

“No one—fuck—no one gets me but you!”

Joel groaned against your neck, hips slamming into yours, his hand sliding down from your waist to rub fast, rough circles on your clit.

“Then come for me. Come again, baby, and let this whole fuckin’ town feel it.”

You shattered with a scream, your walls clenching around him like a vice — and that was it. Joel cursed, bit your shoulder.

He didn’t let you go.

Not even then.

He stayed pressed against your back, buried to the hilt, his arm still tight around your middle, his hand still on your neck, pulsing against your skin like another heartbeat.

Breathing ragged. Body trembling.

You were his.

And now the whole fucking world knew it.

You didn’t know how long you lay there together, still pulsing from the high, your body draped against his chest, slick and trembling. But Joel didn’t say anything.

He just ran his hand slowly down your back, tracing the curve of your spine, the barest scratch of his nails making you shiver.

Then—

"Get on top of me."

His voice was low. Commanding. But softer now, more settled — like the edge was still there, just quieter under the skin.

You blinked, lifting your head. “What?”

Joel leaned back, letting his weight sink into the bed, arms folding behind his head. His chest rose slow and steady, eyes dark as he looked at you over his shoulder.

"You heard me. Turn around. I want you to ride me."

He let the pause stretch, let the heat fill it.

“Wanna watch you fall apart on my cock.”

Your breath caught — but you moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

You turned, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, facing away now. You could feel his eyes dragging over your back, your hips, the way you moved with that subtle soreness from everything he’d already done to you.

You reached down, guiding him back to full hardness with a few slow strokes — which didn’t take much. Joel groaned behind you, head tipping back into the pillow as his hand came up to grip your waist.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

You positioned yourself above him, the head of his cock sliding against your entrance, your thighs shaking slightly as you lowered yourself down.

“Shit,” you gasped, head dropping forward as he stretched you open again, inch by inch, all of him thick and deep.

Joel hissed a breath through his teeth. “Goddamn, baby—fuckin’ tight like this.”

You steadied yourself, hands braced on his thighs as you started to move — hips rocking slow, deep, grinding back onto him.

Joel growled, low and wrecked. His hands found your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in with every bounce.

“Fuckin’ love watchin’ you like this,” he said through clenched teeth. “Back arched. Drippin’ down my cock. Look like you belong there.”

You moaned, biting your lip, speeding up just enough to make the sound of your bodies slapping together echo through the room.

Then his hand came down hard — smack.

A sharp slap to your ass, jolting your whole body forward.

You gasped, grinding back into him harder, your moan caught between pleasure and something filthier.

“More,” you whispered, breathless.

Joel chuckled darkly. “You got no shame, huh?”

And then he spanked you again, other hand gripping your hip tighter, guiding your rhythm as you rode him faster.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice rasping. “Bounce on it, baby. Show me how much you need it.”

You were barely holding on, head thrown back, hands slipping down to brace against his knees as you fucked yourself on him, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, each slap of his hand pushing you closer to breaking.

“Whose pussy is this?” he growled.

“Yours,” you gasped, choking on the word. “Joel, it’s yours—”

“Say it louder.”

“It’s yours! Fuck— I’m yours, I’m—fuckin’ yours—”

And when you came, it hit like a wrecking wave — your body locking up, thighs shaking, cunt clenching around him so hard he growled, deep in his chest, and thrust up into you, meeting your movement with wild, desperate rhythm.

Joel came with a rough curse, hands tight on your hips, slamming you down one last time, holding you there as he spilled deep inside you, breathing hard.

You stayed there for a moment — straddling him, spent and shaking, dripping with sweat and his release — your back pressed to his chest now as he sat up slightly, wrapping his arms around your middle.

No words.

Just breath. Touch. The sound of his heartbeat against your spine.

Possession had never felt so good.

Your breathing was still ragged when his arms wrapped around you — strong, steady, grounding — and Joel leaned up just enough to press a kiss to your spine, right between your shoulder blades.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Your thighs were shaking. Your chest was tight. And Joel just held you there, your back to his chest, both of you sunk into the mattress like the world had narrowed to this one room — this one moment.

His lips brushed your skin again, slower this time.

Not lust.

Not claim.

Just Joel.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You didn’t say anything — not right away. You just let your hand find his on your stomach, threading your fingers with his, still catching your breath.

He kissed your shoulder once more, his voice softer now. “Didn’t mean to make you feel like I was hidin’ you.”

You turned your head slightly, cheek brushing against his beard, your voice still raspy. “You kinda did.”

Joel winced. He didn’t try to deny it.

“I know.” His hand tightened gently around yours. “Truth is… I’ve never had anything like this before. Anyone like you. I didn’t know how to—hell, I was scared if I held on too tight, you’d see how much I don’t deserve it.”

You shifted in his arms, your back curving to him like muscle memory. He was always solid, always warm — but now he felt tender, too.

Vulnerable in a way that made your heart twist.

“Joel,” you whispered, glancing up at him, “you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”

He looked down at you, brow furrowed, like he was still learning how to believe that.

“I don’t talk easy,” he said. “You know that.”

“Yeah.” You gave a soft smile, reaching up to brush a thumb along the line of his jaw. “But when you do… it’s worth it.”

Joel let out a low breath, like maybe that weight on his chest was finally easing up. He kissed your forehead — slow, deliberate, lingering.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For not claimin’ you sooner. For makin’ you feel like you weren’t everything you are to me.”

You curled in closer, letting his arms wrap tighter, your legs tangled with his now, warm under the blankets.

“You’re lucky you fuck like you mean it,” you teased, voice light again, lips grazing his throat.

He huffed a low laugh, fingers brushing through your hair, then down your back.

“Damn right I do.”

You both settled then — the tension melted out of your muscles, the fight long gone.

In the quiet, you felt his hand drift to your hip again — not to grip or guide, but just to hold. To feel you there. Real. Close. His.

And this time, when he whispered, “You’re mine,”

…it wasn’t a threat.

It was a vow.

You woke up to sunlight bleeding through the curtains and the soft drag of Joel’s fingers across your bare back.

He was already awake, propped up on one elbow beside you, hair tousled, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them in the morning light.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still scratchy from sleep and maybe just a little from everything he’d growled the night before.

You smiled, stretching slow, your sore muscles protesting just enough to make you wince.

Joel caught it, smirked. “Told you you wouldn’t be walkin’ right.”

“Smug bastard,” you muttered, curling into him anyway, your face in the warm space between his chest and shoulder. “Don’t get used to being right.”

His arms wrapped around you, his hand slipping into your hair. He didn’t say anything right away — just kissed your forehead like it was instinct.

Then, quietly: “You busy later?”

You blinked. “Uh… no?”

“Good.” He leaned back just enough to look down at you. “I want you to meet Tommy.”

“I already know Tommy, Joel.”

He didn’t respond.

You stared.

Joel watching you, steady, a little nervous behind the eyes — which meant this meant something.

“Wait. You’re introducing me?”

He nodded once. “Figured it’s time he knew the truth.”

“The truth,” you echoed, raising a brow. “And what’s that?”

Joel’s jaw ticked — and then his hand slid up your side, slow, until it rested just over your heart.

“That you’re mine.”

You swallowed.

“That I love you.”

The words were quiet. Unadorned. No theatrics. Just Joel, stripped bare, telling you something he’d carried too long in silence.

Your heart slammed hard against your ribs.

“I love you too,” you said, voice barely there. “Took you long enough.”

Joel chuckled, leaned down, kissed you slow — deep and warm and certain.

“Yeah,” he murmured against your lips. “But now everyone’s gonna know it.”

Later, the sun high in the sky, he kept a hand on your waist as the two of you walked across town. Not just touching — guiding. Showing.

Tommy spotted you both from across the street and waved. When you got close, he grinned. “Well look who finally crawled outta his cave. Joel, who’s—?”

“This’s my girl,” Joel cut in, hand tightening slightly at your hip. “Been meanin’ to bring her by.”

Tommy raised a brow, surprised — maybe even impressed.

Your smile turned sly, but you said nothing, letting Joel say it.

“She’s… important to me,” he added, clearing his throat. “More than that. I love her.”

Tommy blinked. Then laughed, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Well, shit,” he said. “Guess miracles do happen.”

Joel grumbled something under his breath, pulling you in closer like he couldn’t help it. Like it wasn’t just possession anymore — it was pride.

You leaned into his side, kissed his jaw, and whispered where only he could hear:

“Think I like hearing you say that.”

Joel glanced down at you, eyes soft. “Get used to it, sweetheart. I’m done keepin’ quiet.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic

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