pedgito

[pedgito]

thank you!! everything about this version of joel is so soft and i love him 😭

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | By chance, you meet Joel Miller in a guitar shop.

author's note | this is filling my indulgence in seeing joel pursue his singing career and a lot softer than most things i write. this is also mostly unbeta'd, but edited with love <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, singer!joel, strangers to lovers, ambiguous age gap, joel's famous and reader has no clue, guitar lessons, vague reader backstory, drinking, lavish hotel rooms, smut with an endearing and out of practice joel, sloppy oral (m & f receiving), a hint of orgasm denial, unprotected piv, some tags omitted for spoilers!

word count ��� 9.7k

Joel Miller was back in town.

There’s a familiarity in the peckish winds, the air smelling of rain that dared to fall. With there being an outside venue for his shows, they were watching the weather carefully.

But, Joel had a couple days entirely to himself, free to roam with the company of his closest confidant—bodyguard, friend—who watched his back at every turn, dressed in plain clothes to look less conspicuous. 

He’d already had his hat and glasses on before he left the plane—it wasn’t that Joel had a hard time looking normal anymore, but his face was increasingly recognizable, especially in Texas.

He’d sold out his two-night show in Austin in under ten minutes, forty minutes faster than any other city, so he was trying to play things safely without having to be cooped up in his hotel room.

Luckily, he strikes out on any instances where a fan recognizes him—aside from the occasional too long stare that makes him walk a bit faster under the suggestion of his bodyguard.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he discovers a line of shops on the strip, the sight of guitars lining the walls inside pulling his attention up to the illuminated neon sign.

Strings Attached, the sign read in a bright red, outlined with a thinner orange cord.

“Worth checkin’ out,” Joel decides, and his security gives him a weary look.

“C’mon, Ben,” Joel throws his hands out, voice slightly hushed, “wouldn’t be a real stop if I didn’t pick up at least one guitar, would it?”

“You’ve got a problem,” Ben, his bodyguard, jokes, but he points toward the lone man inside, “lemme talk to the owner, let ‘em know you’re comin’ through so he can at least shut the shop down so you can look,”

“We don’t have to,” Joel begins but Ben’s face falls flat, knowing how quickly things could get out of control if he didn’t take the proper precautions, “alright—fine,”

Joel browses quietly as the shop owner talks to Ben, his face going from neutral to sudden interest, peering over the shoulder of Joel’s stalky security man before a hand is being thrown up to block his view, “I can pay a couple hundred for you to close so he can browse in peace,” he barters, “fair enough?”

The owner shrugs and extends his hand as Ben trades over the cash before the owner heads toward the front to flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but not before you’re slipping inside the shop without a care, the bell jingling overhead.

Joel’s hand is pressing into Ben’s chest before he can surge toward you, remaining flippant to the situation at hand as you turn your back to the men and browse the selection of records in the corner of the shop.

“Don’t,” he warns, “it’ll be more of a mess if you kick her out, I can handle one fan,”

Ben sags reluctantly before he busies himself too, remaining closer to the entrance as the owner flips the sign, much to the dismay of a few potential customers who sound audibly disappointed before they keep walking.

You had no idea what you were looking for.

Joel watched as you squinted, running your finger along the line of electric guitars on the wall before pulling your thumb between your teeth, browsing the stock as you gradually made your way toward the acoustic guitars.

Your therapist had suggested an outlet, distraction, something challenging to keep you mind busy. She had originally suggested knitting or painting, something minimal. 

It sounded mind-numbing. You needed more.

But, your musical ability was rather….non-existent. 

Still, you were attempting to challenge yourself.

You could teach yourself how to play guitar, surely.

You smile at him politely and Joel anticipates the following:

Eyes up, a smile, a look that lingers too long before the realization hits you, now that his sunglasses sat on the brim of his hat and then a gasp as you recognize him, a touch, and suddenly Ben would swoop in like a mother hen to protect his young, even though Joel had about twenty years on him.

Instead, you smile and move aside politely to let him through.

Joel feels like an asshole for thinking it, but it was jarring to not be bombarded with attention.

It was almost like a reflex.

Joel was perplexed now, watching you in the same way a crazed fan would. He’s curious, noticing how lost you look and he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself, praying you wouldn’t recognize his voice if his disguise was doing the trick.

“Martin is your best bet,” Joel suggests and you look at him, brow drawn together like he was speaking a foreign language,

“Excuse me?” you ask, watching as the mystery man pointed toward the lightly colored acoustic guitar in front of you until his finger brushed along the headstock, inviting you to peer in on the name etched into the wood, “Oh—yeah, sorry, I shoulda—”

“You’re clueless, aren’t you?” He asks, a hint of smile under the thickness of his mustache and beard, a natural and deep warmth that envelopes his tone.

Clueless to guitars and him, apparently.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask curiously, “I kinda like those,” you pointed at the glossier and thinner electric guitars, assuming they were all one in the same, “but they’re a little pricier,”

Joel relaxes slightly, getting past the obstacle of speaking when he realizes you wave him off dismissively, though he didn’t mind lending a helping hand, your hands clasped at your front as you examined the price of the guitars and wince.

“Well, electric is usually gonna cost you more than an acoustic would,” he explains, “most ‘f the time, anyways—you come here with anything in mind?”

You clear your throat and feel the heat creep up your neck before you bow your head and shake it in response, “I’ve never—uh, see—my therapist suggested I find a hobby. I’ve always wanted to learn an instrument. It seemed like a good idea, but now I’m feeling—”

You weren’t sure why you were rambling to a stranger, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Overwhelmed?” He answers for you.

You nod.

“Are you some kind of collector?” you ask, genuinely curious at his extent of knowledge.

“Sorta,” he laughs, “I can suggest a few if you’d like?”

You seem eager, receptive to his offer, so he waves you over and points out a couple guitars that he’s fond of, price in mind, “You can’t go wrong with any of ‘em, really,”

He catches the way your eyes drag toward one higher on the wall, stained black wood with gold accents, you hum softly as you examine the body.

You’ve got good taste, he thinks.

“I doubt I’ll grab anything today,” you admit, “I don’t even know how to play,”

Joel looks over at Ben who gives him a subtle head shake as he listens in on the conversation and Joel can only smirk—he loves giving him a hard time, especially going against suggestions.

“I can teach you a cord or two,” he offers.

You look at him confused, tempted, but hesitant.

“Joel,” offers casually, extending his hand as you accept it with a gentle touch.

You give him your name with a polite smile as you take his offer despite the weird anxiety that had built in your chest, watching as Joel plucked a guitar off the wall without a care before holding it up to the shop owner.

“Just gonna give ‘er a test run,” he tells him before nodding for you to follow him to the small alcove in the shop that was covered in red velvet, plush seats with a circular table in the center.

His nature was commandeering, assertive, and overtly mysterious.

You brush it off with a quiet laugh as the man who lingered close to him began to back off.

“He’s pretty protective,” you note as Joel looks over once he’s taken a seat across from you, settling the guitar into his lap, “should you be doing this?”

“He’s a buddy of mine,” Joel explains haphazardly, “he’s….harmless,”

His muscle and height told you otherwise, but you trusted Joel’s words.

His fingers settle over the cords in a manner that seems practiced, learned, clearly comfortable around the instrument as he leans into it, caressing it in a way.

It was something sacred, you realized.

He strummed lightly, playing a quick melody that had you instantly intrigued.

But, then he stops abruptly. 

He looks at you briefly before patting the side of the body, “You ever held one?”

“No—not at all,” you admit, “I’m telling you, I’ve never even been in a music shop before,”

He smiled at your admission, a deep, slow grin that tugged the corners of his mouth and softened his already kind features.

It made you more nervous than you already were.

“C’mere,” he said, adjusting the guitar in his lap before motioning for you to sit beside him as he moved further down the bench, “You’ll learn faster if you feel it in your hands.”

You hesitated, briefly. A shared glance that offered a rawness you’ve never seen before.

Joel’s never found himself in a situation like this, not since his career had picked up.

It gives him a small sense of normalcy.

Eventually, you slid onto the plush velvet seat next to him, knees barely grazing.

The guitar passed between you like some kind of unspoken offering, his fingers brushing yours as he helped settle it into your lap, adjusting it to his liking.

“Rest it here,” he directed, tapping the inside of your thigh where the base should sit and you flinch at the touch slightly, feeling your heart race as he continues to speak, “Angle the neck up, nah, not too steep—riiiiight—there you go.”

He cracks a wider smile once you’ve settled, your expression expectant as you stared at him wide-eyed.

Your fingers hovered awkwardly over the strings, surprised by the weight of the guitar as it pressed into your legs.

Joel reached across, carefully adjusting your grip with gentle touches to your wrist and knuckles, like he was building something precarious, “You gotta relax your fingers—I know it feels awkward but the quicker you learn to relax the easier it’ll be,”

You try, but Joel notices the slight quiver in your fingers and clicks his tongue.

“You’re fightin’ it,” He chuckles, “just breath, stretch ‘em out and relax,”

You close your eyes and take a deep, slow breath as you wiggle your fingers slightly before you attempt to relax again, only catching the end of Joel’s curious gaze as it lingers before he points toward the fretboard and presses into the cords where he wants you to place your fingers.

“Let’s start on a G cord,” Joel suggests, positioning your fingers appropriately, but it feels uncomfortable, the grimace apparent in your expression.

He reached again, guiding your fingers to the right spots.

It wasn’t easy — your hand was cramped. Joel had done this for years, his hands had become familiar with the instrument whereas yours didn’t have a clue. 

You take another breath and attempt to focus, reposition our fingers in the way he had guided them just a few moments prior.

“Like this?” you asked, looking down at your awkward grip.

Joel nods in response, but there’s some amusement lingering in your obvious discomfort with holding the instrument, “Alright, now give it a strum,” he orders, clasping his hands together at the center of his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs.

His eyes are unreadable under the brim of his hat, but the subtle lilt of a smile is reassuring, strumming lightly once, and then again, wincing at how odd it sounded, your fingers wavering on the strings.

“That sounded awful,” you laughed lightly, letting the guitar slump in your grip.

Joel laughs in response—though it wasn’t at you or anything in particular, he appreciated the levity to this interaction, “It takes time,” Joel admits, “I can’t tell you how long it took me to start strummin’ out something that made sense,”

“Did you teach yourself?” you ask curiously,

Joel nods, honest, “Since I was a kid—it ain’t easy, but it’s doable,”

You pause, absorbing his words before you chew at your bottom lip in thought before fixing the guitar on your lap, moving your fingers over the fretboard with a more determined weight as you strum again, still feeling wholly unsure about the entire thing.

“Hey,” Joel assures, “you’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

You nod in agreement, though you weren’t sure how much you believed him.

He adjusts the brim of his hat, pulling it up carefully to balance the glasses but also pushes his deep, rich brown curls more suitably under the hat, tilting your head slightly as you watch him.

“If you play,” you begin, “do you sing?”

Joel freezes for a millisecond, his gut sinking before he meets your eyes.

It was clear there was nothing but curiosity in your question.

“Are you askin’ me to perform for you?” 

“You don’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve overstepped, that you’ve taken his kindness for granted.

“Hand it over,” he directs kindly, his fingers grazing yours as he pulls the guitar from your grip and twists it into his own, settling it into his lap like he has a million times before.

He was a stranger, completely unknown, but you watch as he lets the moment consume him.

Joel plays the tune to a rock song with a gentle chord progression, his voice an octave softer inside the walls of the store as he begins to sing to the strum of the guitar—there’s something in it, a song you recognize from your childhood that your dad played on repeat, a smile spreading across your face as Joel looks at you curiously, immediately becoming shy.

Joel played in front of millions, but this was daunting.

You were his only critic, completely unbiased.

He ends on the chorus and pats the body of the guitar gently with a satisfied smile as you laugh once in shock, mouth hung open, “You’re….really fucking good,” you admit and Joel ducks his head in embarrassment, almost bashful at your compliment.

He’s heard it plenty, but there’s a genuinity to your expression that tugs at something in his chest.

“Thank you,” he replies earnestly.

Suddenly, Ben was knocking on the wall beside your head and both of you turned to him.

“Joel, we gotta get movin’,” the man glances at his watch and emphasis his urgency with a nod of his head toward the door, “the car should be pullin’ up out back,”

“Shit, I’m sorry if I was holding you hostage,” you apologize, standing as you wipe your clammy hands against your jeans, watching as Joel set the guitar down gently against the wall,

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he assures Ben, who seems to get whatever message Joel was trying to convey and heads out past him—and Joel seems frozen, unsure.

He twists his hands together as you move to turn, suddenly asking, “So, you thinkin’ about pickin’ it up?” 

“I’m going to give it a couple days,” you shrug, “maybe if I had someone like you on retainer to teach me every day I’d feel more confident,”

Joel laughs at that, knowing it wasn’t feasible.

But, he isn’t sure why he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

“Hey, are you—” Joel knows it was a terrible idea, given the time constraint and his unwillingness to stray from his clearly defined schedule, but there was something about you and this that Joel couldn’t quite figure out, “what are you doing tomorrow night?”

You release a huff of air through your lips as you think, knowing well enough that you didn’t have plans on a Friday night, “Uh, nothing…yet. Why?”

Joel walks away for a moment, speaking to the owner of the store before he’s handing him a pen and paper and Joel begins to scribble something down hastily before folding it up and handing it over to you as he lifts his head, meeting the sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, ‘f you wanna swing by,” Joel explains.

Unsure, you still nod.

You had spent the entire morning racking up ideas on how to cope with the grief that had been consuming you, figuring that buying a fucking instrument would somehow heal the hole that had grown in your chest—but, maybe all you needed was to put yourself out there. Connect.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply wearily and Joel smiles again, “I’ll try,”

He’s gone before you can even recount or realize what had just happened, staring down at the guitar he had just played on with a dumbfounded look before you breeze toward the entrance as the owner was slipping back behind the counter.

You glance down at the note again after stepping outside, squinting at the barely legible handwriting as your thumb drifted over the ink.

Just an address.

Back gate. Ask for Ben. Tell them your name and I’ll handle the rest.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked into a guitar shop looking for a distraction, but it wasn’t him.

There was something about him—rough around the edges but easy, comforting.

He was clearly knowledgeable, wiser than you, but wasn’t looking to impress anyone with it. 

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t overstep. He only handed you a guitar, offered to teach you a cord, and had the smallest ounce of belief in you that you hadn’t experienced in, well, ever.

You’ve never met a man like that.

And truthfully, he’d never met a woman like you.

–

The address leads you to a street corner not far from downtown.

You don’t recognize the bar, something that has continuously slipped under your radar, a tucked-away spot with dark windows and a heavy wooden door—it unsettled you.

The front entrance is roped off with a couple bouncers stationed at the door, but you remember Joel’s note and slip around the back where a separate door sits under a flickering porch light.

A tall guy leans against the brick wall, arms crossed as he flicks through his phone, eyes dragging up to attention when he catches sight of you.

“Joel told me to ask for Ben?” you ask, more of a guess—would he even know who Joel was?

He tilts his chin in response. “Name?”

You give it, and he types out something on his phone, a few minutes passing as he exchanges messages before releasing a grunt of satisfaction along with a nod as he opens the door and motions you inside.

You’re met with the same burly man from the day before, his face stoic but welcoming.

“Joel’s inside,” Ben tells you, “Ain’t sure where but he sticks out like a sore thumb, so,”

Somehow, you found that impossible.

It’s dim and warm, blanketed in low lighting. You hear laughter first, then music coming from overhead speakers, a curated playlist of classic rock songs mixed in with occasional country.

There’s a small crowd—just enough to fill the room comfortably. They don’t pay you any attention, engrossed in their own conversation as you search out the man of the night.

You expect to feel out of place, nervous, but there’s something about the looming energy that eases your anxiety as you turn your head, searching out a man in a cap and cool-toned clothes.

But, then you see him.

Joel.

No hat. No sunglasses. Hair pushed back, curls loose. The same chocolate brown curls but untamed, curling around his ear and tickling his neck. He’s mid-conversation and laughing with the bartender, nursing a beer in his hand as he chats with a man who seems to be of a similar age as you, right on the cusp of entering your thirties.

You hesitate, only for a moment.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but your stomach flutters all the same.

You didn’t even know him. Why were you nervous?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you weave through the crowd that dances effortlessly around you. By chance, he throws his head back in laughter before turning away and his eyes open just as you slip beyond the crowd of people and he spots you.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice cuts through the noise, his face lighting up with recognition. He pushes away from the bar, his demeanor shifting to something softer as the surprise in his expression melts into a welcoming smile. “You came,”

“I did,” you reply, not quite believing that you’re here, standing in front of him in a place filled with true strangers, yet somehow you felt like you’ve known him for years, like greeting an old friend.

“Do you want a beer?” he asks, his hand resting at the center of your back as he guides you toward the bartop.

“Sure,” you decide haphazardly.

The bartender saunters over, and Joel orders another beer before turning back to you, his eyes wide and honest. “So, how’s the guitar hunting going?”

You consider for a moment, biting your lip. “I haven’t bought one yet.”

You had spent hours the night prior watching tutorials and searching sites for something even remotely affordable, but it seemed unattainable—maybe knitting was your calling.

“Can I ask you something…kinda forward?” You were holding onto the small sliver of boldness that was left in your body, turning in the seat where his hand rests against the backrest. 

Joel clears his throat as he swallows the sip of beer down and nods, jaw set.

Here it comes.

“Why did you invite me out?” you ask, his worry suddenly washing away, “Don’t—don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a very sweet man…”

“Call it a feeling,” Joel shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“Oh,” you cringe with a smile, “that is…so cheesy,”

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I find it hard to have genuine conversation anymore,” Joel admits, “yesterday—it reminded me how much I miss that and you’re beautiful, seemed like a no-brainer,”

“You’re laying it on thick,” you tease him, taking a gingerly sip from the beer.

“I don’t get time like this often,” Joel tells you and something in your heart flutters, curious why he would be wasting his time on this—or you, “can you tell me about yourself?”

You blink, dumb-founded at his honesty. But, instead of hiding, you open up.

What did you have to lose?

You tell him about your job, knowing how mundane it all sounded. 

To him, it was refreshing.

You tell him about the apartment you just moved into and how your therapist said you needed a distraction that felt like something you could pursue long term, dismissive of why you were in therapy, but Joel didn’t pry. You mention the guitar again, the fleeting moment at the shop. Admitting how taken aback you were by his willingness to help, his instinct for kindness. 

You don’t know how it happens, exactly—how you drifted from being seated to standing too close, how his arm ends up slung lazily around your waist, palm pressing hot at the center of your back, like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

His beer turns into whiskey and you watch him drink down the liquor with a nonchalant face, twirling a toothpick on the counter as you settle into a comfortable silence despite the roar of the bar, feeling him squeeze you in a little closer when someone visits the bar.

The warmth radiating from Joel's body against yours was like the comfort of fire in a snowstorm.

“Do you play often?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the nerves that had settled from his touch against your skin, his hand having moved from over your top to under, a gradual progression that felt natural.

“Enough,” he admitted with a slight smile, “probably too much, but I love it, it grounds me,” His gaze flickered to yours, sincere and deep. “Kinda like this,”

“Are you flirting with me?” your face felt hot, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

“I’m a little rusty,” Joel excuses, “am I doin’ a bad job?”

“You’re doing fine,” you reply softly, your heart racing as you meet his gaze, feeling emboldened by his honesty.

Joel’s eyes glint with mischief at your admission, and he leans slightly closer as the noise grows and he can sense the overwhelming presence as you look down and close your eyes, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks to you, “Should we get outta here?”

You nod earnestly, “It’s…a little too much for me,” and Joel nods, snapping at someone over your head, your instincts knowing exactly who without looking before Ben is peeking into your peripheral as Joel whispers into his ear.

He exchanges a tense look with Joel but Joel stares right back, leaving little room for any argument before Joel is beckoning for you to move aside so he can stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “He’s gettin’ my car—I’ve got a place downtown we can go to,”

Your eyes linger on him in silent question.

“I’m only in for the weekend,” Joel admits, “but it’s quiet, private,”

You nod to his admission and feel his hand slip into yours before he’s pulling you gently through the crowd.

What the hell were you doing?

–

Even as you entered the towering hotel, you still didn’t know how to react.

The elevator ride that followed was quiet.

Not awkward, not tense.

But, you could feel his eyes on you.

Joel stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, close enough that you could feel the heat from his arm, but he didn’t touch you again. Not until the elevator gave a jarring ding and the doors slid open to the top floor, revealing a hallway that didn’t look anything like the rest of the hotel. 

It was private. Too nice.

Expensive.

The kind of suite people like you didn’t usually get to see.

Suddenly, you were curious about how this was all attainable.

He held the door for you like a gentleman, expecting nothing less, and kept quiet as you stepped inside.

The sight of it is too much.

The room was stupidly nice. Open floor plan, warm wood floors, a gentle lighting amongst the night sky and a massive window framing the Austin skyline like a painting. You didn’t know whether to sit down or stand, too afraid to leave a smudge anywhere.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, quiet.

“It’s not always like this,” Joel explains, suddenly feeling guilty.

You glance back at him. “Sometimes it is?”

He isn’t sure how to answer it, pausing for a brief moment as he looks down, playing with the keyring in his hands, “Yeah,” is all he offers.

You cross the room slowly toward him, slipping your shoes off before you step onto the rug.

“Do you always invite strangers back to places like this?”

Joel looks at you, examining your wondrous expression.

“No,” you know he’s telling the truth, his hand sliding across the counter beside him to drop the keys, watching as he split his fingers down the button-up he was wearing, feeling suffocated all of the sudden.

The air shifts slightly with the weight of his honesty and you cross your arms over your chest, casually examining your surroundings as you make your way toward him.

He must be a CEO or someone that came from money—he was well off, but generous. 

You weren’t going to pry, he didn’t owe you any truths. Still, he offered what he felt comfortable with. You nod to nothing as you take in the space and push closer until your hands are brushing at the front and Joel appears like more of a shy, younger version of himself.

He’s awkward, unaware of how to proceed.

He brought you here because he could sense your discomfort but was also unwilling to let you slip from his grasp too soon. Part of him was being selfish and he wasn’t sure why.

“You said you’re only in town for the weekend?”

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at his drink before taking a sip. “I’m headin’ out Sunday night,”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

Because somehow, even without the full picture, you got the impression that no—he didn’t do this often, he wasn’t sure how to navigate this, and he was just as nervous as you were. 

“Do you…” you begin, voice quieter now, “do you want me to stay?”

His eyes meet yours, and with a low tone that caresses you, he admits it.

“I wouldn’t’ve brought you here if I didn’t,” he says simply.

It’s not a cheap line. It’s not a joke.

It was the truth.

You reach up to touch him first, brushing your fingers along the side of his beard and he leans into the touch like it surprises him, like he needed it.

He surges forward first, though.

And when he kisses you, it’s slow. 

Not pushy or rushed, allowing himself the time to savor it. 

You can sense he doesn’t allow this closeness often.

Or, maybe he does and he’s just that good.

You don’t know who Joel is—not really.

But you feel safe with him in a way you never have with anyone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

–

He’s oddly shy about it, the way he kisses you.

He only touches you after you’ve curled your hand into the front of his shirt, quick presses of his lips that don’t extend beyond anything closed mouth, even as you tease your tongue along the seam of his lips.

There’s uncertainty to his movements, even as his hand curls around the side of your face, he’s still hesitant that he’s doing too much, pushing you too far. You slip your finger under the fabric of his button-up and shove it down his shoulders, leaving him in the thinner, plain shirt that remained underneath as your guiding footsteps had led both of you toward the U-shaped couch in the main area of the hotel room.

His lips move against yours with a tentative rhythm, and you can tell he’s holding back, trying to be respectful of your boundaries. But the way he holds you close, anchoring you against him as his hands move to your waist—he wants more. 

You pull away just enough to catch his eye, searching for that flicker of acknowledgment as he blinks, his eyes following the line of your lips, to your nose, and eventually landing on your eyes.

“Joel,” you whisper, feeling bold but still achingly shy. 

He watches you, his gaze dark and focused.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to really kiss me,” you explain with an ire of nervousness, “like, really—”

It’s a simple request, but the way you ask it makes something in his chest tighten with desire, as if it wasn’t already boiling over.

Joel leans into you, capturing your lips with a fervor that ignites the air between you. You gasp short, quick, swallowed down by his mouth. 

This kiss is deeper, more urgent, and the hesitation he once carried is replaced by a raw intensity that sends a shiver down your spine as he falls into the couch, moving together like one cohesive piece as you split yourself over his lap.

His hands slide down from your waist to the small of your back, a finger hooking into the loop of your jeans to tug you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His other hand fits under your chin, his thumb cradling one side of your jaw while his fingers caress the others, resting perfectly in the weight of his palm as you kiss him soundly, tasting the whiskey on his breath as your tongue slips into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He breathes, stuttered and disjointed as your hands weave into his hair and tug his head back, his hands flattening out over your ass as you grind down against his lap, “where the hell’ve you been?”

“I’m right here,” you answer easily, a giggle to your tone as you tilt your head down to lick from the base of his neck up to his jaw, savoring the low groan that spills from his throat amongst the salty taste of his skin.

“I meant before,” Joel clarifies, “I just—I ain’t never met anyone like you,”

You pull away briefly, tilting your head endearingly as you look at him and his blown pupils, dilation as they set their sights on you, “I’m not special,” you joke with him, “don’t get your hopes up,”

But, you were. 

Joel has spent a lot of his life trying to find peace, love—two failed marriages and he eventually gave up on the idea entirely, even barring himself from hotel room hookups like this.

This wasn’t his normal. He didn’t do this.

There wasn’t anyone in the world that could give him the modicum generosity and carelessness about him that you had—it reminded him of growing up, trying to make a name for himself.

He still had agency and privacy—he feels it in this moment, no watchful eyes to follow his every move and you can see the gears in his head moving, unable to explain what he means without dispelling this quiet connection with you.

You kiss him instead—once on the lips, to his chin, down his neck, until you were sliding out of his lap and to the floor without a word and Joel pushed himself up, his hand slipping around the back of your neck with a shake of his head.

“Just relax,” you urge him.

Your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin as you tug it up. Joel allows you to pull the shirt off completely, revealing more of him.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him—broad shoulders, neatly trimmed hair that spread over his chest all salt and peppered, and again, just under his navel and the softness of his stomach speaking to his age.

“It’s unfair,” you mumble, more to yourself, inching forward to press a soft kiss just above his beltline. Joel’s hand tangles in your hair as he exhales sharply and you work at his belt.

“What is?” he wonders, watching as dexterous fingers undid his belt and worked efficiently at his jeans, curling around the denim to tug until they were at his knees, immediately leaning forward to mouth his cock through his briefs, your teeth dragging over the band as Joel hooks his thumbs and pulls down, his erection flopping proudly against his stomach.

“How hot you are,” you admit, frowning in a way that shouldn’t be so adorable, but Joel finds himself smiling at your honestly, “fuck—you are so b—”

“You’re inflating my ego, babygirl,” Joel interrupts,

“Are you gonna stop me?”

His silence is telling, keeping your eyes on him as you run your palm up the length of his cock, wrapping your fingers around the velvety sock skin, thumb brushing over the head as you squeeze and pull down to the base, his fingers curling over the back of the couch.

“I dunno if I can fit it all,” you admit, dragging your thumb down and over the thick vein that ran from the base of his shaft and up, stopping just below the head of his cock, feeling him pulse in your grip, “what do you think?”

“I think you can try,” Joel offers, his voice strained and he knows you hear it.

You giggle, “You alright?”

“You’re killin’ me here,” he confesses, “pretty girl with her hands on me, dangerous combination,”

And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth yet—how flattering.

He watches as you slip your tongue out to drag along the head of his cock, moving along the slit and around, circling the sensitive flesh before you’re dragging your tongue down and up, making a theatrical show of wetting his cock with your mouth before you’re gathering enough spit in your mouth to push through your lips and over him.

The head of his cock squeezed in your hand, his stomach tight with anticipation, you spread your saliva around him before taking him into your mouth without warning.

You take him deep, inch by inch, right to the base, feeling the way he fills your mouth as his hips instinctively jerk up to meet your movements. There’s a distinct urge to gag but you settle yourself, breathing slowly through your nose until you feel the confidence of his hand as it rests against the back of your head.

“Goddamn,” he groans, voice rough as he watches you, encouraging, “That’s it,”

When you pull away, it was with a quick breath, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him before taking him again, and again, head bobbing from base to tip until Joel had become less restrained in his touches and was beginning to guide you to the gentle rock of his hips, watching the collective drool that dripped from your chin as he wiped it away with his fingers before gently guiding your mouth off of him, moving away obediently but confused until he pushed his fingers into your mouth without a word.

You instinctively sucked on his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as Joel watched with a darkened desire.

“You were makin’ a mess,” Joel notes, admiring you with awe as you nodded to his words.

When you pull away you use the back of your hand to wipe at your face, slightly breathless as your mouth drags toward his cock again, but his hand finds your face again, this time pressing gently against your throat as you move backward, your hands falling back against the table behind you.

“Get on the bed,” he directs and the timbre to his voice is enough to make you cry.

You don’t hesitate, quickly rising to your feet and twisting on your heels as you hear the fabric of his pants shift, belt jingling a few feet away as he settles them back over his hip despite his persistent erection—too eager to have his turn of torture with you, immediately on you the second your ass hits the sheets of his bed in his suite, working at the button on your jeans as you yank your top over your head.

You squeal with a quiet delight as his tug of your jeans pulls your ass flush with his groin, your legs moving up near his shoulder as he focus intently on the task at hand, dragging your jeans off before tossing them away, spreading your leg instinctively to his other shoulder as he leans forward, fists pressing into the bed as the wet spot in your underwear pressed against the line of his cock, visible even through your black, sheer lace of the fabric.

“You’ll tell me what feels good,” Joel directs and you nod obediently, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip, pausing to your silence, “say it back to me,”

“I’ll tell you what feels good,” you assure him.

Joel leans back, his knee settling into the mattress as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips, tugging your panties up and off before tossing them in a similar direction as the jeans.

Time slows as his fingertips graze along your thighs, dancing along the inside with a teasing touch before he’s spreading your legs apart. He hovers just above your sensitive core, looking up at you briefly for a sign of acknowledgement as you not—it makes you squirm, the look of pure lust in his eyes, a completely different man than you had met the day before.

It felt like a whirlwind—but to Joel, that was his life.

You didn’t leave much time to dwell on it, unbeknownst to his proclivity for this type of lifestyle.

“Alright now” Joel murmurs, sound distracted as the heat of his breath brushed against your cunt, “M’gonna take care of you,”

When his mouth finally connects with you, it is kismet.

He didn’t need any guidance, really.

The moment his tongue flicks against your clit, you gasp, arching into him involuntarily.

He does it again, countless times, until you’re croaking out a weak, “Fingers,”

You needed the pressure, feeling his tongue circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves with an intent to make you come in record time, but he listens.

Two, slow, but together.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding, “now—now your mouth,”

He pumps his fingers in time with the movements of his tongue, suckling against your clit as he curls his fingers inside of you, deep, brushing against the sensitive spot inside of you.

You whimper at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as you hand searches for his thick curls, twisting into the strands as Joel chuckles, suckling harder at your clit until you could barely stand it.

You can feel the tension building in your core, mind-numbing, babbling out gentle noises that make no sense, legs shaking slightly as Joel drew you closer toward the edge,

“Joel,” you sigh with a high pitch, “I feel it—I’m so close,”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body so hard you nearly come then but just as the feelings crests, it fades. Joel pulls back slightly, teasingly slowing, feeling the sudden emptiness as he continues to pull away and you chase after him, quickly sitting up to reach for him.

“Not yet,” he soothes, burying his face into your neck as he mouths at the skin there, feeling you melt into his touch as he fits himself between your legs, mouthing down until his lips graze the center of your chest, a revenant care to each breasts as his tongue licks around your nipple before trading to the other, squeezing the opposite with an empty hand as you moan brokenly, arching up into his touch as he sucks on the skin in various places.

“I wanna feel you,” he speaks into your skin, lips trailing toward your belly button and back up, your eyes following him with a subtle excitement as a smile creeps onto your features, “around me,” he admits as he presses a kiss to your temple, shucking his jeans down haphazardly while he busies himself with the distraction of your giddiness, nodding to his words, “can I?”

“What?” you ask dumbly, your eyes following him as he tilts his head at you expectantly.

“Can I feel you?” he asks with an even sweeter tone,

“Such a gentleman,” you mock, grazing your fingers over his cheek as the filter into the curls at his forehead, pushing them back.

“Fine,” he sighs in mock defeat, “can I fuck you?”

You nod as your bottom lip pulls between your teeth and Joel matches your eagerness with a swift kick of his leg, the fabric confining him disappearing in an instant, but then there’s a pause.

He’d really gotten ahead of himself.

So ahead he hadn’t even considered—

You can see the thought forming in his head, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this without ruining the mood—”

“Just say it,” you tell him, increasingly concerned.

“I shouldn’t assume…anything,” he begins, “seein’ as we only just met yesterday, but uh, I’m—”

“Clean?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, “but I’m also y’know…sterile,”

The word lingers and Joel fears he may have killed the mood entirely, watching your face go from concerned to confused before you can’t help but grin and then he realizes he’s in the clear.

“That is the hottest thing you could’ve said right now,” you tell him, fingers dragging down his chest and along his side until your blunt fingernails are digging into the skin and pulling him close, “now, seriously—get inside of me,”

He leans down, capturing your lips again in a slow kiss, swallowing your soft moans as he pushes against you. His cock nudges at your entrance, brushes through slick folds—every nerve-ending in your body ready to explode.

“I’m glad I met you,” he mumbles against your mouth, and when you giggle at his admission, he sinks into you slowly, a gasp cutting you short. 

The sensation is indescribable, familiar, but different; you're filled with warmth and pressure as he stretches you around him, adjusting to his size with a gentle rock of his hips as a hand tucks under one of your thighs and pulls up, immediately adjusting the angle to something more intense than you’re anticipating. 

You gasp again, the sound mixing with the gentle creak of the bed as he presses deeper, giving you time to adapt to him as he lifts his head, catching sight of your pleasure-struck face.

“Jesus,” he breathes, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he watches you take him in, inch by inch. “—you alright?”

You offer a soft hum and a nod of your head as your mouth opens in a breathless sigh as Joel gradually picks up the pace of his hips, his hands smoothing away the hair on either side of your face, elbows barricading you in as your moans mingle together, lips brushing briefly as he bows his head.

“Just like that,” you encourage softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as one of his hands finds purchase on your hip again while the other grips the edge of the bed above your head for leverage, “fuck—just—”

“Yeah?” His voice is sweet, but taunting—he’s so attentive to your body, grunting when your walls clench down around him, how your breath picks up as the sensation in your gut begins to coil again, “Touch yourself for me,”

There was no hesitation, slipping your hand between your sweaty bodies to rub your fingers insistently over your swollen clit, overwhelmed with sensation of relief in the corners of your subconscious as Joel rises up, his broad shoulders widening with every breath.

You can see the way his cock disappears inside of you, his own eyes stuck on the sight.

Joel's gaze is locked on the way your fingers move between your legs, urgency creeping into the rhythm of his thrusts as he feels you approaching the edge, matching his intensity as best you could.

The warmth of your cunt enveloping him is intoxicating, and the sight of you lost in pleasure stirs something deep inside of him, hand fisting the sheet above your head as your eyes fell shut, mouth hung open in a desperate breath.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whisper, the warmth of his voice keep you afloat, then slowly, his thumb brushes against your cheek, gently urging you back to reality, “Come for me?”

He wasn’t demanding—it was a plea.

You whimper at his words, nodding urgently, the heat pooling in your core tightening as you continue to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. “Joel,” you breathe out, his name a warning of the impending end as you clenched around him when a moan slipped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he nods encouragingly, rocking his hips through his own orgasm with a deafening grunt, his hands squeezing tight over your thighs as his thrusts stutter to a slower pace as your orgasm crashes into you all at once, “there you go, baby,”

When you come down, it was under the guide of careful touches and a soothing voice that invaded your space, pressed against your skin, gasping as you felt the loss of Joel as he pulled out of you but didn’t move just yet, still hovering above until you looked at him, his expectant eyes crinkling at the corners as you couldn’t hold back the soft smile that crept onto your face.

“There she is,” he remarks, “still with me?”

You giggle, nodding confidently, “Yeah—m’right here,”

–

He doesn’t force you out either, not you expected it.

“Why me?” you ask quietly, having spent ample time enjoying his lavish hotel shower with his leisurely touches, now held hostage under the sheets though completely at your own will.

“Whaddya mean?” 

“I’m just curious what I did,” you shrug slightly, “why am I different?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I looked at you and I saw somethin’ real—you were terrified, but it didn’t seem to stop you. I’m not used to people treatin’ me like you do.”

“Like a person?” you ask with a slightly chuckle, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” he answers candidly, “you’re gonna stick with it, aren’t you? Playing?”

“If I can scrounge up enough money to afford one, yeah,” you assure him.

Joel chews at the inside of his bottom lip as he watches you, eyes drifting shut from where you rested against his arm, lulled into sleep by the matching rhythm of your shared breaths. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to let you go come morning.

–

You wake up to a cold bed, but it isn’t empty.

You yawn wide, stretching out the ache of sleep as your fingers drift against a piece of paper and a metal tray in the spot where Joel had been the night prior, blinking away the bleariness.

Sorry for leaving without a goodbye, I wish I could have stayed. The room is booked out until noon and I ordered you breakfast before I left. 

There’s an arrow pointing toward the right, prompting you to flip the note over.

Rip this up after you save it into your phone.

It was a number, his number, you could only assume.

There’s some disappointment that lingers in your mind, sitting more upright as you pluck the cover from the tray to a plate full of fresh fruit and some other breakfast foods, a bottle of orange juice set off to the side of the tray.

You had no reason to hold any animosity toward him, staring at the ten digit number as you begun to nibble at the food on the tray, scrolling through your phone to find an unread message from your best friend, who by your own doing, hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks.

My date bailed on me tonight and he left me with the concert tickets. Come out with me? Please? I think it will help. Plus, it’s free.

You laugh weakly at the end of her message before you take a moment to think, slowly typing in Joel’s number to your contacts as you decide whether going out tonight was worth it or not.

You could stay in, wallow, and call Joel later that night in hopes he would pick up.

Or, you could give yourself a break and attempt to enjoy something outside of your comfort zone.

You send her a quick text to confirm and she responds immediately with a series of exclamation points and how she’d be at your place later that night to pick you up.

You slump against the bed, not quite ready to move. Joel’s lingering scent clings to the sheets, and you find yourself smiling, reliving the moments in your mind, still fresh.

This was ridiculous—and he was still so much of a mystery.

Maybe it was better that way, left in the dark.

When your best friend arrives later that night, her excitement is infectious but overwhelming. “You look amazing!” she squeals, pulling you into a tight hug, “We’re gonna have fun, I swear.”

You force a smile that she notices, but doesn’t comment on.

The venue isn’t small like you’re expecting—it was huge, four times the size of a normal crowd at the bar during local performances by less known bands.

“Who’s playing?” you ask curiously as you filtered into the stadium, finding some extra luck at an empty barricade spot as you squeezed into the crowd.

“Uh, the Miller Brothers?” she responds, sounding unsure.

“That’s…a name,” you respond with a quiet laugh that she matches with similar amusement.

“I don’t know, the dude was singing their praises but he did flake on me, so,” she shrugs, “if anything, we can get a laugh out of this,”

The lights dimmed as the crowd began to quiet and you both focused in, hearing the sound of footsteps as they approached the stage but unable to make out anything in the dark. The steady beat of a drum comes first, then the powerful cord of a guitar before a deep, rich voice filtered through the microphone and the energy in the room shifted on a dime as the crowd erupted into cheers. 

The roar of excitement washed over you, igniting an unexpected thrill within your chest that you hadn’t felt in ages, the anticipation of the unknown. 

Then you saw him under the stage lights.

Joel.

Your hand clasped over your mouth immediately, your friend immediately catching notice as she looked at you with confusion, “Don’t fucking pass out on me,” she jokes, but you feel her hand at your back, holding you steady.

“No—” he hadn’t noticed you yet—but how could he? 

“What?” she asked with a twinge of irritation, “God, girl, spit it out,”

“Nothing,” you quickly regain your composure, “I’m—sorry, he’s just…cute,”

She grins, shrugging.

“I’m guessing that one is his brother,” she pointed to the guy on Joel’s left, also strumming a guitar but his hair was dark and pulled back, he appeared younger—and really, they must be related, “I don’t know, I think he’s cuter,”

The name was genuine.

Definitely brothers, those two.

And this could not be happening.

Halfway through the chorus, stuck in a daze as you watched Joel perform like an entirely different being, a powerhouse of vocals as his eyes drifted close and you watched him sing.

It was mesmerizing.

But, then he spots you.

Joel’s song stuttered for the briefest of seconds, a flicker of surprise breaking through his otherwise confident demeanor, like a crack in his persona. You barely recognized him like this.

A smile bloomed across his face, an emotion that seemed normal to the crowd but was all for you, his eyes drawn to your face for the briefest of moments as everything seemed to fade away.

You were barely listening to the music, the beat like a distant hum in your eardrums.

It was surreal watching him transform from the man who had kissed you tenderly, explored your body with a careful passion, to this dynamic figure commanding the stage. He was soft-spoken in private, awkward enough that it was endearing, always searching for your approval.

The screams began to creep back in, all for him, and he quickly switched back into character.

By the end of the show, most of the crowd had filtered out and your friend has snuck away to the bathroom as you waited for her, hopelessly searching for any sign of Joel even though you knew it was slim that he would show, holding out on the fact you had his number.

You had too many questions to ask him.

“Did you know?” The voice comes a few minutes later as you lose focus, the arena mostly empty as Joel waved away a few fans he had just signed an autograph to with a smile, your head whipping around at the sound.

“Huh?” you answer initially, eventually realizing it was him, “No? God, no. I didn’t,”

Joel’s silence lingers, but his smile is wide as he approaches with slow steps, fingers curling around the barricade as he keeps watchful eyes, his security lingering around him carefully.

“Should you be out here?” you ask, “Talking to me?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, “but, I’ve broken a lot of rules for you,”

“Like…giving me your number?” 

He nods, his teeth showing slightly as he grins.

“My friend invited me out,” you explain hastily, “we didn’t—I had no idea—you’re…”

“I should’ve told you,” Joel decides, “I just…appreciate that fact you didn’t have a clue who I was,”

You shrug, offering an endearing smile that tears right through him, his expression softening.

“I still don’t,” you tell him, “but I’d like to know you—not that you, but the Joel I met at the guitar shop and you gave me your number, so something tells me you already know that,”

“You’re so goddamn good at that,” Joel admits, “seein’ right through me,”

“Are you gonna answer my call?” you ask, eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, letting out a soft grunt as you tug him forward, pressing a quick but gentle kiss against his lips that has his hands filtering into your hair as they curl around the back of your head and neck.

To the outside, you probably look like a crazed fan with too big ambitions.

But, you knew that wasn’t true, so you didn’t care.

“I will hunt you down,” you warn him playfully, “Joel Miller,”

Joel smirks, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here,” he teases,

–

Joel was the reason you returned to the guitar shop, as much as you hated to admit it.

“Just go in, take another look,” he’d urged over the phone.

You had, without a single idea what you were doing.

When your name is called out from the front desk, you answer with a hesitant noise of acknowledgement.

“Got somethin’ for you,” the owner said, bringing the familiar acoustic you had your eyes on the week prior above the counter, all black and gold trim, “been holdin’ it for a couple days,”

You shake your head, approaching hesitantly, “There must be a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Paid for by Joel Miller,” he clarifies, “has your name on it, it's yours,”

You didn’t attempt to argue, despite the guilt that wound itself around your heart.

When you finally arrived home, the case sitting open on your bed with the guitar inside, you snap a picture and send it to Joel, unknowing of when he would get back to you with how busy he was, texting you sparsely when he could.

You’re a dead man.

You had sent the picture alongside it.

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle when he finally had the chance to look at his phone the following night, resting on the cramped bed of his tour bus, thumbing back a quick message.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

[pedgito]

I’ll be honest kitten. Daddy is having you put down

[pedgito]

reminder that we are all going to die. write that controversial smut

[pedgito]

harry castillo | Materialists (2025)

[pedgito]

oh my god thank you for reading 😭 this mini series is my literal baby, i love her. i’m so glad you liked it!!

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

↝ series masterlist | masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

 It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue. 

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds. 

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know. 

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment. 

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would? 

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses.  You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings. 

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long. 

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night. 

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived. 

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade. 

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist. 

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

-

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky. 

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible. 

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell. 

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that. 

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected. 

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders. 

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval. 

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations. 

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease. 

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him. 

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does. 

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following. 

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head. 

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down. 

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away. 

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind. 

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes. 

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty. 

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin. 

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident.  Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening. 

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable. 

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

[pedgito]

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PEDRO PASCAL as Joel Miller THE LAST OF US | The Price

[pedgito]

i’m glad you enjoyed!! thank you for reading 🤍

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | By chance, you meet Joel Miller in a guitar shop.

author's note | this is filling my indulgence in seeing joel pursue his singing career and a lot softer than most things i write. this is also mostly unbeta'd, but edited with love <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, singer!joel, strangers to lovers, ambiguous age gap, joel's famous and reader has no clue, guitar lessons, vague reader backstory, drinking, lavish hotel rooms, smut with an endearing and out of practice joel, sloppy oral (m & f receiving), a hint of orgasm denial, unprotected piv, some tags omitted for spoilers!

word count — 9.7k

Joel Miller was back in town.

There’s a familiarity in the peckish winds, the air smelling of rain that dared to fall. With there being an outside venue for his shows, they were watching the weather carefully.

But, Joel had a couple days entirely to himself, free to roam with the company of his closest confidant—bodyguard, friend—who watched his back at every turn, dressed in plain clothes to look less conspicuous. 

He’d already had his hat and glasses on before he left the plane—it wasn’t that Joel had a hard time looking normal anymore, but his face was increasingly recognizable, especially in Texas.

He’d sold out his two-night show in Austin in under ten minutes, forty minutes faster than any other city, so he was trying to play things safely without having to be cooped up in his hotel room.

Luckily, he strikes out on any instances where a fan recognizes him—aside from the occasional too long stare that makes him walk a bit faster under the suggestion of his bodyguard.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he discovers a line of shops on the strip, the sight of guitars lining the walls inside pulling his attention up to the illuminated neon sign.

Strings Attached, the sign read in a bright red, outlined with a thinner orange cord.

“Worth checkin’ out,” Joel decides, and his security gives him a weary look.

“C’mon, Ben,” Joel throws his hands out, voice slightly hushed, “wouldn’t be a real stop if I didn’t pick up at least one guitar, would it?”

“You’ve got a problem,” Ben, his bodyguard, jokes, but he points toward the lone man inside, “lemme talk to the owner, let ‘em know you’re comin’ through so he can at least shut the shop down so you can look,”

“We don’t have to,” Joel begins but Ben’s face falls flat, knowing how quickly things could get out of control if he didn’t take the proper precautions, “alright—fine,”

Joel browses quietly as the shop owner talks to Ben, his face going from neutral to sudden interest, peering over the shoulder of Joel’s stalky security man before a hand is being thrown up to block his view, “I can pay a couple hundred for you to close so he can browse in peace,” he barters, “fair enough?”

The owner shrugs and extends his hand as Ben trades over the cash before the owner heads toward the front to flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but not before you’re slipping inside the shop without a care, the bell jingling overhead.

Joel’s hand is pressing into Ben’s chest before he can surge toward you, remaining flippant to the situation at hand as you turn your back to the men and browse the selection of records in the corner of the shop.

“Don’t,” he warns, “it’ll be more of a mess if you kick her out, I can handle one fan,”

Ben sags reluctantly before he busies himself too, remaining closer to the entrance as the owner flips the sign, much to the dismay of a few potential customers who sound audibly disappointed before they keep walking.

You had no idea what you were looking for.

Joel watched as you squinted, running your finger along the line of electric guitars on the wall before pulling your thumb between your teeth, browsing the stock as you gradually made your way toward the acoustic guitars.

Your therapist had suggested an outlet, distraction, something challenging to keep you mind busy. She had originally suggested knitting or painting, something minimal. 

It sounded mind-numbing. You needed more.

But, your musical ability was rather….non-existent. 

Still, you were attempting to challenge yourself.

You could teach yourself how to play guitar, surely.

You smile at him politely and Joel anticipates the following:

Eyes up, a smile, a look that lingers too long before the realization hits you, now that his sunglasses sat on the brim of his hat and then a gasp as you recognize him, a touch, and suddenly Ben would swoop in like a mother hen to protect his young, even though Joel had about twenty years on him.

Instead, you smile and move aside politely to let him through.

Joel feels like an asshole for thinking it, but it was jarring to not be bombarded with attention.

It was almost like a reflex.

Joel was perplexed now, watching you in the same way a crazed fan would. He’s curious, noticing how lost you look and he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself, praying you wouldn’t recognize his voice if his disguise was doing the trick.

“Martin is your best bet,” Joel suggests and you look at him, brow drawn together like he was speaking a foreign language,

“Excuse me?” you ask, watching as the mystery man pointed toward the lightly colored acoustic guitar in front of you until his finger brushed along the headstock, inviting you to peer in on the name etched into the wood, “Oh—yeah, sorry, I shoulda—”

“You’re clueless, aren’t you?” He asks, a hint of smile under the thickness of his mustache and beard, a natural and deep warmth that envelopes his tone.

Clueless to guitars and him, apparently.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask curiously, “I kinda like those,” you pointed at the glossier and thinner electric guitars, assuming they were all one in the same, “but they’re a little pricier,”

Joel relaxes slightly, getting past the obstacle of speaking when he realizes you wave him off dismissively, though he didn’t mind lending a helping hand, your hands clasped at your front as you examined the price of the guitars and wince.

“Well, electric is usually gonna cost you more than an acoustic would,” he explains, “most ‘f the time, anyways—you come here with anything in mind?”

You clear your throat and feel the heat creep up your neck before you bow your head and shake it in response, “I’ve never—uh, see—my therapist suggested I find a hobby. I’ve always wanted to learn an instrument. It seemed like a good idea, but now I’m feeling—”

You weren’t sure why you were rambling to a stranger, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Overwhelmed?” He answers for you.

You nod.

“Are you some kind of collector?” you ask, genuinely curious at his extent of knowledge.

“Sorta,” he laughs, “I can suggest a few if you’d like?”

You seem eager, receptive to his offer, so he waves you over and points out a couple guitars that he’s fond of, price in mind, “You can’t go wrong with any of ‘em, really,”

He catches the way your eyes drag toward one higher on the wall, stained black wood with gold accents, you hum softly as you examine the body.

You’ve got good taste, he thinks.

“I doubt I’ll grab anything today,” you admit, “I don’t even know how to play,”

Joel looks over at Ben who gives him a subtle head shake as he listens in on the conversation and Joel can only smirk—he loves giving him a hard time, especially going against suggestions.

“I can teach you a cord or two,” he offers.

You look at him confused, tempted, but hesitant.

“Joel,” offers casually, extending his hand as you accept it with a gentle touch.

You give him your name with a polite smile as you take his offer despite the weird anxiety that had built in your chest, watching as Joel plucked a guitar off the wall without a care before holding it up to the shop owner.

“Just gonna give ‘er a test run,” he tells him before nodding for you to follow him to the small alcove in the shop that was covered in red velvet, plush seats with a circular table in the center.

His nature was commandeering, assertive, and overtly mysterious.

You brush it off with a quiet laugh as the man who lingered close to him began to back off.

“He’s pretty protective,” you note as Joel looks over once he’s taken a seat across from you, settling the guitar into his lap, “should you be doing this?”

“He’s a buddy of mine,” Joel explains haphazardly, “he’s….harmless,”

His muscle and height told you otherwise, but you trusted Joel’s words.

His fingers settle over the cords in a manner that seems practiced, learned, clearly comfortable around the instrument as he leans into it, caressing it in a way.

It was something sacred, you realized.

He strummed lightly, playing a quick melody that had you instantly intrigued.

But, then he stops abruptly. 

He looks at you briefly before patting the side of the body, “You ever held one?”

“No—not at all,” you admit, “I’m telling you, I’ve never even been in a music shop before,”

He smiled at your admission, a deep, slow grin that tugged the corners of his mouth and softened his already kind features.

It made you more nervous than you already were.

“C’mere,” he said, adjusting the guitar in his lap before motioning for you to sit beside him as he moved further down the bench, “You’ll learn faster if you feel it in your hands.”

You hesitated, briefly. A shared glance that offered a rawness you’ve never seen before.

Joel’s never found himself in a situation like this, not since his career had picked up.

It gives him a small sense of normalcy.

Eventually, you slid onto the plush velvet seat next to him, knees barely grazing.

The guitar passed between you like some kind of unspoken offering, his fingers brushing yours as he helped settle it into your lap, adjusting it to his liking.

“Rest it here,” he directed, tapping the inside of your thigh where the base should sit and you flinch at the touch slightly, feeling your heart race as he continues to speak, “Angle the neck up, nah, not too steep—riiiiight—there you go.”

He cracks a wider smile once you’ve settled, your expression expectant as you stared at him wide-eyed.

Your fingers hovered awkwardly over the strings, surprised by the weight of the guitar as it pressed into your legs.

Joel reached across, carefully adjusting your grip with gentle touches to your wrist and knuckles, like he was building something precarious, “You gotta relax your fingers—I know it feels awkward but the quicker you learn to relax the easier it’ll be,”

You try, but Joel notices the slight quiver in your fingers and clicks his tongue.

“You’re fightin’ it,” He chuckles, “just breath, stretch ‘em out and relax,”

You close your eyes and take a deep, slow breath as you wiggle your fingers slightly before you attempt to relax again, only catching the end of Joel’s curious gaze as it lingers before he points toward the fretboard and presses into the cords where he wants you to place your fingers.

“Let’s start on a G cord,” Joel suggests, positioning your fingers appropriately, but it feels uncomfortable, the grimace apparent in your expression.

He reached again, guiding your fingers to the right spots.

It wasn’t easy — your hand was cramped. Joel had done this for years, his hands had become familiar with the instrument whereas yours didn’t have a clue. 

You take another breath and attempt to focus, reposition our fingers in the way he had guided them just a few moments prior.

“Like this?” you asked, looking down at your awkward grip.

Joel nods in response, but there’s some amusement lingering in your obvious discomfort with holding the instrument, “Alright, now give it a strum,” he orders, clasping his hands together at the center of his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs.

His eyes are unreadable under the brim of his hat, but the subtle lilt of a smile is reassuring, strumming lightly once, and then again, wincing at how odd it sounded, your fingers wavering on the strings.

“That sounded awful,” you laughed lightly, letting the guitar slump in your grip.

Joel laughs in response—though it wasn’t at you or anything in particular, he appreciated the levity to this interaction, “It takes time,” Joel admits, “I can’t tell you how long it took me to start strummin’ out something that made sense,”

“Did you teach yourself?” you ask curiously,

Joel nods, honest, “Since I was a kid—it ain’t easy, but it’s doable,”

You pause, absorbing his words before you chew at your bottom lip in thought before fixing the guitar on your lap, moving your fingers over the fretboard with a more determined weight as you strum again, still feeling wholly unsure about the entire thing.

“Hey,” Joel assures, “you’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

You nod in agreement, though you weren’t sure how much you believed him.

He adjusts the brim of his hat, pulling it up carefully to balance the glasses but also pushes his deep, rich brown curls more suitably under the hat, tilting your head slightly as you watch him.

“If you play,” you begin, “do you sing?”

Joel freezes for a millisecond, his gut sinking before he meets your eyes.

It was clear there was nothing but curiosity in your question.

“Are you askin’ me to perform for you?” 

“You don’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve overstepped, that you’ve taken his kindness for granted.

“Hand it over,” he directs kindly, his fingers grazing yours as he pulls the guitar from your grip and twists it into his own, settling it into his lap like he has a million times before.

He was a stranger, completely unknown, but you watch as he lets the moment consume him.

Joel plays the tune to a rock song with a gentle chord progression, his voice an octave softer inside the walls of the store as he begins to sing to the strum of the guitar—there’s something in it, a song you recognize from your childhood that your dad played on repeat, a smile spreading across your face as Joel looks at you curiously, immediately becoming shy.

Joel played in front of millions, but this was daunting.

You were his only critic, completely unbiased.

He ends on the chorus and pats the body of the guitar gently with a satisfied smile as you laugh once in shock, mouth hung open, “You’re….really fucking good,” you admit and Joel ducks his head in embarrassment, almost bashful at your compliment.

He’s heard it plenty, but there’s a genuinity to your expression that tugs at something in his chest.

“Thank you,” he replies earnestly.

Suddenly, Ben was knocking on the wall beside your head and both of you turned to him.

“Joel, we gotta get movin’,” the man glances at his watch and emphasis his urgency with a nod of his head toward the door, “the car should be pullin’ up out back,”

“Shit, I’m sorry if I was holding you hostage,” you apologize, standing as you wipe your clammy hands against your jeans, watching as Joel set the guitar down gently against the wall,

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he assures Ben, who seems to get whatever message Joel was trying to convey and heads out past him—and Joel seems frozen, unsure.

He twists his hands together as you move to turn, suddenly asking, “So, you thinkin’ about pickin’ it up?” 

“I’m going to give it a couple days,” you shrug, “maybe if I had someone like you on retainer to teach me every day I’d feel more confident,”

Joel laughs at that, knowing it wasn’t feasible.

But, he isn’t sure why he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

“Hey, are you—” Joel knows it was a terrible idea, given the time constraint and his unwillingness to stray from his clearly defined schedule, but there was something about you and this that Joel couldn’t quite figure out, “what are you doing tomorrow night?”

You release a huff of air through your lips as you think, knowing well enough that you didn’t have plans on a Friday night, “Uh, nothing…yet. Why?”

Joel walks away for a moment, speaking to the owner of the store before he’s handing him a pen and paper and Joel begins to scribble something down hastily before folding it up and handing it over to you as he lifts his head, meeting the sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, ‘f you wanna swing by,” Joel explains.

Unsure, you still nod.

You had spent the entire morning racking up ideas on how to cope with the grief that had been consuming you, figuring that buying a fucking instrument would somehow heal the hole that had grown in your chest—but, maybe all you needed was to put yourself out there. Connect.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply wearily and Joel smiles again, “I’ll try,”

He’s gone before you can even recount or realize what had just happened, staring down at the guitar he had just played on with a dumbfounded look before you breeze toward the entrance as the owner was slipping back behind the counter.

You glance down at the note again after stepping outside, squinting at the barely legible handwriting as your thumb drifted over the ink.

Just an address.

Back gate. Ask for Ben. Tell them your name and I’ll handle the rest.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked into a guitar shop looking for a distraction, but it wasn’t him.

There was something about him—rough around the edges but easy, comforting.

He was clearly knowledgeable, wiser than you, but wasn’t looking to impress anyone with it. 

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t overstep. He only handed you a guitar, offered to teach you a cord, and had the smallest ounce of belief in you that you hadn’t experienced in, well, ever.

You’ve never met a man like that.

And truthfully, he’d never met a woman like you.

–

The address leads you to a street corner not far from downtown.

You don’t recognize the bar, something that has continuously slipped under your radar, a tucked-away spot with dark windows and a heavy wooden door—it unsettled you.

The front entrance is roped off with a couple bouncers stationed at the door, but you remember Joel’s note and slip around the back where a separate door sits under a flickering porch light.

A tall guy leans against the brick wall, arms crossed as he flicks through his phone, eyes dragging up to attention when he catches sight of you.

“Joel told me to ask for Ben?” you ask, more of a guess—would he even know who Joel was?

He tilts his chin in response. “Name?”

You give it, and he types out something on his phone, a few minutes passing as he exchanges messages before releasing a grunt of satisfaction along with a nod as he opens the door and motions you inside.

You’re met with the same burly man from the day before, his face stoic but welcoming.

“Joel’s inside,” Ben tells you, “Ain’t sure where but he sticks out like a sore thumb, so,”

Somehow, you found that impossible.

It’s dim and warm, blanketed in low lighting. You hear laughter first, then music coming from overhead speakers, a curated playlist of classic rock songs mixed in with occasional country.

There’s a small crowd—just enough to fill the room comfortably. They don’t pay you any attention, engrossed in their own conversation as you search out the man of the night.

You expect to feel out of place, nervous, but there’s something about the looming energy that eases your anxiety as you turn your head, searching out a man in a cap and cool-toned clothes.

But, then you see him.

Joel.

No hat. No sunglasses. Hair pushed back, curls loose. The same chocolate brown curls but untamed, curling around his ear and tickling his neck. He’s mid-conversation and laughing with the bartender, nursing a beer in his hand as he chats with a man who seems to be of a similar age as you, right on the cusp of entering your thirties.

You hesitate, only for a moment.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but your stomach flutters all the same.

You didn’t even know him. Why were you nervous?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you weave through the crowd that dances effortlessly around you. By chance, he throws his head back in laughter before turning away and his eyes open just as you slip beyond the crowd of people and he spots you.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice cuts through the noise, his face lighting up with recognition. He pushes away from the bar, his demeanor shifting to something softer as the surprise in his expression melts into a welcoming smile. “You came,”

“I did,” you reply, not quite believing that you’re here, standing in front of him in a place filled with true strangers, yet somehow you felt like you’ve known him for years, like greeting an old friend.

“Do you want a beer?” he asks, his hand resting at the center of your back as he guides you toward the bartop.

“Sure,” you decide haphazardly.

The bartender saunters over, and Joel orders another beer before turning back to you, his eyes wide and honest. “So, how’s the guitar hunting going?”

You consider for a moment, biting your lip. “I haven’t bought one yet.”

You had spent hours the night prior watching tutorials and searching sites for something even remotely affordable, but it seemed unattainable—maybe knitting was your calling.

“Can I ask you something…kinda forward?” You were holding onto the small sliver of boldness that was left in your body, turning in the seat where his hand rests against the backrest. 

Joel clears his throat as he swallows the sip of beer down and nods, jaw set.

Here it comes.

“Why did you invite me out?” you ask, his worry suddenly washing away, “Don’t—don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a very sweet man…”

“Call it a feeling,” Joel shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“Oh,” you cringe with a smile, “that is…so cheesy,”

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I find it hard to have genuine conversation anymore,” Joel admits, “yesterday—it reminded me how much I miss that and you’re beautiful, seemed like a no-brainer,”

“You’re laying it on thick,” you tease him, taking a gingerly sip from the beer.

“I don’t get time like this often,” Joel tells you and something in your heart flutters, curious why he would be wasting his time on this—or you, “can you tell me about yourself?”

You blink, dumb-founded at his honesty. But, instead of hiding, you open up.

What did you have to lose?

You tell him about your job, knowing how mundane it all sounded. 

To him, it was refreshing.

You tell him about the apartment you just moved into and how your therapist said you needed a distraction that felt like something you could pursue long term, dismissive of why you were in therapy, but Joel didn’t pry. You mention the guitar again, the fleeting moment at the shop. Admitting how taken aback you were by his willingness to help, his instinct for kindness. 

You don’t know how it happens, exactly—how you drifted from being seated to standing too close, how his arm ends up slung lazily around your waist, palm pressing hot at the center of your back, like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

His beer turns into whiskey and you watch him drink down the liquor with a nonchalant face, twirling a toothpick on the counter as you settle into a comfortable silence despite the roar of the bar, feeling him squeeze you in a little closer when someone visits the bar.

The warmth radiating from Joel's body against yours was like the comfort of fire in a snowstorm.

“Do you play often?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the nerves that had settled from his touch against your skin, his hand having moved from over your top to under, a gradual progression that felt natural.

“Enough,” he admitted with a slight smile, “probably too much, but I love it, it grounds me,” His gaze flickered to yours, sincere and deep. “Kinda like this,”

“Are you flirting with me?” your face felt hot, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

“I’m a little rusty,” Joel excuses, “am I doin’ a bad job?”

“You’re doing fine,” you reply softly, your heart racing as you meet his gaze, feeling emboldened by his honesty.

Joel’s eyes glint with mischief at your admission, and he leans slightly closer as the noise grows and he can sense the overwhelming presence as you look down and close your eyes, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks to you, “Should we get outta here?”

You nod earnestly, “It’s…a little too much for me,” and Joel nods, snapping at someone over your head, your instincts knowing exactly who without looking before Ben is peeking into your peripheral as Joel whispers into his ear.

He exchanges a tense look with Joel but Joel stares right back, leaving little room for any argument before Joel is beckoning for you to move aside so he can stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “He’s gettin’ my car—I’ve got a place downtown we can go to,”

Your eyes linger on him in silent question.

“I’m only in for the weekend,” Joel admits, “but it’s quiet, private,”

You nod to his admission and feel his hand slip into yours before he’s pulling you gently through the crowd.

What the hell were you doing?

–

Even as you entered the towering hotel, you still didn’t know how to react.

The elevator ride that followed was quiet.

Not awkward, not tense.

But, you could feel his eyes on you.

Joel stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, close enough that you could feel the heat from his arm, but he didn’t touch you again. Not until the elevator gave a jarring ding and the doors slid open to the top floor, revealing a hallway that didn’t look anything like the rest of the hotel. 

It was private. Too nice.

Expensive.

The kind of suite people like you didn’t usually get to see.

Suddenly, you were curious about how this was all attainable.

He held the door for you like a gentleman, expecting nothing less, and kept quiet as you stepped inside.

The sight of it is too much.

The room was stupidly nice. Open floor plan, warm wood floors, a gentle lighting amongst the night sky and a massive window framing the Austin skyline like a painting. You didn’t know whether to sit down or stand, too afraid to leave a smudge anywhere.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, quiet.

“It’s not always like this,” Joel explains, suddenly feeling guilty.

You glance back at him. “Sometimes it is?”

He isn’t sure how to answer it, pausing for a brief moment as he looks down, playing with the keyring in his hands, “Yeah,” is all he offers.

You cross the room slowly toward him, slipping your shoes off before you step onto the rug.

“Do you always invite strangers back to places like this?”

Joel looks at you, examining your wondrous expression.

“No,” you know he’s telling the truth, his hand sliding across the counter beside him to drop the keys, watching as he split his fingers down the button-up he was wearing, feeling suffocated all of the sudden.

The air shifts slightly with the weight of his honesty and you cross your arms over your chest, casually examining your surroundings as you make your way toward him.

He must be a CEO or someone that came from money—he was well off, but generous. 

You weren’t going to pry, he didn’t owe you any truths. Still, he offered what he felt comfortable with. You nod to nothing as you take in the space and push closer until your hands are brushing at the front and Joel appears like more of a shy, younger version of himself.

He’s awkward, unaware of how to proceed.

He brought you here because he could sense your discomfort but was also unwilling to let you slip from his grasp too soon. Part of him was being selfish and he wasn’t sure why.

“You said you’re only in town for the weekend?”

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at his drink before taking a sip. “I’m headin’ out Sunday night,”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

Because somehow, even without the full picture, you got the impression that no—he didn’t do this often, he wasn’t sure how to navigate this, and he was just as nervous as you were. 

“Do you…” you begin, voice quieter now, “do you want me to stay?”

His eyes meet yours, and with a low tone that caresses you, he admits it.

“I wouldn’t’ve brought you here if I didn’t,” he says simply.

It’s not a cheap line. It’s not a joke.

It was the truth.

You reach up to touch him first, brushing your fingers along the side of his beard and he leans into the touch like it surprises him, like he needed it.

He surges forward first, though.

And when he kisses you, it’s slow. 

Not pushy or rushed, allowing himself the time to savor it. 

You can sense he doesn’t allow this closeness often.

Or, maybe he does and he’s just that good.

You don’t know who Joel is—not really.

But you feel safe with him in a way you never have with anyone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

–

He’s oddly shy about it, the way he kisses you.

He only touches you after you’ve curled your hand into the front of his shirt, quick presses of his lips that don’t extend beyond anything closed mouth, even as you tease your tongue along the seam of his lips.

There’s uncertainty to his movements, even as his hand curls around the side of your face, he’s still hesitant that he’s doing too much, pushing you too far. You slip your finger under the fabric of his button-up and shove it down his shoulders, leaving him in the thinner, plain shirt that remained underneath as your guiding footsteps had led both of you toward the U-shaped couch in the main area of the hotel room.

His lips move against yours with a tentative rhythm, and you can tell he’s holding back, trying to be respectful of your boundaries. But the way he holds you close, anchoring you against him as his hands move to your waist—he wants more. 

You pull away just enough to catch his eye, searching for that flicker of acknowledgment as he blinks, his eyes following the line of your lips, to your nose, and eventually landing on your eyes.

“Joel,” you whisper, feeling bold but still achingly shy. 

He watches you, his gaze dark and focused.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to really kiss me,” you explain with an ire of nervousness, “like, really—”

It’s a simple request, but the way you ask it makes something in his chest tighten with desire, as if it wasn’t already boiling over.

Joel leans into you, capturing your lips with a fervor that ignites the air between you. You gasp short, quick, swallowed down by his mouth. 

This kiss is deeper, more urgent, and the hesitation he once carried is replaced by a raw intensity that sends a shiver down your spine as he falls into the couch, moving together like one cohesive piece as you split yourself over his lap.

His hands slide down from your waist to the small of your back, a finger hooking into the loop of your jeans to tug you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His other hand fits under your chin, his thumb cradling one side of your jaw while his fingers caress the others, resting perfectly in the weight of his palm as you kiss him soundly, tasting the whiskey on his breath as your tongue slips into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He breathes, stuttered and disjointed as your hands weave into his hair and tug his head back, his hands flattening out over your ass as you grind down against his lap, “where the hell’ve you been?”

“I’m right here,” you answer easily, a giggle to your tone as you tilt your head down to lick from the base of his neck up to his jaw, savoring the low groan that spills from his throat amongst the salty taste of his skin.

“I meant before,” Joel clarifies, “I just—I ain’t never met anyone like you,”

You pull away briefly, tilting your head endearingly as you look at him and his blown pupils, dilation as they set their sights on you, “I’m not special,” you joke with him, “don’t get your hopes up,”

But, you were. 

Joel has spent a lot of his life trying to find peace, love—two failed marriages and he eventually gave up on the idea entirely, even barring himself from hotel room hookups like this.

This wasn’t his normal. He didn’t do this.

There wasn’t anyone in the world that could give him the modicum generosity and carelessness about him that you had—it reminded him of growing up, trying to make a name for himself.

He still had agency and privacy—he feels it in this moment, no watchful eyes to follow his every move and you can see the gears in his head moving, unable to explain what he means without dispelling this quiet connection with you.

You kiss him instead—once on the lips, to his chin, down his neck, until you were sliding out of his lap and to the floor without a word and Joel pushed himself up, his hand slipping around the back of your neck with a shake of his head.

“Just relax,” you urge him.

Your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin as you tug it up. Joel allows you to pull the shirt off completely, revealing more of him.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him—broad shoulders, neatly trimmed hair that spread over his chest all salt and peppered, and again, just under his navel and the softness of his stomach speaking to his age.

“It’s unfair,” you mumble, more to yourself, inching forward to press a soft kiss just above his beltline. Joel’s hand tangles in your hair as he exhales sharply and you work at his belt.

“What is?” he wonders, watching as dexterous fingers undid his belt and worked efficiently at his jeans, curling around the denim to tug until they were at his knees, immediately leaning forward to mouth his cock through his briefs, your teeth dragging over the band as Joel hooks his thumbs and pulls down, his erection flopping proudly against his stomach.

“How hot you are,” you admit, frowning in a way that shouldn’t be so adorable, but Joel finds himself smiling at your honestly, “fuck—you are so b—”

“You’re inflating my ego, babygirl,” Joel interrupts,

“Are you gonna stop me?”

His silence is telling, keeping your eyes on him as you run your palm up the length of his cock, wrapping your fingers around the velvety sock skin, thumb brushing over the head as you squeeze and pull down to the base, his fingers curling over the back of the couch.

“I dunno if I can fit it all,” you admit, dragging your thumb down and over the thick vein that ran from the base of his shaft and up, stopping just below the head of his cock, feeling him pulse in your grip, “what do you think?”

“I think you can try,” Joel offers, his voice strained and he knows you hear it.

You giggle, “You alright?”

“You’re killin’ me here,” he confesses, “pretty girl with her hands on me, dangerous combination,”

And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth yet—how flattering.

He watches as you slip your tongue out to drag along the head of his cock, moving along the slit and around, circling the sensitive flesh before you’re dragging your tongue down and up, making a theatrical show of wetting his cock with your mouth before you’re gathering enough spit in your mouth to push through your lips and over him.

The head of his cock squeezed in your hand, his stomach tight with anticipation, you spread your saliva around him before taking him into your mouth without warning.

You take him deep, inch by inch, right to the base, feeling the way he fills your mouth as his hips instinctively jerk up to meet your movements. There’s a distinct urge to gag but you settle yourself, breathing slowly through your nose until you feel the confidence of his hand as it rests against the back of your head.

“Goddamn,” he groans, voice rough as he watches you, encouraging, “That’s it,”

When you pull away, it was with a quick breath, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him before taking him again, and again, head bobbing from base to tip until Joel had become less restrained in his touches and was beginning to guide you to the gentle rock of his hips, watching the collective drool that dripped from your chin as he wiped it away with his fingers before gently guiding your mouth off of him, moving away obediently but confused until he pushed his fingers into your mouth without a word.

You instinctively sucked on his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as Joel watched with a darkened desire.

“You were makin’ a mess,” Joel notes, admiring you with awe as you nodded to his words.

When you pull away you use the back of your hand to wipe at your face, slightly breathless as your mouth drags toward his cock again, but his hand finds your face again, this time pressing gently against your throat as you move backward, your hands falling back against the table behind you.

“Get on the bed,” he directs and the timbre to his voice is enough to make you cry.

You don’t hesitate, quickly rising to your feet and twisting on your heels as you hear the fabric of his pants shift, belt jingling a few feet away as he settles them back over his hip despite his persistent erection—too eager to have his turn of torture with you, immediately on you the second your ass hits the sheets of his bed in his suite, working at the button on your jeans as you yank your top over your head.

You squeal with a quiet delight as his tug of your jeans pulls your ass flush with his groin, your legs moving up near his shoulder as he focus intently on the task at hand, dragging your jeans off before tossing them away, spreading your leg instinctively to his other shoulder as he leans forward, fists pressing into the bed as the wet spot in your underwear pressed against the line of his cock, visible even through your black, sheer lace of the fabric.

“You’ll tell me what feels good,” Joel directs and you nod obediently, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip, pausing to your silence, “say it back to me,”

“I’ll tell you what feels good,” you assure him.

Joel leans back, his knee settling into the mattress as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips, tugging your panties up and off before tossing them in a similar direction as the jeans.

Time slows as his fingertips graze along your thighs, dancing along the inside with a teasing touch before he’s spreading your legs apart. He hovers just above your sensitive core, looking up at you briefly for a sign of acknowledgement as you not—it makes you squirm, the look of pure lust in his eyes, a completely different man than you had met the day before.

It felt like a whirlwind—but to Joel, that was his life.

You didn’t leave much time to dwell on it, unbeknownst to his proclivity for this type of lifestyle.

“Alright now” Joel murmurs, sound distracted as the heat of his breath brushed against your cunt, “M’gonna take care of you,”

When his mouth finally connects with you, it is kismet.

He didn’t need any guidance, really.

The moment his tongue flicks against your clit, you gasp, arching into him involuntarily.

He does it again, countless times, until you’re croaking out a weak, “Fingers,”

You needed the pressure, feeling his tongue circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves with an intent to make you come in record time, but he listens.

Two, slow, but together.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding, “now—now your mouth,”

He pumps his fingers in time with the movements of his tongue, suckling against your clit as he curls his fingers inside of you, deep, brushing against the sensitive spot inside of you.

You whimper at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as you hand searches for his thick curls, twisting into the strands as Joel chuckles, suckling harder at your clit until you could barely stand it.

You can feel the tension building in your core, mind-numbing, babbling out gentle noises that make no sense, legs shaking slightly as Joel drew you closer toward the edge,

“Joel,” you sigh with a high pitch, “I feel it—I’m so close,”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body so hard you nearly come then but just as the feelings crests, it fades. Joel pulls back slightly, teasingly slowing, feeling the sudden emptiness as he continues to pull away and you chase after him, quickly sitting up to reach for him.

“Not yet,” he soothes, burying his face into your neck as he mouths at the skin there, feeling you melt into his touch as he fits himself between your legs, mouthing down until his lips graze the center of your chest, a revenant care to each breasts as his tongue licks around your nipple before trading to the other, squeezing the opposite with an empty hand as you moan brokenly, arching up into his touch as he sucks on the skin in various places.

“I wanna feel you,” he speaks into your skin, lips trailing toward your belly button and back up, your eyes following him with a subtle excitement as a smile creeps onto your features, “around me,” he admits as he presses a kiss to your temple, shucking his jeans down haphazardly while he busies himself with the distraction of your giddiness, nodding to his words, “can I?”

“What?” you ask dumbly, your eyes following him as he tilts his head at you expectantly.

“Can I feel you?” he asks with an even sweeter tone,

“Such a gentleman,” you mock, grazing your fingers over his cheek as the filter into the curls at his forehead, pushing them back.

“Fine,” he sighs in mock defeat, “can I fuck you?”

You nod as your bottom lip pulls between your teeth and Joel matches your eagerness with a swift kick of his leg, the fabric confining him disappearing in an instant, but then there’s a pause.

He’d really gotten ahead of himself.

So ahead he hadn’t even considered—

You can see the thought forming in his head, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this without ruining the mood—”

“Just say it,” you tell him, increasingly concerned.

“I shouldn’t assume…anything,” he begins, “seein’ as we only just met yesterday, but uh, I’m—”

“Clean?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, “but I’m also y’know…sterile,”

The word lingers and Joel fears he may have killed the mood entirely, watching your face go from concerned to confused before you can’t help but grin and then he realizes he’s in the clear.

“That is the hottest thing you could’ve said right now,” you tell him, fingers dragging down his chest and along his side until your blunt fingernails are digging into the skin and pulling him close, “now, seriously—get inside of me,”

He leans down, capturing your lips again in a slow kiss, swallowing your soft moans as he pushes against you. His cock nudges at your entrance, brushes through slick folds—every nerve-ending in your body ready to explode.

“I’m glad I met you,” he mumbles against your mouth, and when you giggle at his admission, he sinks into you slowly, a gasp cutting you short. 

The sensation is indescribable, familiar, but different; you're filled with warmth and pressure as he stretches you around him, adjusting to his size with a gentle rock of his hips as a hand tucks under one of your thighs and pulls up, immediately adjusting the angle to something more intense than you’re anticipating. 

You gasp again, the sound mixing with the gentle creak of the bed as he presses deeper, giving you time to adapt to him as he lifts his head, catching sight of your pleasure-struck face.

“Jesus,” he breathes, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he watches you take him in, inch by inch. “—you alright?”

You offer a soft hum and a nod of your head as your mouth opens in a breathless sigh as Joel gradually picks up the pace of his hips, his hands smoothing away the hair on either side of your face, elbows barricading you in as your moans mingle together, lips brushing briefly as he bows his head.

“Just like that,” you encourage softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as one of his hands finds purchase on your hip again while the other grips the edge of the bed above your head for leverage, “fuck—just—”

“Yeah?” His voice is sweet, but taunting—he’s so attentive to your body, grunting when your walls clench down around him, how your breath picks up as the sensation in your gut begins to coil again, “Touch yourself for me,”

There was no hesitation, slipping your hand between your sweaty bodies to rub your fingers insistently over your swollen clit, overwhelmed with sensation of relief in the corners of your subconscious as Joel rises up, his broad shoulders widening with every breath.

You can see the way his cock disappears inside of you, his own eyes stuck on the sight.

Joel's gaze is locked on the way your fingers move between your legs, urgency creeping into the rhythm of his thrusts as he feels you approaching the edge, matching his intensity as best you could.

The warmth of your cunt enveloping him is intoxicating, and the sight of you lost in pleasure stirs something deep inside of him, hand fisting the sheet above your head as your eyes fell shut, mouth hung open in a desperate breath.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whisper, the warmth of his voice keep you afloat, then slowly, his thumb brushes against your cheek, gently urging you back to reality, “Come for me?”

He wasn’t demanding—it was a plea.

You whimper at his words, nodding urgently, the heat pooling in your core tightening as you continue to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. “Joel,” you breathe out, his name a warning of the impending end as you clenched around him when a moan slipped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he nods encouragingly, rocking his hips through his own orgasm with a deafening grunt, his hands squeezing tight over your thighs as his thrusts stutter to a slower pace as your orgasm crashes into you all at once, “there you go, baby,”

When you come down, it was under the guide of careful touches and a soothing voice that invaded your space, pressed against your skin, gasping as you felt the loss of Joel as he pulled out of you but didn’t move just yet, still hovering above until you looked at him, his expectant eyes crinkling at the corners as you couldn’t hold back the soft smile that crept onto your face.

“There she is,” he remarks, “still with me?”

You giggle, nodding confidently, “Yeah—m’right here,”

–

He doesn’t force you out either, not you expected it.

“Why me?” you ask quietly, having spent ample time enjoying his lavish hotel shower with his leisurely touches, now held hostage under the sheets though completely at your own will.

“Whaddya mean?” 

“I’m just curious what I did,” you shrug slightly, “why am I different?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I looked at you and I saw somethin’ real—you were terrified, but it didn’t seem to stop you. I’m not used to people treatin’ me like you do.”

“Like a person?” you ask with a slightly chuckle, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” he answers candidly, “you’re gonna stick with it, aren’t you? Playing?”

“If I can scrounge up enough money to afford one, yeah,” you assure him.

Joel chews at the inside of his bottom lip as he watches you, eyes drifting shut from where you rested against his arm, lulled into sleep by the matching rhythm of your shared breaths. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to let you go come morning.

–

You wake up to a cold bed, but it isn’t empty.

You yawn wide, stretching out the ache of sleep as your fingers drift against a piece of paper and a metal tray in the spot where Joel had been the night prior, blinking away the bleariness.

Sorry for leaving without a goodbye, I wish I could have stayed. The room is booked out until noon and I ordered you breakfast before I left. 

There’s an arrow pointing toward the right, prompting you to flip the note over.

Rip this up after you save it into your phone.

It was a number, his number, you could only assume.

There’s some disappointment that lingers in your mind, sitting more upright as you pluck the cover from the tray to a plate full of fresh fruit and some other breakfast foods, a bottle of orange juice set off to the side of the tray.

You had no reason to hold any animosity toward him, staring at the ten digit number as you begun to nibble at the food on the tray, scrolling through your phone to find an unread message from your best friend, who by your own doing, hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks.

My date bailed on me tonight and he left me with the concert tickets. Come out with me? Please? I think it will help. Plus, it’s free.

You laugh weakly at the end of her message before you take a moment to think, slowly typing in Joel’s number to your contacts as you decide whether going out tonight was worth it or not.

You could stay in, wallow, and call Joel later that night in hopes he would pick up.

Or, you could give yourself a break and attempt to enjoy something outside of your comfort zone.

You send her a quick text to confirm and she responds immediately with a series of exclamation points and how she’d be at your place later that night to pick you up.

You slump against the bed, not quite ready to move. Joel’s lingering scent clings to the sheets, and you find yourself smiling, reliving the moments in your mind, still fresh.

This was ridiculous—and he was still so much of a mystery.

Maybe it was better that way, left in the dark.

When your best friend arrives later that night, her excitement is infectious but overwhelming. “You look amazing!” she squeals, pulling you into a tight hug, “We’re gonna have fun, I swear.”

You force a smile that she notices, but doesn’t comment on.

The venue isn’t small like you’re expecting—it was huge, four times the size of a normal crowd at the bar during local performances by less known bands.

“Who’s playing?” you ask curiously as you filtered into the stadium, finding some extra luck at an empty barricade spot as you squeezed into the crowd.

“Uh, the Miller Brothers?” she responds, sounding unsure.

“That’s…a name,” you respond with a quiet laugh that she matches with similar amusement.

“I don’t know, the dude was singing their praises but he did flake on me, so,” she shrugs, “if anything, we can get a laugh out of this,”

The lights dimmed as the crowd began to quiet and you both focused in, hearing the sound of footsteps as they approached the stage but unable to make out anything in the dark. The steady beat of a drum comes first, then the powerful cord of a guitar before a deep, rich voice filtered through the microphone and the energy in the room shifted on a dime as the crowd erupted into cheers. 

The roar of excitement washed over you, igniting an unexpected thrill within your chest that you hadn’t felt in ages, the anticipation of the unknown. 

Then you saw him under the stage lights.

Joel.

Your hand clasped over your mouth immediately, your friend immediately catching notice as she looked at you with confusion, “Don’t fucking pass out on me,” she jokes, but you feel her hand at your back, holding you steady.

“No—” he hadn’t noticed you yet—but how could he? 

“What?” she asked with a twinge of irritation, “God, girl, spit it out,”

“Nothing,” you quickly regain your composure, “I’m—sorry, he’s just…cute,”

She grins, shrugging.

“I’m guessing that one is his brother,” she pointed to the guy on Joel’s left, also strumming a guitar but his hair was dark and pulled back, he appeared younger—and really, they must be related, “I don’t know, I think he’s cuter,”

The name was genuine.

Definitely brothers, those two.

And this could not be happening.

Halfway through the chorus, stuck in a daze as you watched Joel perform like an entirely different being, a powerhouse of vocals as his eyes drifted close and you watched him sing.

It was mesmerizing.

But, then he spots you.

Joel’s song stuttered for the briefest of seconds, a flicker of surprise breaking through his otherwise confident demeanor, like a crack in his persona. You barely recognized him like this.

A smile bloomed across his face, an emotion that seemed normal to the crowd but was all for you, his eyes drawn to your face for the briefest of moments as everything seemed to fade away.

You were barely listening to the music, the beat like a distant hum in your eardrums.

It was surreal watching him transform from the man who had kissed you tenderly, explored your body with a careful passion, to this dynamic figure commanding the stage. He was soft-spoken in private, awkward enough that it was endearing, always searching for your approval.

The screams began to creep back in, all for him, and he quickly switched back into character.

By the end of the show, most of the crowd had filtered out and your friend has snuck away to the bathroom as you waited for her, hopelessly searching for any sign of Joel even though you knew it was slim that he would show, holding out on the fact you had his number.

You had too many questions to ask him.

“Did you know?” The voice comes a few minutes later as you lose focus, the arena mostly empty as Joel waved away a few fans he had just signed an autograph to with a smile, your head whipping around at the sound.

“Huh?” you answer initially, eventually realizing it was him, “No? God, no. I didn’t,”

Joel’s silence lingers, but his smile is wide as he approaches with slow steps, fingers curling around the barricade as he keeps watchful eyes, his security lingering around him carefully.

“Should you be out here?” you ask, “Talking to me?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, “but, I’ve broken a lot of rules for you,”

“Like…giving me your number?” 

He nods, his teeth showing slightly as he grins.

“My friend invited me out,” you explain hastily, “we didn’t—I had no idea—you’re…”

“I should’ve told you,” Joel decides, “I just…appreciate that fact you didn’t have a clue who I was,”

You shrug, offering an endearing smile that tears right through him, his expression softening.

“I still don’t,” you tell him, “but I’d like to know you—not that you, but the Joel I met at the guitar shop and you gave me your number, so something tells me you already know that,”

“You’re so goddamn good at that,” Joel admits, “seein’ right through me,”

“Are you gonna answer my call?” you ask, eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, letting out a soft grunt as you tug him forward, pressing a quick but gentle kiss against his lips that has his hands filtering into your hair as they curl around the back of your head and neck.

To the outside, you probably look like a crazed fan with too big ambitions.

But, you knew that wasn’t true, so you didn’t care.

“I will hunt you down,” you warn him playfully, “Joel Miller,”

Joel smirks, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here,” he teases,

–

Joel was the reason you returned to the guitar shop, as much as you hated to admit it.

“Just go in, take another look,” he’d urged over the phone.

You had, without a single idea what you were doing.

When your name is called out from the front desk, you answer with a hesitant noise of acknowledgement.

“Got somethin’ for you,” the owner said, bringing the familiar acoustic you had your eyes on the week prior above the counter, all black and gold trim, “been holdin’ it for a couple days,”

You shake your head, approaching hesitantly, “There must be a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Paid for by Joel Miller,” he clarifies, “has your name on it, it's yours,”

You didn’t attempt to argue, despite the guilt that wound itself around your heart.

When you finally arrived home, the case sitting open on your bed with the guitar inside, you snap a picture and send it to Joel, unknowing of when he would get back to you with how busy he was, texting you sparsely when he could.

You’re a dead man.

You had sent the picture alongside it.

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle when he finally had the chance to look at his phone the following night, resting on the cramped bed of his tour bus, thumbing back a quick message.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

[pedgito]

will ace of hearts get a part two? it was soooo good!

i plan to after i see the movie!! so hopefully i’ll have something for you next month <3

[pedgito]

thank you for reading!! i just had a little scene in my head that wouldn’t go away (particularly him teaching her the cord) and it spurred a whole thing 😭

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | By chance, you meet Joel Miller in a guitar shop.

author's note | this is filling my indulgence in seeing joel pursue his singing career and a lot softer than most things i write. this is also mostly unbeta'd, but edited with love <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, singer!joel, strangers to lovers, ambiguous age gap, joel's famous and reader has no clue, guitar lessons, vague reader backstory, drinking, lavish hotel rooms, smut with an endearing and out of practice joel, sloppy oral (m & f receiving), a hint of orgasm denial, unprotected piv, some tags omitted for spoilers!

word count — 9.7k

Joel Miller was back in town.

There’s a familiarity in the peckish winds, the air smelling of rain that dared to fall. With there being an outside venue for his shows, they were watching the weather carefully.

But, Joel had a couple days entirely to himself, free to roam with the company of his closest confidant—bodyguard, friend—who watched his back at every turn, dressed in plain clothes to look less conspicuous. 

He’d already had his hat and glasses on before he left the plane—it wasn’t that Joel had a hard time looking normal anymore, but his face was increasingly recognizable, especially in Texas.

He’d sold out his two-night show in Austin in under ten minutes, forty minutes faster than any other city, so he was trying to play things safely without having to be cooped up in his hotel room.

Luckily, he strikes out on any instances where a fan recognizes him—aside from the occasional too long stare that makes him walk a bit faster under the suggestion of his bodyguard.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he discovers a line of shops on the strip, the sight of guitars lining the walls inside pulling his attention up to the illuminated neon sign.

Strings Attached, the sign read in a bright red, outlined with a thinner orange cord.

“Worth checkin’ out,” Joel decides, and his security gives him a weary look.

“C’mon, Ben,” Joel throws his hands out, voice slightly hushed, “wouldn’t be a real stop if I didn’t pick up at least one guitar, would it?”

“You’ve got a problem,” Ben, his bodyguard, jokes, but he points toward the lone man inside, “lemme talk to the owner, let ‘em know you’re comin’ through so he can at least shut the shop down so you can look,”

“We don’t have to,” Joel begins but Ben’s face falls flat, knowing how quickly things could get out of control if he didn’t take the proper precautions, “alright—fine,”

Joel browses quietly as the shop owner talks to Ben, his face going from neutral to sudden interest, peering over the shoulder of Joel’s stalky security man before a hand is being thrown up to block his view, “I can pay a couple hundred for you to close so he can browse in peace,” he barters, “fair enough?”

The owner shrugs and extends his hand as Ben trades over the cash before the owner heads toward the front to flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but not before you’re slipping inside the shop without a care, the bell jingling overhead.

Joel’s hand is pressing into Ben’s chest before he can surge toward you, remaining flippant to the situation at hand as you turn your back to the men and browse the selection of records in the corner of the shop.

“Don’t,” he warns, “it’ll be more of a mess if you kick her out, I can handle one fan,”

Ben sags reluctantly before he busies himself too, remaining closer to the entrance as the owner flips the sign, much to the dismay of a few potential customers who sound audibly disappointed before they keep walking.

You had no idea what you were looking for.

Joel watched as you squinted, running your finger along the line of electric guitars on the wall before pulling your thumb between your teeth, browsing the stock as you gradually made your way toward the acoustic guitars.

Your therapist had suggested an outlet, distraction, something challenging to keep you mind busy. She had originally suggested knitting or painting, something minimal. 

It sounded mind-numbing. You needed more.

But, your musical ability was rather….non-existent. 

Still, you were attempting to challenge yourself.

You could teach yourself how to play guitar, surely.

You smile at him politely and Joel anticipates the following:

Eyes up, a smile, a look that lingers too long before the realization hits you, now that his sunglasses sat on the brim of his hat and then a gasp as you recognize him, a touch, and suddenly Ben would swoop in like a mother hen to protect his young, even though Joel had about twenty years on him.

Instead, you smile and move aside politely to let him through.

Joel feels like an asshole for thinking it, but it was jarring to not be bombarded with attention.

It was almost like a reflex.

Joel was perplexed now, watching you in the same way a crazed fan would. He’s curious, noticing how lost you look and he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself, praying you wouldn’t recognize his voice if his disguise was doing the trick.

“Martin is your best bet,” Joel suggests and you look at him, brow drawn together like he was speaking a foreign language,

“Excuse me?” you ask, watching as the mystery man pointed toward the lightly colored acoustic guitar in front of you until his finger brushed along the headstock, inviting you to peer in on the name etched into the wood, “Oh—yeah, sorry, I shoulda—”

“You’re clueless, aren’t you?” He asks, a hint of smile under the thickness of his mustache and beard, a natural and deep warmth that envelopes his tone.

Clueless to guitars and him, apparently.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask curiously, “I kinda like those,” you pointed at the glossier and thinner electric guitars, assuming they were all one in the same, “but they’re a little pricier,”

Joel relaxes slightly, getting past the obstacle of speaking when he realizes you wave him off dismissively, though he didn’t mind lending a helping hand, your hands clasped at your front as you examined the price of the guitars and wince.

“Well, electric is usually gonna cost you more than an acoustic would,” he explains, “most ‘f the time, anyways—you come here with anything in mind?”

You clear your throat and feel the heat creep up your neck before you bow your head and shake it in response, “I’ve never—uh, see—my therapist suggested I find a hobby. I’ve always wanted to learn an instrument. It seemed like a good idea, but now I’m feeling—”

You weren’t sure why you were rambling to a stranger, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Overwhelmed?” He answers for you.

You nod.

“Are you some kind of collector?” you ask, genuinely curious at his extent of knowledge.

“Sorta,” he laughs, “I can suggest a few if you’d like?”

You seem eager, receptive to his offer, so he waves you over and points out a couple guitars that he’s fond of, price in mind, “You can’t go wrong with any of ‘em, really,”

He catches the way your eyes drag toward one higher on the wall, stained black wood with gold accents, you hum softly as you examine the body.

You’ve got good taste, he thinks.

“I doubt I’ll grab anything today,” you admit, “I don’t even know how to play,”

Joel looks over at Ben who gives him a subtle head shake as he listens in on the conversation and Joel can only smirk—he loves giving him a hard time, especially going against suggestions.

“I can teach you a cord or two,” he offers.

You look at him confused, tempted, but hesitant.

“Joel,” offers casually, extending his hand as you accept it with a gentle touch.

You give him your name with a polite smile as you take his offer despite the weird anxiety that had built in your chest, watching as Joel plucked a guitar off the wall without a care before holding it up to the shop owner.

“Just gonna give ‘er a test run,” he tells him before nodding for you to follow him to the small alcove in the shop that was covered in red velvet, plush seats with a circular table in the center.

His nature was commandeering, assertive, and overtly mysterious.

You brush it off with a quiet laugh as the man who lingered close to him began to back off.

“He’s pretty protective,” you note as Joel looks over once he’s taken a seat across from you, settling the guitar into his lap, “should you be doing this?”

“He’s a buddy of mine,” Joel explains haphazardly, “he’s….harmless,”

His muscle and height told you otherwise, but you trusted Joel’s words.

His fingers settle over the cords in a manner that seems practiced, learned, clearly comfortable around the instrument as he leans into it, caressing it in a way.

It was something sacred, you realized.

He strummed lightly, playing a quick melody that had you instantly intrigued.

But, then he stops abruptly. 

He looks at you briefly before patting the side of the body, “You ever held one?”

“No—not at all,” you admit, “I’m telling you, I’ve never even been in a music shop before,”

He smiled at your admission, a deep, slow grin that tugged the corners of his mouth and softened his already kind features.

It made you more nervous than you already were.

“C’mere,” he said, adjusting the guitar in his lap before motioning for you to sit beside him as he moved further down the bench, “You’ll learn faster if you feel it in your hands.”

You hesitated, briefly. A shared glance that offered a rawness you’ve never seen before.

Joel’s never found himself in a situation like this, not since his career had picked up.

It gives him a small sense of normalcy.

Eventually, you slid onto the plush velvet seat next to him, knees barely grazing.

The guitar passed between you like some kind of unspoken offering, his fingers brushing yours as he helped settle it into your lap, adjusting it to his liking.

“Rest it here,” he directed, tapping the inside of your thigh where the base should sit and you flinch at the touch slightly, feeling your heart race as he continues to speak, “Angle the neck up, nah, not too steep—riiiiight—there you go.”

He cracks a wider smile once you’ve settled, your expression expectant as you stared at him wide-eyed.

Your fingers hovered awkwardly over the strings, surprised by the weight of the guitar as it pressed into your legs.

Joel reached across, carefully adjusting your grip with gentle touches to your wrist and knuckles, like he was building something precarious, “You gotta relax your fingers—I know it feels awkward but the quicker you learn to relax the easier it’ll be,”

You try, but Joel notices the slight quiver in your fingers and clicks his tongue.

“You’re fightin’ it,” He chuckles, “just breath, stretch ‘em out and relax,”

You close your eyes and take a deep, slow breath as you wiggle your fingers slightly before you attempt to relax again, only catching the end of Joel’s curious gaze as it lingers before he points toward the fretboard and presses into the cords where he wants you to place your fingers.

“Let’s start on a G cord,” Joel suggests, positioning your fingers appropriately, but it feels uncomfortable, the grimace apparent in your expression.

He reached again, guiding your fingers to the right spots.

It wasn’t easy — your hand was cramped. Joel had done this for years, his hands had become familiar with the instrument whereas yours didn’t have a clue. 

You take another breath and attempt to focus, reposition our fingers in the way he had guided them just a few moments prior.

“Like this?” you asked, looking down at your awkward grip.

Joel nods in response, but there’s some amusement lingering in your obvious discomfort with holding the instrument, “Alright, now give it a strum,” he orders, clasping his hands together at the center of his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs.

His eyes are unreadable under the brim of his hat, but the subtle lilt of a smile is reassuring, strumming lightly once, and then again, wincing at how odd it sounded, your fingers wavering on the strings.

“That sounded awful,” you laughed lightly, letting the guitar slump in your grip.

Joel laughs in response—though it wasn’t at you or anything in particular, he appreciated the levity to this interaction, “It takes time,” Joel admits, “I can’t tell you how long it took me to start strummin’ out something that made sense,”

“Did you teach yourself?” you ask curiously,

Joel nods, honest, “Since I was a kid—it ain’t easy, but it’s doable,”

You pause, absorbing his words before you chew at your bottom lip in thought before fixing the guitar on your lap, moving your fingers over the fretboard with a more determined weight as you strum again, still feeling wholly unsure about the entire thing.

“Hey,” Joel assures, “you’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

You nod in agreement, though you weren’t sure how much you believed him.

He adjusts the brim of his hat, pulling it up carefully to balance the glasses but also pushes his deep, rich brown curls more suitably under the hat, tilting your head slightly as you watch him.

“If you play,” you begin, “do you sing?”

Joel freezes for a millisecond, his gut sinking before he meets your eyes.

It was clear there was nothing but curiosity in your question.

“Are you askin’ me to perform for you?” 

“You don’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve overstepped, that you’ve taken his kindness for granted.

“Hand it over,” he directs kindly, his fingers grazing yours as he pulls the guitar from your grip and twists it into his own, settling it into his lap like he has a million times before.

He was a stranger, completely unknown, but you watch as he lets the moment consume him.

Joel plays the tune to a rock song with a gentle chord progression, his voice an octave softer inside the walls of the store as he begins to sing to the strum of the guitar—there’s something in it, a song you recognize from your childhood that your dad played on repeat, a smile spreading across your face as Joel looks at you curiously, immediately becoming shy.

Joel played in front of millions, but this was daunting.

You were his only critic, completely unbiased.

He ends on the chorus and pats the body of the guitar gently with a satisfied smile as you laugh once in shock, mouth hung open, “You’re….really fucking good,” you admit and Joel ducks his head in embarrassment, almost bashful at your compliment.

He’s heard it plenty, but there’s a genuinity to your expression that tugs at something in his chest.

“Thank you,” he replies earnestly.

Suddenly, Ben was knocking on the wall beside your head and both of you turned to him.

“Joel, we gotta get movin’,” the man glances at his watch and emphasis his urgency with a nod of his head toward the door, “the car should be pullin’ up out back,”

“Shit, I’m sorry if I was holding you hostage,” you apologize, standing as you wipe your clammy hands against your jeans, watching as Joel set the guitar down gently against the wall,

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he assures Ben, who seems to get whatever message Joel was trying to convey and heads out past him—and Joel seems frozen, unsure.

He twists his hands together as you move to turn, suddenly asking, “So, you thinkin’ about pickin’ it up?” 

“I’m going to give it a couple days,” you shrug, “maybe if I had someone like you on retainer to teach me every day I’d feel more confident,”

Joel laughs at that, knowing it wasn’t feasible.

But, he isn’t sure why he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

“Hey, are you—” Joel knows it was a terrible idea, given the time constraint and his unwillingness to stray from his clearly defined schedule, but there was something about you and this that Joel couldn’t quite figure out, “what are you doing tomorrow night?”

You release a huff of air through your lips as you think, knowing well enough that you didn’t have plans on a Friday night, “Uh, nothing…yet. Why?”

Joel walks away for a moment, speaking to the owner of the store before he’s handing him a pen and paper and Joel begins to scribble something down hastily before folding it up and handing it over to you as he lifts his head, meeting the sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, ‘f you wanna swing by,” Joel explains.

Unsure, you still nod.

You had spent the entire morning racking up ideas on how to cope with the grief that had been consuming you, figuring that buying a fucking instrument would somehow heal the hole that had grown in your chest—but, maybe all you needed was to put yourself out there. Connect.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply wearily and Joel smiles again, “I’ll try,”

He’s gone before you can even recount or realize what had just happened, staring down at the guitar he had just played on with a dumbfounded look before you breeze toward the entrance as the owner was slipping back behind the counter.

You glance down at the note again after stepping outside, squinting at the barely legible handwriting as your thumb drifted over the ink.

Just an address.

Back gate. Ask for Ben. Tell them your name and I’ll handle the rest.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked into a guitar shop looking for a distraction, but it wasn’t him.

There was something about him—rough around the edges but easy, comforting.

He was clearly knowledgeable, wiser than you, but wasn’t looking to impress anyone with it. 

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t overstep. He only handed you a guitar, offered to teach you a cord, and had the smallest ounce of belief in you that you hadn’t experienced in, well, ever.

You’ve never met a man like that.

And truthfully, he’d never met a woman like you.

–

The address leads you to a street corner not far from downtown.

You don’t recognize the bar, something that has continuously slipped under your radar, a tucked-away spot with dark windows and a heavy wooden door—it unsettled you.

The front entrance is roped off with a couple bouncers stationed at the door, but you remember Joel’s note and slip around the back where a separate door sits under a flickering porch light.

A tall guy leans against the brick wall, arms crossed as he flicks through his phone, eyes dragging up to attention when he catches sight of you.

“Joel told me to ask for Ben?” you ask, more of a guess—would he even know who Joel was?

He tilts his chin in response. “Name?”

You give it, and he types out something on his phone, a few minutes passing as he exchanges messages before releasing a grunt of satisfaction along with a nod as he opens the door and motions you inside.

You’re met with the same burly man from the day before, his face stoic but welcoming.

“Joel’s inside,” Ben tells you, “Ain’t sure where but he sticks out like a sore thumb, so,”

Somehow, you found that impossible.

It’s dim and warm, blanketed in low lighting. You hear laughter first, then music coming from overhead speakers, a curated playlist of classic rock songs mixed in with occasional country.

There’s a small crowd—just enough to fill the room comfortably. They don’t pay you any attention, engrossed in their own conversation as you search out the man of the night.

You expect to feel out of place, nervous, but there’s something about the looming energy that eases your anxiety as you turn your head, searching out a man in a cap and cool-toned clothes.

But, then you see him.

Joel.

No hat. No sunglasses. Hair pushed back, curls loose. The same chocolate brown curls but untamed, curling around his ear and tickling his neck. He’s mid-conversation and laughing with the bartender, nursing a beer in his hand as he chats with a man who seems to be of a similar age as you, right on the cusp of entering your thirties.

You hesitate, only for a moment.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but your stomach flutters all the same.

You didn’t even know him. Why were you nervous?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you weave through the crowd that dances effortlessly around you. By chance, he throws his head back in laughter before turning away and his eyes open just as you slip beyond the crowd of people and he spots you.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice cuts through the noise, his face lighting up with recognition. He pushes away from the bar, his demeanor shifting to something softer as the surprise in his expression melts into a welcoming smile. “You came,”

“I did,” you reply, not quite believing that you’re here, standing in front of him in a place filled with true strangers, yet somehow you felt like you’ve known him for years, like greeting an old friend.

“Do you want a beer?” he asks, his hand resting at the center of your back as he guides you toward the bartop.

“Sure,” you decide haphazardly.

The bartender saunters over, and Joel orders another beer before turning back to you, his eyes wide and honest. “So, how’s the guitar hunting going?”

You consider for a moment, biting your lip. “I haven’t bought one yet.”

You had spent hours the night prior watching tutorials and searching sites for something even remotely affordable, but it seemed unattainable—maybe knitting was your calling.

“Can I ask you something…kinda forward?” You were holding onto the small sliver of boldness that was left in your body, turning in the seat where his hand rests against the backrest. 

Joel clears his throat as he swallows the sip of beer down and nods, jaw set.

Here it comes.

“Why did you invite me out?” you ask, his worry suddenly washing away, “Don’t—don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a very sweet man…”

“Call it a feeling,” Joel shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“Oh,” you cringe with a smile, “that is…so cheesy,”

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I find it hard to have genuine conversation anymore,” Joel admits, “yesterday—it reminded me how much I miss that and you’re beautiful, seemed like a no-brainer,”

“You’re laying it on thick,” you tease him, taking a gingerly sip from the beer.

“I don’t get time like this often,” Joel tells you and something in your heart flutters, curious why he would be wasting his time on this—or you, “can you tell me about yourself?”

You blink, dumb-founded at his honesty. But, instead of hiding, you open up.

What did you have to lose?

You tell him about your job, knowing how mundane it all sounded. 

To him, it was refreshing.

You tell him about the apartment you just moved into and how your therapist said you needed a distraction that felt like something you could pursue long term, dismissive of why you were in therapy, but Joel didn’t pry. You mention the guitar again, the fleeting moment at the shop. Admitting how taken aback you were by his willingness to help, his instinct for kindness. 

You don’t know how it happens, exactly—how you drifted from being seated to standing too close, how his arm ends up slung lazily around your waist, palm pressing hot at the center of your back, like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

His beer turns into whiskey and you watch him drink down the liquor with a nonchalant face, twirling a toothpick on the counter as you settle into a comfortable silence despite the roar of the bar, feeling him squeeze you in a little closer when someone visits the bar.

The warmth radiating from Joel's body against yours was like the comfort of fire in a snowstorm.

“Do you play often?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the nerves that had settled from his touch against your skin, his hand having moved from over your top to under, a gradual progression that felt natural.

“Enough,” he admitted with a slight smile, “probably too much, but I love it, it grounds me,” His gaze flickered to yours, sincere and deep. “Kinda like this,”

“Are you flirting with me?” your face felt hot, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

“I’m a little rusty,” Joel excuses, “am I doin’ a bad job?”

“You’re doing fine,” you reply softly, your heart racing as you meet his gaze, feeling emboldened by his honesty.

Joel’s eyes glint with mischief at your admission, and he leans slightly closer as the noise grows and he can sense the overwhelming presence as you look down and close your eyes, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks to you, “Should we get outta here?”

You nod earnestly, “It’s…a little too much for me,” and Joel nods, snapping at someone over your head, your instincts knowing exactly who without looking before Ben is peeking into your peripheral as Joel whispers into his ear.

He exchanges a tense look with Joel but Joel stares right back, leaving little room for any argument before Joel is beckoning for you to move aside so he can stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “He’s gettin’ my car—I’ve got a place downtown we can go to,”

Your eyes linger on him in silent question.

“I’m only in for the weekend,” Joel admits, “but it’s quiet, private,”

You nod to his admission and feel his hand slip into yours before he’s pulling you gently through the crowd.

What the hell were you doing?

–

Even as you entered the towering hotel, you still didn’t know how to react.

The elevator ride that followed was quiet.

Not awkward, not tense.

But, you could feel his eyes on you.

Joel stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, close enough that you could feel the heat from his arm, but he didn’t touch you again. Not until the elevator gave a jarring ding and the doors slid open to the top floor, revealing a hallway that didn’t look anything like the rest of the hotel. 

It was private. Too nice.

Expensive.

The kind of suite people like you didn’t usually get to see.

Suddenly, you were curious about how this was all attainable.

He held the door for you like a gentleman, expecting nothing less, and kept quiet as you stepped inside.

The sight of it is too much.

The room was stupidly nice. Open floor plan, warm wood floors, a gentle lighting amongst the night sky and a massive window framing the Austin skyline like a painting. You didn’t know whether to sit down or stand, too afraid to leave a smudge anywhere.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, quiet.

“It’s not always like this,” Joel explains, suddenly feeling guilty.

You glance back at him. “Sometimes it is?”

He isn’t sure how to answer it, pausing for a brief moment as he looks down, playing with the keyring in his hands, “Yeah,” is all he offers.

You cross the room slowly toward him, slipping your shoes off before you step onto the rug.

“Do you always invite strangers back to places like this?”

Joel looks at you, examining your wondrous expression.

“No,” you know he’s telling the truth, his hand sliding across the counter beside him to drop the keys, watching as he split his fingers down the button-up he was wearing, feeling suffocated all of the sudden.

The air shifts slightly with the weight of his honesty and you cross your arms over your chest, casually examining your surroundings as you make your way toward him.

He must be a CEO or someone that came from money—he was well off, but generous. 

You weren’t going to pry, he didn’t owe you any truths. Still, he offered what he felt comfortable with. You nod to nothing as you take in the space and push closer until your hands are brushing at the front and Joel appears like more of a shy, younger version of himself.

He’s awkward, unaware of how to proceed.

He brought you here because he could sense your discomfort but was also unwilling to let you slip from his grasp too soon. Part of him was being selfish and he wasn’t sure why.

“You said you’re only in town for the weekend?”

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at his drink before taking a sip. “I’m headin’ out Sunday night,”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

Because somehow, even without the full picture, you got the impression that no—he didn’t do this often, he wasn’t sure how to navigate this, and he was just as nervous as you were. 

“Do you…” you begin, voice quieter now, “do you want me to stay?”

His eyes meet yours, and with a low tone that caresses you, he admits it.

“I wouldn’t’ve brought you here if I didn’t,” he says simply.

It’s not a cheap line. It’s not a joke.

It was the truth.

You reach up to touch him first, brushing your fingers along the side of his beard and he leans into the touch like it surprises him, like he needed it.

He surges forward first, though.

And when he kisses you, it’s slow. 

Not pushy or rushed, allowing himself the time to savor it. 

You can sense he doesn’t allow this closeness often.

Or, maybe he does and he’s just that good.

You don’t know who Joel is—not really.

But you feel safe with him in a way you never have with anyone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

–

He’s oddly shy about it, the way he kisses you.

He only touches you after you’ve curled your hand into the front of his shirt, quick presses of his lips that don’t extend beyond anything closed mouth, even as you tease your tongue along the seam of his lips.

There’s uncertainty to his movements, even as his hand curls around the side of your face, he’s still hesitant that he’s doing too much, pushing you too far. You slip your finger under the fabric of his button-up and shove it down his shoulders, leaving him in the thinner, plain shirt that remained underneath as your guiding footsteps had led both of you toward the U-shaped couch in the main area of the hotel room.

His lips move against yours with a tentative rhythm, and you can tell he’s holding back, trying to be respectful of your boundaries. But the way he holds you close, anchoring you against him as his hands move to your waist—he wants more. 

You pull away just enough to catch his eye, searching for that flicker of acknowledgment as he blinks, his eyes following the line of your lips, to your nose, and eventually landing on your eyes.

“Joel,” you whisper, feeling bold but still achingly shy. 

He watches you, his gaze dark and focused.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to really kiss me,” you explain with an ire of nervousness, “like, really—”

It’s a simple request, but the way you ask it makes something in his chest tighten with desire, as if it wasn’t already boiling over.

Joel leans into you, capturing your lips with a fervor that ignites the air between you. You gasp short, quick, swallowed down by his mouth. 

This kiss is deeper, more urgent, and the hesitation he once carried is replaced by a raw intensity that sends a shiver down your spine as he falls into the couch, moving together like one cohesive piece as you split yourself over his lap.

His hands slide down from your waist to the small of your back, a finger hooking into the loop of your jeans to tug you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His other hand fits under your chin, his thumb cradling one side of your jaw while his fingers caress the others, resting perfectly in the weight of his palm as you kiss him soundly, tasting the whiskey on his breath as your tongue slips into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He breathes, stuttered and disjointed as your hands weave into his hair and tug his head back, his hands flattening out over your ass as you grind down against his lap, “where the hell’ve you been?”

“I’m right here,” you answer easily, a giggle to your tone as you tilt your head down to lick from the base of his neck up to his jaw, savoring the low groan that spills from his throat amongst the salty taste of his skin.

“I meant before,” Joel clarifies, “I just—I ain’t never met anyone like you,”

You pull away briefly, tilting your head endearingly as you look at him and his blown pupils, dilation as they set their sights on you, “I’m not special,” you joke with him, “don’t get your hopes up,”

But, you were. 

Joel has spent a lot of his life trying to find peace, love—two failed marriages and he eventually gave up on the idea entirely, even barring himself from hotel room hookups like this.

This wasn’t his normal. He didn’t do this.

There wasn’t anyone in the world that could give him the modicum generosity and carelessness about him that you had—it reminded him of growing up, trying to make a name for himself.

He still had agency and privacy—he feels it in this moment, no watchful eyes to follow his every move and you can see the gears in his head moving, unable to explain what he means without dispelling this quiet connection with you.

You kiss him instead—once on the lips, to his chin, down his neck, until you were sliding out of his lap and to the floor without a word and Joel pushed himself up, his hand slipping around the back of your neck with a shake of his head.

“Just relax,” you urge him.

Your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin as you tug it up. Joel allows you to pull the shirt off completely, revealing more of him.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him—broad shoulders, neatly trimmed hair that spread over his chest all salt and peppered, and again, just under his navel and the softness of his stomach speaking to his age.

“It’s unfair,” you mumble, more to yourself, inching forward to press a soft kiss just above his beltline. Joel’s hand tangles in your hair as he exhales sharply and you work at his belt.

“What is?” he wonders, watching as dexterous fingers undid his belt and worked efficiently at his jeans, curling around the denim to tug until they were at his knees, immediately leaning forward to mouth his cock through his briefs, your teeth dragging over the band as Joel hooks his thumbs and pulls down, his erection flopping proudly against his stomach.

“How hot you are,” you admit, frowning in a way that shouldn’t be so adorable, but Joel finds himself smiling at your honestly, “fuck—you are so b—”

“You’re inflating my ego, babygirl,” Joel interrupts,

“Are you gonna stop me?”

His silence is telling, keeping your eyes on him as you run your palm up the length of his cock, wrapping your fingers around the velvety sock skin, thumb brushing over the head as you squeeze and pull down to the base, his fingers curling over the back of the couch.

“I dunno if I can fit it all,” you admit, dragging your thumb down and over the thick vein that ran from the base of his shaft and up, stopping just below the head of his cock, feeling him pulse in your grip, “what do you think?”

“I think you can try,” Joel offers, his voice strained and he knows you hear it.

You giggle, “You alright?”

“You’re killin’ me here,” he confesses, “pretty girl with her hands on me, dangerous combination,”

And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth yet—how flattering.

He watches as you slip your tongue out to drag along the head of his cock, moving along the slit and around, circling the sensitive flesh before you’re dragging your tongue down and up, making a theatrical show of wetting his cock with your mouth before you’re gathering enough spit in your mouth to push through your lips and over him.

The head of his cock squeezed in your hand, his stomach tight with anticipation, you spread your saliva around him before taking him into your mouth without warning.

You take him deep, inch by inch, right to the base, feeling the way he fills your mouth as his hips instinctively jerk up to meet your movements. There’s a distinct urge to gag but you settle yourself, breathing slowly through your nose until you feel the confidence of his hand as it rests against the back of your head.

“Goddamn,” he groans, voice rough as he watches you, encouraging, “That’s it,”

When you pull away, it was with a quick breath, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him before taking him again, and again, head bobbing from base to tip until Joel had become less restrained in his touches and was beginning to guide you to the gentle rock of his hips, watching the collective drool that dripped from your chin as he wiped it away with his fingers before gently guiding your mouth off of him, moving away obediently but confused until he pushed his fingers into your mouth without a word.

You instinctively sucked on his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as Joel watched with a darkened desire.

“You were makin’ a mess,” Joel notes, admiring you with awe as you nodded to his words.

When you pull away you use the back of your hand to wipe at your face, slightly breathless as your mouth drags toward his cock again, but his hand finds your face again, this time pressing gently against your throat as you move backward, your hands falling back against the table behind you.

“Get on the bed,” he directs and the timbre to his voice is enough to make you cry.

You don’t hesitate, quickly rising to your feet and twisting on your heels as you hear the fabric of his pants shift, belt jingling a few feet away as he settles them back over his hip despite his persistent erection—too eager to have his turn of torture with you, immediately on you the second your ass hits the sheets of his bed in his suite, working at the button on your jeans as you yank your top over your head.

You squeal with a quiet delight as his tug of your jeans pulls your ass flush with his groin, your legs moving up near his shoulder as he focus intently on the task at hand, dragging your jeans off before tossing them away, spreading your leg instinctively to his other shoulder as he leans forward, fists pressing into the bed as the wet spot in your underwear pressed against the line of his cock, visible even through your black, sheer lace of the fabric.

“You’ll tell me what feels good,” Joel directs and you nod obediently, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip, pausing to your silence, “say it back to me,”

“I’ll tell you what feels good,” you assure him.

Joel leans back, his knee settling into the mattress as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips, tugging your panties up and off before tossing them in a similar direction as the jeans.

Time slows as his fingertips graze along your thighs, dancing along the inside with a teasing touch before he’s spreading your legs apart. He hovers just above your sensitive core, looking up at you briefly for a sign of acknowledgement as you not—it makes you squirm, the look of pure lust in his eyes, a completely different man than you had met the day before.

It felt like a whirlwind—but to Joel, that was his life.

You didn’t leave much time to dwell on it, unbeknownst to his proclivity for this type of lifestyle.

“Alright now” Joel murmurs, sound distracted as the heat of his breath brushed against your cunt, “M’gonna take care of you,”

When his mouth finally connects with you, it is kismet.

He didn’t need any guidance, really.

The moment his tongue flicks against your clit, you gasp, arching into him involuntarily.

He does it again, countless times, until you’re croaking out a weak, “Fingers,”

You needed the pressure, feeling his tongue circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves with an intent to make you come in record time, but he listens.

Two, slow, but together.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding, “now—now your mouth,”

He pumps his fingers in time with the movements of his tongue, suckling against your clit as he curls his fingers inside of you, deep, brushing against the sensitive spot inside of you.

You whimper at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as you hand searches for his thick curls, twisting into the strands as Joel chuckles, suckling harder at your clit until you could barely stand it.

You can feel the tension building in your core, mind-numbing, babbling out gentle noises that make no sense, legs shaking slightly as Joel drew you closer toward the edge,

“Joel,” you sigh with a high pitch, “I feel it—I’m so close,”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body so hard you nearly come then but just as the feelings crests, it fades. Joel pulls back slightly, teasingly slowing, feeling the sudden emptiness as he continues to pull away and you chase after him, quickly sitting up to reach for him.

“Not yet,” he soothes, burying his face into your neck as he mouths at the skin there, feeling you melt into his touch as he fits himself between your legs, mouthing down until his lips graze the center of your chest, a revenant care to each breasts as his tongue licks around your nipple before trading to the other, squeezing the opposite with an empty hand as you moan brokenly, arching up into his touch as he sucks on the skin in various places.

“I wanna feel you,” he speaks into your skin, lips trailing toward your belly button and back up, your eyes following him with a subtle excitement as a smile creeps onto your features, “around me,” he admits as he presses a kiss to your temple, shucking his jeans down haphazardly while he busies himself with the distraction of your giddiness, nodding to his words, “can I?”

“What?” you ask dumbly, your eyes following him as he tilts his head at you expectantly.

“Can I feel you?” he asks with an even sweeter tone,

“Such a gentleman,” you mock, grazing your fingers over his cheek as the filter into the curls at his forehead, pushing them back.

“Fine,” he sighs in mock defeat, “can I fuck you?”

You nod as your bottom lip pulls between your teeth and Joel matches your eagerness with a swift kick of his leg, the fabric confining him disappearing in an instant, but then there’s a pause.

He’d really gotten ahead of himself.

So ahead he hadn’t even considered—

You can see the thought forming in his head, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this without ruining the mood—”

“Just say it,” you tell him, increasingly concerned.

“I shouldn’t assume…anything,” he begins, “seein’ as we only just met yesterday, but uh, I’m—”

“Clean?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, “but I’m also y’know…sterile,”

The word lingers and Joel fears he may have killed the mood entirely, watching your face go from concerned to confused before you can’t help but grin and then he realizes he’s in the clear.

“That is the hottest thing you could’ve said right now,” you tell him, fingers dragging down his chest and along his side until your blunt fingernails are digging into the skin and pulling him close, “now, seriously—get inside of me,”

He leans down, capturing your lips again in a slow kiss, swallowing your soft moans as he pushes against you. His cock nudges at your entrance, brushes through slick folds—every nerve-ending in your body ready to explode.

“I’m glad I met you,” he mumbles against your mouth, and when you giggle at his admission, he sinks into you slowly, a gasp cutting you short. 

The sensation is indescribable, familiar, but different; you're filled with warmth and pressure as he stretches you around him, adjusting to his size with a gentle rock of his hips as a hand tucks under one of your thighs and pulls up, immediately adjusting the angle to something more intense than you’re anticipating. 

You gasp again, the sound mixing with the gentle creak of the bed as he presses deeper, giving you time to adapt to him as he lifts his head, catching sight of your pleasure-struck face.

“Jesus,” he breathes, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he watches you take him in, inch by inch. “—you alright?”

You offer a soft hum and a nod of your head as your mouth opens in a breathless sigh as Joel gradually picks up the pace of his hips, his hands smoothing away the hair on either side of your face, elbows barricading you in as your moans mingle together, lips brushing briefly as he bows his head.

“Just like that,” you encourage softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as one of his hands finds purchase on your hip again while the other grips the edge of the bed above your head for leverage, “fuck—just—”

“Yeah?” His voice is sweet, but taunting—he’s so attentive to your body, grunting when your walls clench down around him, how your breath picks up as the sensation in your gut begins to coil again, “Touch yourself for me,”

There was no hesitation, slipping your hand between your sweaty bodies to rub your fingers insistently over your swollen clit, overwhelmed with sensation of relief in the corners of your subconscious as Joel rises up, his broad shoulders widening with every breath.

You can see the way his cock disappears inside of you, his own eyes stuck on the sight.

Joel's gaze is locked on the way your fingers move between your legs, urgency creeping into the rhythm of his thrusts as he feels you approaching the edge, matching his intensity as best you could.

The warmth of your cunt enveloping him is intoxicating, and the sight of you lost in pleasure stirs something deep inside of him, hand fisting the sheet above your head as your eyes fell shut, mouth hung open in a desperate breath.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whisper, the warmth of his voice keep you afloat, then slowly, his thumb brushes against your cheek, gently urging you back to reality, “Come for me?”

He wasn’t demanding—it was a plea.

You whimper at his words, nodding urgently, the heat pooling in your core tightening as you continue to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. “Joel,” you breathe out, his name a warning of the impending end as you clenched around him when a moan slipped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he nods encouragingly, rocking his hips through his own orgasm with a deafening grunt, his hands squeezing tight over your thighs as his thrusts stutter to a slower pace as your orgasm crashes into you all at once, “there you go, baby,”

When you come down, it was under the guide of careful touches and a soothing voice that invaded your space, pressed against your skin, gasping as you felt the loss of Joel as he pulled out of you but didn’t move just yet, still hovering above until you looked at him, his expectant eyes crinkling at the corners as you couldn’t hold back the soft smile that crept onto your face.

“There she is,” he remarks, “still with me?”

You giggle, nodding confidently, “Yeah—m’right here,”

–

He doesn’t force you out either, not you expected it.

“Why me?” you ask quietly, having spent ample time enjoying his lavish hotel shower with his leisurely touches, now held hostage under the sheets though completely at your own will.

“Whaddya mean?” 

“I’m just curious what I did,” you shrug slightly, “why am I different?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I looked at you and I saw somethin’ real—you were terrified, but it didn’t seem to stop you. I’m not used to people treatin’ me like you do.”

“Like a person?” you ask with a slightly chuckle, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” he answers candidly, “you’re gonna stick with it, aren’t you? Playing?”

“If I can scrounge up enough money to afford one, yeah,” you assure him.

Joel chews at the inside of his bottom lip as he watches you, eyes drifting shut from where you rested against his arm, lulled into sleep by the matching rhythm of your shared breaths. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to let you go come morning.

–

You wake up to a cold bed, but it isn’t empty.

You yawn wide, stretching out the ache of sleep as your fingers drift against a piece of paper and a metal tray in the spot where Joel had been the night prior, blinking away the bleariness.

Sorry for leaving without a goodbye, I wish I could have stayed. The room is booked out until noon and I ordered you breakfast before I left. 

There’s an arrow pointing toward the right, prompting you to flip the note over.

Rip this up after you save it into your phone.

It was a number, his number, you could only assume.

There’s some disappointment that lingers in your mind, sitting more upright as you pluck the cover from the tray to a plate full of fresh fruit and some other breakfast foods, a bottle of orange juice set off to the side of the tray.

You had no reason to hold any animosity toward him, staring at the ten digit number as you begun to nibble at the food on the tray, scrolling through your phone to find an unread message from your best friend, who by your own doing, hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks.

My date bailed on me tonight and he left me with the concert tickets. Come out with me? Please? I think it will help. Plus, it’s free.

You laugh weakly at the end of her message before you take a moment to think, slowly typing in Joel’s number to your contacts as you decide whether going out tonight was worth it or not.

You could stay in, wallow, and call Joel later that night in hopes he would pick up.

Or, you could give yourself a break and attempt to enjoy something outside of your comfort zone.

You send her a quick text to confirm and she responds immediately with a series of exclamation points and how she’d be at your place later that night to pick you up.

You slump against the bed, not quite ready to move. Joel’s lingering scent clings to the sheets, and you find yourself smiling, reliving the moments in your mind, still fresh.

This was ridiculous—and he was still so much of a mystery.

Maybe it was better that way, left in the dark.

When your best friend arrives later that night, her excitement is infectious but overwhelming. “You look amazing!” she squeals, pulling you into a tight hug, “We’re gonna have fun, I swear.”

You force a smile that she notices, but doesn’t comment on.

The venue isn’t small like you’re expecting—it was huge, four times the size of a normal crowd at the bar during local performances by less known bands.

“Who’s playing?” you ask curiously as you filtered into the stadium, finding some extra luck at an empty barricade spot as you squeezed into the crowd.

“Uh, the Miller Brothers?” she responds, sounding unsure.

“That’s…a name,” you respond with a quiet laugh that she matches with similar amusement.

“I don’t know, the dude was singing their praises but he did flake on me, so,” she shrugs, “if anything, we can get a laugh out of this,”

The lights dimmed as the crowd began to quiet and you both focused in, hearing the sound of footsteps as they approached the stage but unable to make out anything in the dark. The steady beat of a drum comes first, then the powerful cord of a guitar before a deep, rich voice filtered through the microphone and the energy in the room shifted on a dime as the crowd erupted into cheers. 

The roar of excitement washed over you, igniting an unexpected thrill within your chest that you hadn’t felt in ages, the anticipation of the unknown. 

Then you saw him under the stage lights.

Joel.

Your hand clasped over your mouth immediately, your friend immediately catching notice as she looked at you with confusion, “Don’t fucking pass out on me,” she jokes, but you feel her hand at your back, holding you steady.

“No—” he hadn’t noticed you yet—but how could he? 

“What?” she asked with a twinge of irritation, “God, girl, spit it out,”

“Nothing,” you quickly regain your composure, “I’m—sorry, he’s just…cute,”

She grins, shrugging.

“I’m guessing that one is his brother,” she pointed to the guy on Joel’s left, also strumming a guitar but his hair was dark and pulled back, he appeared younger—and really, they must be related, “I don’t know, I think he’s cuter,”

The name was genuine.

Definitely brothers, those two.

And this could not be happening.

Halfway through the chorus, stuck in a daze as you watched Joel perform like an entirely different being, a powerhouse of vocals as his eyes drifted close and you watched him sing.

It was mesmerizing.

But, then he spots you.

Joel’s song stuttered for the briefest of seconds, a flicker of surprise breaking through his otherwise confident demeanor, like a crack in his persona. You barely recognized him like this.

A smile bloomed across his face, an emotion that seemed normal to the crowd but was all for you, his eyes drawn to your face for the briefest of moments as everything seemed to fade away.

You were barely listening to the music, the beat like a distant hum in your eardrums.

It was surreal watching him transform from the man who had kissed you tenderly, explored your body with a careful passion, to this dynamic figure commanding the stage. He was soft-spoken in private, awkward enough that it was endearing, always searching for your approval.

The screams began to creep back in, all for him, and he quickly switched back into character.

By the end of the show, most of the crowd had filtered out and your friend has snuck away to the bathroom as you waited for her, hopelessly searching for any sign of Joel even though you knew it was slim that he would show, holding out on the fact you had his number.

You had too many questions to ask him.

“Did you know?” The voice comes a few minutes later as you lose focus, the arena mostly empty as Joel waved away a few fans he had just signed an autograph to with a smile, your head whipping around at the sound.

“Huh?” you answer initially, eventually realizing it was him, “No? God, no. I didn’t,”

Joel’s silence lingers, but his smile is wide as he approaches with slow steps, fingers curling around the barricade as he keeps watchful eyes, his security lingering around him carefully.

“Should you be out here?” you ask, “Talking to me?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, “but, I’ve broken a lot of rules for you,”

“Like…giving me your number?” 

He nods, his teeth showing slightly as he grins.

“My friend invited me out,” you explain hastily, “we didn’t—I had no idea—you’re…”

“I should’ve told you,” Joel decides, “I just…appreciate that fact you didn’t have a clue who I was,”

You shrug, offering an endearing smile that tears right through him, his expression softening.

“I still don’t,” you tell him, “but I’d like to know you—not that you, but the Joel I met at the guitar shop and you gave me your number, so something tells me you already know that,”

“You’re so goddamn good at that,” Joel admits, “seein’ right through me,”

“Are you gonna answer my call?” you ask, eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, letting out a soft grunt as you tug him forward, pressing a quick but gentle kiss against his lips that has his hands filtering into your hair as they curl around the back of your head and neck.

To the outside, you probably look like a crazed fan with too big ambitions.

But, you knew that wasn’t true, so you didn’t care.

“I will hunt you down,” you warn him playfully, “Joel Miller,”

Joel smirks, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here,” he teases,

–

Joel was the reason you returned to the guitar shop, as much as you hated to admit it.

“Just go in, take another look,” he’d urged over the phone.

You had, without a single idea what you were doing.

When your name is called out from the front desk, you answer with a hesitant noise of acknowledgement.

“Got somethin’ for you,” the owner said, bringing the familiar acoustic you had your eyes on the week prior above the counter, all black and gold trim, “been holdin’ it for a couple days,”

You shake your head, approaching hesitantly, “There must be a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Paid for by Joel Miller,” he clarifies, “has your name on it, it's yours,”

You didn’t attempt to argue, despite the guilt that wound itself around your heart.

When you finally arrived home, the case sitting open on your bed with the guitar inside, you snap a picture and send it to Joel, unknowing of when he would get back to you with how busy he was, texting you sparsely when he could.

You’re a dead man.

You had sent the picture alongside it.

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle when he finally had the chance to look at his phone the following night, resting on the cramped bed of his tour bus, thumbing back a quick message.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

[pedgito]

[AGGRESSIVELY ATTEMPTS TO ENJOY SOMETHING WHILE IGNORING HALF OF THE FANDOM]

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | By chance, you meet Joel Miller in a guitar shop.

author's note | this is filling my indulgence in seeing joel pursue his singing career and a lot softer than most things i write. this is also mostly unbeta'd, but edited with love <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, singer!joel, strangers to lovers, ambiguous age gap, joel's famous and reader has no clue, guitar lessons, vague reader backstory, drinking, lavish hotel rooms, smut with an endearing and out of practice joel, sloppy oral (m & f receiving), a hint of orgasm denial, unprotected piv, some tags omitted for spoilers!

word count — 9.7k

Joel Miller was back in town.

There’s a familiarity in the peckish winds, the air smelling of rain that dared to fall. With there being an outside venue for his shows, they were watching the weather carefully.

But, Joel had a couple days entirely to himself, free to roam with the company of his closest confidant—bodyguard, friend—who watched his back at every turn, dressed in plain clothes to look less conspicuous. 

He’d already had his hat and glasses on before he left the plane—it wasn’t that Joel had a hard time looking normal anymore, but his face was increasingly recognizable, especially in Texas.

He’d sold out his two-night show in Austin in under ten minutes, forty minutes faster than any other city, so he was trying to play things safely without having to be cooped up in his hotel room.

Luckily, he strikes out on any instances where a fan recognizes him—aside from the occasional too long stare that makes him walk a bit faster under the suggestion of his bodyguard.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he discovers a line of shops on the strip, the sight of guitars lining the walls inside pulling his attention up to the illuminated neon sign.

Strings Attached, the sign read in a bright red, outlined with a thinner orange cord.

“Worth checkin’ out,” Joel decides, and his security gives him a weary look.

“C’mon, Ben,” Joel throws his hands out, voice slightly hushed, “wouldn’t be a real stop if I didn’t pick up at least one guitar, would it?”

“You’ve got a problem,” Ben, his bodyguard, jokes, but he points toward the lone man inside, “lemme talk to the owner, let ‘em know you’re comin’ through so he can at least shut the shop down so you can look,”

“We don’t have to,” Joel begins but Ben’s face falls flat, knowing how quickly things could get out of control if he didn’t take the proper precautions, “alright—fine,”

Joel browses quietly as the shop owner talks to Ben, his face going from neutral to sudden interest, peering over the shoulder of Joel’s stalky security man before a hand is being thrown up to block his view, “I can pay a couple hundred for you to close so he can browse in peace,” he barters, “fair enough?”

The owner shrugs and extends his hand as Ben trades over the cash before the owner heads toward the front to flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but not before you’re slipping inside the shop without a care, the bell jingling overhead.

Joel’s hand is pressing into Ben’s chest before he can surge toward you, remaining flippant to the situation at hand as you turn your back to the men and browse the selection of records in the corner of the shop.

“Don’t,” he warns, “it’ll be more of a mess if you kick her out, I can handle one fan,”

Ben sags reluctantly before he busies himself too, remaining closer to the entrance as the owner flips the sign, much to the dismay of a few potential customers who sound audibly disappointed before they keep walking.

You had no idea what you were looking for.

Joel watched as you squinted, running your finger along the line of electric guitars on the wall before pulling your thumb between your teeth, browsing the stock as you gradually made your way toward the acoustic guitars.

Your therapist had suggested an outlet, distraction, something challenging to keep you mind busy. She had originally suggested knitting or painting, something minimal. 

It sounded mind-numbing. You needed more.

But, your musical ability was rather….non-existent. 

Still, you were attempting to challenge yourself.

You could teach yourself how to play guitar, surely.

You smile at him politely and Joel anticipates the following:

Eyes up, a smile, a look that lingers too long before the realization hits you, now that his sunglasses sat on the brim of his hat and then a gasp as you recognize him, a touch, and suddenly Ben would swoop in like a mother hen to protect his young, even though Joel had about twenty years on him.

Instead, you smile and move aside politely to let him through.

Joel feels like an asshole for thinking it, but it was jarring to not be bombarded with attention.

It was almost like a reflex.

Joel was perplexed now, watching you in the same way a crazed fan would. He’s curious, noticing how lost you look and he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself, praying you wouldn’t recognize his voice if his disguise was doing the trick.

“Martin is your best bet,” Joel suggests and you look at him, brow drawn together like he was speaking a foreign language,

“Excuse me?” you ask, watching as the mystery man pointed toward the lightly colored acoustic guitar in front of you until his finger brushed along the headstock, inviting you to peer in on the name etched into the wood, “Oh—yeah, sorry, I shoulda—”

“You’re clueless, aren’t you?” He asks, a hint of smile under the thickness of his mustache and beard, a natural and deep warmth that envelopes his tone.

Clueless to guitars and him, apparently.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask curiously, “I kinda like those,” you pointed at the glossier and thinner electric guitars, assuming they were all one in the same, “but they’re a little pricier,”

Joel relaxes slightly, getting past the obstacle of speaking when he realizes you wave him off dismissively, though he didn’t mind lending a helping hand, your hands clasped at your front as you examined the price of the guitars and wince.

“Well, electric is usually gonna cost you more than an acoustic would,” he explains, “most ‘f the time, anyways—you come here with anything in mind?”

You clear your throat and feel the heat creep up your neck before you bow your head and shake it in response, “I’ve never—uh, see—my therapist suggested I find a hobby. I’ve always wanted to learn an instrument. It seemed like a good idea, but now I’m feeling—”

You weren’t sure why you were rambling to a stranger, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Overwhelmed?” He answers for you.

You nod.

“Are you some kind of collector?” you ask, genuinely curious at his extent of knowledge.

“Sorta,” he laughs, “I can suggest a few if you’d like?”

You seem eager, receptive to his offer, so he waves you over and points out a couple guitars that he’s fond of, price in mind, “You can’t go wrong with any of ‘em, really,”

He catches the way your eyes drag toward one higher on the wall, stained black wood with gold accents, you hum softly as you examine the body.

You’ve got good taste, he thinks.

“I doubt I’ll grab anything today,” you admit, “I don’t even know how to play,”

Joel looks over at Ben who gives him a subtle head shake as he listens in on the conversation and Joel can only smirk—he loves giving him a hard time, especially going against suggestions.

“I can teach you a cord or two,” he offers.

You look at him confused, tempted, but hesitant.

“Joel,” offers casually, extending his hand as you accept it with a gentle touch.

You give him your name with a polite smile as you take his offer despite the weird anxiety that had built in your chest, watching as Joel plucked a guitar off the wall without a care before holding it up to the shop owner.

“Just gonna give ‘er a test run,” he tells him before nodding for you to follow him to the small alcove in the shop that was covered in red velvet, plush seats with a circular table in the center.

His nature was commandeering, assertive, and overtly mysterious.

You brush it off with a quiet laugh as the man who lingered close to him began to back off.

“He’s pretty protective,” you note as Joel looks over once he’s taken a seat across from you, settling the guitar into his lap, “should you be doing this?”

“He’s a buddy of mine,” Joel explains haphazardly, “he’s….harmless,”

His muscle and height told you otherwise, but you trusted Joel’s words.

His fingers settle over the cords in a manner that seems practiced, learned, clearly comfortable around the instrument as he leans into it, caressing it in a way.

It was something sacred, you realized.

He strummed lightly, playing a quick melody that had you instantly intrigued.

But, then he stops abruptly. 

He looks at you briefly before patting the side of the body, “You ever held one?”

“No—not at all,” you admit, “I’m telling you, I’ve never even been in a music shop before,”

He smiled at your admission, a deep, slow grin that tugged the corners of his mouth and softened his already kind features.

It made you more nervous than you already were.

“C’mere,” he said, adjusting the guitar in his lap before motioning for you to sit beside him as he moved further down the bench, “You’ll learn faster if you feel it in your hands.”

You hesitated, briefly. A shared glance that offered a rawness you’ve never seen before.

Joel’s never found himself in a situation like this, not since his career had picked up.

It gives him a small sense of normalcy.

Eventually, you slid onto the plush velvet seat next to him, knees barely grazing.

The guitar passed between you like some kind of unspoken offering, his fingers brushing yours as he helped settle it into your lap, adjusting it to his liking.

“Rest it here,” he directed, tapping the inside of your thigh where the base should sit and you flinch at the touch slightly, feeling your heart race as he continues to speak, “Angle the neck up, nah, not too steep—riiiiight—there you go.”

He cracks a wider smile once you’ve settled, your expression expectant as you stared at him wide-eyed.

Your fingers hovered awkwardly over the strings, surprised by the weight of the guitar as it pressed into your legs.

Joel reached across, carefully adjusting your grip with gentle touches to your wrist and knuckles, like he was building something precarious, “You gotta relax your fingers—I know it feels awkward but the quicker you learn to relax the easier it’ll be,”

You try, but Joel notices the slight quiver in your fingers and clicks his tongue.

“You’re fightin’ it,” He chuckles, “just breath, stretch ‘em out and relax,”

You close your eyes and take a deep, slow breath as you wiggle your fingers slightly before you attempt to relax again, only catching the end of Joel’s curious gaze as it lingers before he points toward the fretboard and presses into the cords where he wants you to place your fingers.

“Let’s start on a G cord,” Joel suggests, positioning your fingers appropriately, but it feels uncomfortable, the grimace apparent in your expression.

He reached again, guiding your fingers to the right spots.

It wasn’t easy — your hand was cramped. Joel had done this for years, his hands had become familiar with the instrument whereas yours didn’t have a clue. 

You take another breath and attempt to focus, reposition our fingers in the way he had guided them just a few moments prior.

“Like this?” you asked, looking down at your awkward grip.

Joel nods in response, but there’s some amusement lingering in your obvious discomfort with holding the instrument, “Alright, now give it a strum,” he orders, clasping his hands together at the center of his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs.

His eyes are unreadable under the brim of his hat, but the subtle lilt of a smile is reassuring, strumming lightly once, and then again, wincing at how odd it sounded, your fingers wavering on the strings.

“That sounded awful,” you laughed lightly, letting the guitar slump in your grip.

Joel laughs in response—though it wasn’t at you or anything in particular, he appreciated the levity to this interaction, “It takes time,” Joel admits, “I can’t tell you how long it took me to start strummin’ out something that made sense,”

“Did you teach yourself?” you ask curiously,

Joel nods, honest, “Since I was a kid—it ain’t easy, but it’s doable,”

You pause, absorbing his words before you chew at your bottom lip in thought before fixing the guitar on your lap, moving your fingers over the fretboard with a more determined weight as you strum again, still feeling wholly unsure about the entire thing.

“Hey,” Joel assures, “you’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

You nod in agreement, though you weren’t sure how much you believed him.

He adjusts the brim of his hat, pulling it up carefully to balance the glasses but also pushes his deep, rich brown curls more suitably under the hat, tilting your head slightly as you watch him.

“If you play,” you begin, “do you sing?”

Joel freezes for a millisecond, his gut sinking before he meets your eyes.

It was clear there was nothing but curiosity in your question.

“Are you askin’ me to perform for you?” 

“You don’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve overstepped, that you’ve taken his kindness for granted.

“Hand it over,” he directs kindly, his fingers grazing yours as he pulls the guitar from your grip and twists it into his own, settling it into his lap like he has a million times before.

He was a stranger, completely unknown, but you watch as he lets the moment consume him.

Joel plays the tune to a rock song with a gentle chord progression, his voice an octave softer inside the walls of the store as he begins to sing to the strum of the guitar—there’s something in it, a song you recognize from your childhood that your dad played on repeat, a smile spreading across your face as Joel looks at you curiously, immediately becoming shy.

Joel played in front of millions, but this was daunting.

You were his only critic, completely unbiased.

He ends on the chorus and pats the body of the guitar gently with a satisfied smile as you laugh once in shock, mouth hung open, “You’re….really fucking good,” you admit and Joel ducks his head in embarrassment, almost bashful at your compliment.

He’s heard it plenty, but there’s a genuinity to your expression that tugs at something in his chest.

“Thank you,” he replies earnestly.

Suddenly, Ben was knocking on the wall beside your head and both of you turned to him.

“Joel, we gotta get movin’,” the man glances at his watch and emphasis his urgency with a nod of his head toward the door, “the car should be pullin’ up out back,”

“Shit, I’m sorry if I was holding you hostage,” you apologize, standing as you wipe your clammy hands against your jeans, watching as Joel set the guitar down gently against the wall,

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he assures Ben, who seems to get whatever message Joel was trying to convey and heads out past him—and Joel seems frozen, unsure.

He twists his hands together as you move to turn, suddenly asking, “So, you thinkin’ about pickin’ it up?” 

“I’m going to give it a couple days,” you shrug, “maybe if I had someone like you on retainer to teach me every day I’d feel more confident,”

Joel laughs at that, knowing it wasn’t feasible.

But, he isn’t sure why he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

“Hey, are you—” Joel knows it was a terrible idea, given the time constraint and his unwillingness to stray from his clearly defined schedule, but there was something about you and this that Joel couldn’t quite figure out, “what are you doing tomorrow night?”

You release a huff of air through your lips as you think, knowing well enough that you didn’t have plans on a Friday night, “Uh, nothing…yet. Why?”

Joel walks away for a moment, speaking to the owner of the store before he’s handing him a pen and paper and Joel begins to scribble something down hastily before folding it up and handing it over to you as he lifts his head, meeting the sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, ‘f you wanna swing by,” Joel explains.

Unsure, you still nod.

You had spent the entire morning racking up ideas on how to cope with the grief that had been consuming you, figuring that buying a fucking instrument would somehow heal the hole that had grown in your chest—but, maybe all you needed was to put yourself out there. Connect.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply wearily and Joel smiles again, “I’ll try,”

He’s gone before you can even recount or realize what had just happened, staring down at the guitar he had just played on with a dumbfounded look before you breeze toward the entrance as the owner was slipping back behind the counter.

You glance down at the note again after stepping outside, squinting at the barely legible handwriting as your thumb drifted over the ink.

Just an address.

Back gate. Ask for Ben. Tell them your name and I’ll handle the rest.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked into a guitar shop looking for a distraction, but it wasn’t him.

There was something about him—rough around the edges but easy, comforting.

He was clearly knowledgeable, wiser than you, but wasn’t looking to impress anyone with it. 

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t overstep. He only handed you a guitar, offered to teach you a cord, and had the smallest ounce of belief in you that you hadn’t experienced in, well, ever.

You’ve never met a man like that.

And truthfully, he’d never met a woman like you.

–

The address leads you to a street corner not far from downtown.

You don’t recognize the bar, something that has continuously slipped under your radar, a tucked-away spot with dark windows and a heavy wooden door—it unsettled you.

The front entrance is roped off with a couple bouncers stationed at the door, but you remember Joel’s note and slip around the back where a separate door sits under a flickering porch light.

A tall guy leans against the brick wall, arms crossed as he flicks through his phone, eyes dragging up to attention when he catches sight of you.

“Joel told me to ask for Ben?” you ask, more of a guess—would he even know who Joel was?

He tilts his chin in response. “Name?”

You give it, and he types out something on his phone, a few minutes passing as he exchanges messages before releasing a grunt of satisfaction along with a nod as he opens the door and motions you inside.

You’re met with the same burly man from the day before, his face stoic but welcoming.

“Joel’s inside,” Ben tells you, “Ain’t sure where but he sticks out like a sore thumb, so,”

Somehow, you found that impossible.

It’s dim and warm, blanketed in low lighting. You hear laughter first, then music coming from overhead speakers, a curated playlist of classic rock songs mixed in with occasional country.

There’s a small crowd—just enough to fill the room comfortably. They don’t pay you any attention, engrossed in their own conversation as you search out the man of the night.

You expect to feel out of place, nervous, but there’s something about the looming energy that eases your anxiety as you turn your head, searching out a man in a cap and cool-toned clothes.

But, then you see him.

Joel.

No hat. No sunglasses. Hair pushed back, curls loose. The same chocolate brown curls but untamed, curling around his ear and tickling his neck. He’s mid-conversation and laughing with the bartender, nursing a beer in his hand as he chats with a man who seems to be of a similar age as you, right on the cusp of entering your thirties.

You hesitate, only for a moment.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but your stomach flutters all the same.

You didn’t even know him. Why were you nervous?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you weave through the crowd that dances effortlessly around you. By chance, he throws his head back in laughter before turning away and his eyes open just as you slip beyond the crowd of people and he spots you.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice cuts through the noise, his face lighting up with recognition. He pushes away from the bar, his demeanor shifting to something softer as the surprise in his expression melts into a welcoming smile. “You came,”

“I did,” you reply, not quite believing that you’re here, standing in front of him in a place filled with true strangers, yet somehow you felt like you’ve known him for years, like greeting an old friend.

“Do you want a beer?” he asks, his hand resting at the center of your back as he guides you toward the bartop.

“Sure,” you decide haphazardly.

The bartender saunters over, and Joel orders another beer before turning back to you, his eyes wide and honest. “So, how’s the guitar hunting going?”

You consider for a moment, biting your lip. “I haven’t bought one yet.”

You had spent hours the night prior watching tutorials and searching sites for something even remotely affordable, but it seemed unattainable—maybe knitting was your calling.

“Can I ask you something…kinda forward?” You were holding onto the small sliver of boldness that was left in your body, turning in the seat where his hand rests against the backrest. 

Joel clears his throat as he swallows the sip of beer down and nods, jaw set.

Here it comes.

“Why did you invite me out?” you ask, his worry suddenly washing away, “Don’t—don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a very sweet man…”

“Call it a feeling,” Joel shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“Oh,” you cringe with a smile, “that is…so cheesy,”

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I find it hard to have genuine conversation anymore,” Joel admits, “yesterday—it reminded me how much I miss that and you’re beautiful, seemed like a no-brainer,”

“You’re laying it on thick,” you tease him, taking a gingerly sip from the beer.

“I don’t get time like this often,” Joel tells you and something in your heart flutters, curious why he would be wasting his time on this—or you, “can you tell me about yourself?”

You blink, dumb-founded at his honesty. But, instead of hiding, you open up.

What did you have to lose?

You tell him about your job, knowing how mundane it all sounded. 

To him, it was refreshing.

You tell him about the apartment you just moved into and how your therapist said you needed a distraction that felt like something you could pursue long term, dismissive of why you were in therapy, but Joel didn’t pry. You mention the guitar again, the fleeting moment at the shop. Admitting how taken aback you were by his willingness to help, his instinct for kindness. 

You don’t know how it happens, exactly—how you drifted from being seated to standing too close, how his arm ends up slung lazily around your waist, palm pressing hot at the center of your back, like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

His beer turns into whiskey and you watch him drink down the liquor with a nonchalant face, twirling a toothpick on the counter as you settle into a comfortable silence despite the roar of the bar, feeling him squeeze you in a little closer when someone visits the bar.

The warmth radiating from Joel's body against yours was like the comfort of fire in a snowstorm.

“Do you play often?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the nerves that had settled from his touch against your skin, his hand having moved from over your top to under, a gradual progression that felt natural.

“Enough,” he admitted with a slight smile, “probably too much, but I love it, it grounds me,” His gaze flickered to yours, sincere and deep. “Kinda like this,”

“Are you flirting with me?” your face felt hot, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

“I’m a little rusty,” Joel excuses, “am I doin’ a bad job?”

“You’re doing fine,” you reply softly, your heart racing as you meet his gaze, feeling emboldened by his honesty.

Joel’s eyes glint with mischief at your admission, and he leans slightly closer as the noise grows and he can sense the overwhelming presence as you look down and close your eyes, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks to you, “Should we get outta here?”

You nod earnestly, “It’s…a little too much for me,” and Joel nods, snapping at someone over your head, your instincts knowing exactly who without looking before Ben is peeking into your peripheral as Joel whispers into his ear.

He exchanges a tense look with Joel but Joel stares right back, leaving little room for any argument before Joel is beckoning for you to move aside so he can stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “He’s gettin’ my car—I’ve got a place downtown we can go to,”

Your eyes linger on him in silent question.

“I’m only in for the weekend,” Joel admits, “but it’s quiet, private,”

You nod to his admission and feel his hand slip into yours before he’s pulling you gently through the crowd.

What the hell were you doing?

–

Even as you entered the towering hotel, you still didn’t know how to react.

The elevator ride that followed was quiet.

Not awkward, not tense.

But, you could feel his eyes on you.

Joel stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, close enough that you could feel the heat from his arm, but he didn’t touch you again. Not until the elevator gave a jarring ding and the doors slid open to the top floor, revealing a hallway that didn’t look anything like the rest of the hotel. 

It was private. Too nice.

Expensive.

The kind of suite people like you didn’t usually get to see.

Suddenly, you were curious about how this was all attainable.

He held the door for you like a gentleman, expecting nothing less, and kept quiet as you stepped inside.

The sight of it is too much.

The room was stupidly nice. Open floor plan, warm wood floors, a gentle lighting amongst the night sky and a massive window framing the Austin skyline like a painting. You didn’t know whether to sit down or stand, too afraid to leave a smudge anywhere.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, quiet.

“It’s not always like this,” Joel explains, suddenly feeling guilty.

You glance back at him. “Sometimes it is?”

He isn’t sure how to answer it, pausing for a brief moment as he looks down, playing with the keyring in his hands, “Yeah,” is all he offers.

You cross the room slowly toward him, slipping your shoes off before you step onto the rug.

“Do you always invite strangers back to places like this?”

Joel looks at you, examining your wondrous expression.

“No,” you know he’s telling the truth, his hand sliding across the counter beside him to drop the keys, watching as he split his fingers down the button-up he was wearing, feeling suffocated all of the sudden.

The air shifts slightly with the weight of his honesty and you cross your arms over your chest, casually examining your surroundings as you make your way toward him.

He must be a CEO or someone that came from money—he was well off, but generous. 

You weren’t going to pry, he didn’t owe you any truths. Still, he offered what he felt comfortable with. You nod to nothing as you take in the space and push closer until your hands are brushing at the front and Joel appears like more of a shy, younger version of himself.

He’s awkward, unaware of how to proceed.

He brought you here because he could sense your discomfort but was also unwilling to let you slip from his grasp too soon. Part of him was being selfish and he wasn’t sure why.

“You said you’re only in town for the weekend?”

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at his drink before taking a sip. “I’m headin’ out Sunday night,”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

Because somehow, even without the full picture, you got the impression that no—he didn’t do this often, he wasn’t sure how to navigate this, and he was just as nervous as you were. 

“Do you…” you begin, voice quieter now, “do you want me to stay?”

His eyes meet yours, and with a low tone that caresses you, he admits it.

“I wouldn’t’ve brought you here if I didn’t,” he says simply.

It’s not a cheap line. It’s not a joke.

It was the truth.

You reach up to touch him first, brushing your fingers along the side of his beard and he leans into the touch like it surprises him, like he needed it.

He surges forward first, though.

And when he kisses you, it’s slow. 

Not pushy or rushed, allowing himself the time to savor it. 

You can sense he doesn’t allow this closeness often.

Or, maybe he does and he’s just that good.

You don’t know who Joel is—not really.

But you feel safe with him in a way you never have with anyone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

–

He’s oddly shy about it, the way he kisses you.

He only touches you after you’ve curled your hand into the front of his shirt, quick presses of his lips that don’t extend beyond anything closed mouth, even as you tease your tongue along the seam of his lips.

There’s uncertainty to his movements, even as his hand curls around the side of your face, he’s still hesitant that he’s doing too much, pushing you too far. You slip your finger under the fabric of his button-up and shove it down his shoulders, leaving him in the thinner, plain shirt that remained underneath as your guiding footsteps had led both of you toward the U-shaped couch in the main area of the hotel room.

His lips move against yours with a tentative rhythm, and you can tell he’s holding back, trying to be respectful of your boundaries. But the way he holds you close, anchoring you against him as his hands move to your waist—he wants more. 

You pull away just enough to catch his eye, searching for that flicker of acknowledgment as he blinks, his eyes following the line of your lips, to your nose, and eventually landing on your eyes.

“Joel,” you whisper, feeling bold but still achingly shy. 

He watches you, his gaze dark and focused.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to really kiss me,” you explain with an ire of nervousness, “like, really—”

It’s a simple request, but the way you ask it makes something in his chest tighten with desire, as if it wasn’t already boiling over.

Joel leans into you, capturing your lips with a fervor that ignites the air between you. You gasp short, quick, swallowed down by his mouth. 

This kiss is deeper, more urgent, and the hesitation he once carried is replaced by a raw intensity that sends a shiver down your spine as he falls into the couch, moving together like one cohesive piece as you split yourself over his lap.

His hands slide down from your waist to the small of your back, a finger hooking into the loop of your jeans to tug you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His other hand fits under your chin, his thumb cradling one side of your jaw while his fingers caress the others, resting perfectly in the weight of his palm as you kiss him soundly, tasting the whiskey on his breath as your tongue slips into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He breathes, stuttered and disjointed as your hands weave into his hair and tug his head back, his hands flattening out over your ass as you grind down against his lap, “where the hell’ve you been?”

“I’m right here,” you answer easily, a giggle to your tone as you tilt your head down to lick from the base of his neck up to his jaw, savoring the low groan that spills from his throat amongst the salty taste of his skin.

“I meant before,” Joel clarifies, “I just—I ain’t never met anyone like you,”

You pull away briefly, tilting your head endearingly as you look at him and his blown pupils, dilation as they set their sights on you, “I’m not special,” you joke with him, “don’t get your hopes up,”

But, you were. 

Joel has spent a lot of his life trying to find peace, love—two failed marriages and he eventually gave up on the idea entirely, even barring himself from hotel room hookups like this.

This wasn’t his normal. He didn’t do this.

There wasn’t anyone in the world that could give him the modicum generosity and carelessness about him that you had—it reminded him of growing up, trying to make a name for himself.

He still had agency and privacy—he feels it in this moment, no watchful eyes to follow his every move and you can see the gears in his head moving, unable to explain what he means without dispelling this quiet connection with you.

You kiss him instead—once on the lips, to his chin, down his neck, until you were sliding out of his lap and to the floor without a word and Joel pushed himself up, his hand slipping around the back of your neck with a shake of his head.

“Just relax,” you urge him.

Your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin as you tug it up. Joel allows you to pull the shirt off completely, revealing more of him.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him—broad shoulders, neatly trimmed hair that spread over his chest all salt and peppered, and again, just under his navel and the softness of his stomach speaking to his age.

“It’s unfair,” you mumble, more to yourself, inching forward to press a soft kiss just above his beltline. Joel’s hand tangles in your hair as he exhales sharply and you work at his belt.

“What is?” he wonders, watching as dexterous fingers undid his belt and worked efficiently at his jeans, curling around the denim to tug until they were at his knees, immediately leaning forward to mouth his cock through his briefs, your teeth dragging over the band as Joel hooks his thumbs and pulls down, his erection flopping proudly against his stomach.

“How hot you are,” you admit, frowning in a way that shouldn’t be so adorable, but Joel finds himself smiling at your honestly, “fuck—you are so b—”

“You’re inflating my ego, babygirl,” Joel interrupts,

“Are you gonna stop me?”

His silence is telling, keeping your eyes on him as you run your palm up the length of his cock, wrapping your fingers around the velvety sock skin, thumb brushing over the head as you squeeze and pull down to the base, his fingers curling over the back of the couch.

“I dunno if I can fit it all,” you admit, dragging your thumb down and over the thick vein that ran from the base of his shaft and up, stopping just below the head of his cock, feeling him pulse in your grip, “what do you think?”

“I think you can try,” Joel offers, his voice strained and he knows you hear it.

You giggle, “You alright?”

“You’re killin’ me here,” he confesses, “pretty girl with her hands on me, dangerous combination,”

And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth yet—how flattering.

He watches as you slip your tongue out to drag along the head of his cock, moving along the slit and around, circling the sensitive flesh before you’re dragging your tongue down and up, making a theatrical show of wetting his cock with your mouth before you’re gathering enough spit in your mouth to push through your lips and over him.

The head of his cock squeezed in your hand, his stomach tight with anticipation, you spread your saliva around him before taking him into your mouth without warning.

You take him deep, inch by inch, right to the base, feeling the way he fills your mouth as his hips instinctively jerk up to meet your movements. There’s a distinct urge to gag but you settle yourself, breathing slowly through your nose until you feel the confidence of his hand as it rests against the back of your head.

“Goddamn,” he groans, voice rough as he watches you, encouraging, “That’s it,”

When you pull away, it was with a quick breath, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him before taking him again, and again, head bobbing from base to tip until Joel had become less restrained in his touches and was beginning to guide you to the gentle rock of his hips, watching the collective drool that dripped from your chin as he wiped it away with his fingers before gently guiding your mouth off of him, moving away obediently but confused until he pushed his fingers into your mouth without a word.

You instinctively sucked on his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as Joel watched with a darkened desire.

“You were makin’ a mess,” Joel notes, admiring you with awe as you nodded to his words.

When you pull away you use the back of your hand to wipe at your face, slightly breathless as your mouth drags toward his cock again, but his hand finds your face again, this time pressing gently against your throat as you move backward, your hands falling back against the table behind you.

“Get on the bed,” he directs and the timbre to his voice is enough to make you cry.

You don’t hesitate, quickly rising to your feet and twisting on your heels as you hear the fabric of his pants shift, belt jingling a few feet away as he settles them back over his hip despite his persistent erection—too eager to have his turn of torture with you, immediately on you the second your ass hits the sheets of his bed in his suite, working at the button on your jeans as you yank your top over your head.

You squeal with a quiet delight as his tug of your jeans pulls your ass flush with his groin, your legs moving up near his shoulder as he focus intently on the task at hand, dragging your jeans off before tossing them away, spreading your leg instinctively to his other shoulder as he leans forward, fists pressing into the bed as the wet spot in your underwear pressed against the line of his cock, visible even through your black, sheer lace of the fabric.

“You’ll tell me what feels good,” Joel directs and you nod obediently, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip, pausing to your silence, “say it back to me,”

“I’ll tell you what feels good,” you assure him.

Joel leans back, his knee settling into the mattress as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips, tugging your panties up and off before tossing them in a similar direction as the jeans.

Time slows as his fingertips graze along your thighs, dancing along the inside with a teasing touch before he’s spreading your legs apart. He hovers just above your sensitive core, looking up at you briefly for a sign of acknowledgement as you not—it makes you squirm, the look of pure lust in his eyes, a completely different man than you had met the day before.

It felt like a whirlwind—but to Joel, that was his life.

You didn’t leave much time to dwell on it, unbeknownst to his proclivity for this type of lifestyle.

“Alright now” Joel murmurs, sound distracted as the heat of his breath brushed against your cunt, “M’gonna take care of you,”

When his mouth finally connects with you, it is kismet.

He didn’t need any guidance, really.

The moment his tongue flicks against your clit, you gasp, arching into him involuntarily.

He does it again, countless times, until you’re croaking out a weak, “Fingers,”

You needed the pressure, feeling his tongue circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves with an intent to make you come in record time, but he listens.

Two, slow, but together.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding, “now—now your mouth,”

He pumps his fingers in time with the movements of his tongue, suckling against your clit as he curls his fingers inside of you, deep, brushing against the sensitive spot inside of you.

You whimper at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as you hand searches for his thick curls, twisting into the strands as Joel chuckles, suckling harder at your clit until you could barely stand it.

You can feel the tension building in your core, mind-numbing, babbling out gentle noises that make no sense, legs shaking slightly as Joel drew you closer toward the edge,

“Joel,” you sigh with a high pitch, “I feel it—I’m so close,”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body so hard you nearly come then but just as the feelings crests, it fades. Joel pulls back slightly, teasingly slowing, feeling the sudden emptiness as he continues to pull away and you chase after him, quickly sitting up to reach for him.

“Not yet,” he soothes, burying his face into your neck as he mouths at the skin there, feeling you melt into his touch as he fits himself between your legs, mouthing down until his lips graze the center of your chest, a revenant care to each breasts as his tongue licks around your nipple before trading to the other, squeezing the opposite with an empty hand as you moan brokenly, arching up into his touch as he sucks on the skin in various places.

“I wanna feel you,” he speaks into your skin, lips trailing toward your belly button and back up, your eyes following him with a subtle excitement as a smile creeps onto your features, “around me,” he admits as he presses a kiss to your temple, shucking his jeans down haphazardly while he busies himself with the distraction of your giddiness, nodding to his words, “can I?”

“What?” you ask dumbly, your eyes following him as he tilts his head at you expectantly.

“Can I feel you?” he asks with an even sweeter tone,

“Such a gentleman,” you mock, grazing your fingers over his cheek as the filter into the curls at his forehead, pushing them back.

“Fine,” he sighs in mock defeat, “can I fuck you?”

You nod as your bottom lip pulls between your teeth and Joel matches your eagerness with a swift kick of his leg, the fabric confining him disappearing in an instant, but then there’s a pause.

He’d really gotten ahead of himself.

So ahead he hadn’t even considered—

You can see the thought forming in his head, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this without ruining the mood—”

“Just say it,” you tell him, increasingly concerned.

“I shouldn’t assume…anything,” he begins, “seein’ as we only just met yesterday, but uh, I’m—”

“Clean?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, “but I’m also y’know…sterile,”

The word lingers and Joel fears he may have killed the mood entirely, watching your face go from concerned to confused before you can’t help but grin and then he realizes he’s in the clear.

“That is the hottest thing you could’ve said right now,” you tell him, fingers dragging down his chest and along his side until your blunt fingernails are digging into the skin and pulling him close, “now, seriously—get inside of me,”

He leans down, capturing your lips again in a slow kiss, swallowing your soft moans as he pushes against you. His cock nudges at your entrance, brushes through slick folds—every nerve-ending in your body ready to explode.

“I’m glad I met you,” he mumbles against your mouth, and when you giggle at his admission, he sinks into you slowly, a gasp cutting you short. 

The sensation is indescribable, familiar, but different; you're filled with warmth and pressure as he stretches you around him, adjusting to his size with a gentle rock of his hips as a hand tucks under one of your thighs and pulls up, immediately adjusting the angle to something more intense than you’re anticipating. 

You gasp again, the sound mixing with the gentle creak of the bed as he presses deeper, giving you time to adapt to him as he lifts his head, catching sight of your pleasure-struck face.

“Jesus,” he breathes, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he watches you take him in, inch by inch. “—you alright?”

You offer a soft hum and a nod of your head as your mouth opens in a breathless sigh as Joel gradually picks up the pace of his hips, his hands smoothing away the hair on either side of your face, elbows barricading you in as your moans mingle together, lips brushing briefly as he bows his head.

“Just like that,” you encourage softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as one of his hands finds purchase on your hip again while the other grips the edge of the bed above your head for leverage, “fuck—just—”

“Yeah?” His voice is sweet, but taunting—he’s so attentive to your body, grunting when your walls clench down around him, how your breath picks up as the sensation in your gut begins to coil again, “Touch yourself for me,”

There was no hesitation, slipping your hand between your sweaty bodies to rub your fingers insistently over your swollen clit, overwhelmed with sensation of relief in the corners of your subconscious as Joel rises up, his broad shoulders widening with every breath.

You can see the way his cock disappears inside of you, his own eyes stuck on the sight.

Joel's gaze is locked on the way your fingers move between your legs, urgency creeping into the rhythm of his thrusts as he feels you approaching the edge, matching his intensity as best you could.

The warmth of your cunt enveloping him is intoxicating, and the sight of you lost in pleasure stirs something deep inside of him, hand fisting the sheet above your head as your eyes fell shut, mouth hung open in a desperate breath.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whisper, the warmth of his voice keep you afloat, then slowly, his thumb brushes against your cheek, gently urging you back to reality, “Come for me?”

He wasn’t demanding—it was a plea.

You whimper at his words, nodding urgently, the heat pooling in your core tightening as you continue to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. “Joel,” you breathe out, his name a warning of the impending end as you clenched around him when a moan slipped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he nods encouragingly, rocking his hips through his own orgasm with a deafening grunt, his hands squeezing tight over your thighs as his thrusts stutter to a slower pace as your orgasm crashes into you all at once, “there you go, baby,”

When you come down, it was under the guide of careful touches and a soothing voice that invaded your space, pressed against your skin, gasping as you felt the loss of Joel as he pulled out of you but didn’t move just yet, still hovering above until you looked at him, his expectant eyes crinkling at the corners as you couldn’t hold back the soft smile that crept onto your face.

“There she is,” he remarks, “still with me?”

You giggle, nodding confidently, “Yeah—m’right here,”

–

He doesn’t force you out either, not you expected it.

“Why me?” you ask quietly, having spent ample time enjoying his lavish hotel shower with his leisurely touches, now held hostage under the sheets though completely at your own will.

“Whaddya mean?” 

“I’m just curious what I did,” you shrug slightly, “why am I different?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I looked at you and I saw somethin’ real—you were terrified, but it didn’t seem to stop you. I’m not used to people treatin’ me like you do.”

“Like a person?” you ask with a slightly chuckle, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” he answers candidly, “you’re gonna stick with it, aren’t you? Playing?”

“If I can scrounge up enough money to afford one, yeah,” you assure him.

Joel chews at the inside of his bottom lip as he watches you, eyes drifting shut from where you rested against his arm, lulled into sleep by the matching rhythm of your shared breaths. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to let you go come morning.

–

You wake up to a cold bed, but it isn’t empty.

You yawn wide, stretching out the ache of sleep as your fingers drift against a piece of paper and a metal tray in the spot where Joel had been the night prior, blinking away the bleariness.

Sorry for leaving without a goodbye, I wish I could have stayed. The room is booked out until noon and I ordered you breakfast before I left. 

There’s an arrow pointing toward the right, prompting you to flip the note over.

Rip this up after you save it into your phone.

It was a number, his number, you could only assume.

There’s some disappointment that lingers in your mind, sitting more upright as you pluck the cover from the tray to a plate full of fresh fruit and some other breakfast foods, a bottle of orange juice set off to the side of the tray.

You had no reason to hold any animosity toward him, staring at the ten digit number as you begun to nibble at the food on the tray, scrolling through your phone to find an unread message from your best friend, who by your own doing, hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks.

My date bailed on me tonight and he left me with the concert tickets. Come out with me? Please? I think it will help. Plus, it’s free.

You laugh weakly at the end of her message before you take a moment to think, slowly typing in Joel’s number to your contacts as you decide whether going out tonight was worth it or not.

You could stay in, wallow, and call Joel later that night in hopes he would pick up.

Or, you could give yourself a break and attempt to enjoy something outside of your comfort zone.

You send her a quick text to confirm and she responds immediately with a series of exclamation points and how she’d be at your place later that night to pick you up.

You slump against the bed, not quite ready to move. Joel’s lingering scent clings to the sheets, and you find yourself smiling, reliving the moments in your mind, still fresh.

This was ridiculous—and he was still so much of a mystery.

Maybe it was better that way, left in the dark.

When your best friend arrives later that night, her excitement is infectious but overwhelming. “You look amazing!” she squeals, pulling you into a tight hug, “We’re gonna have fun, I swear.”

You force a smile that she notices, but doesn’t comment on.

The venue isn’t small like you’re expecting—it was huge, four times the size of a normal crowd at the bar during local performances by less known bands.

“Who’s playing?” you ask curiously as you filtered into the stadium, finding some extra luck at an empty barricade spot as you squeezed into the crowd.

“Uh, the Miller Brothers?” she responds, sounding unsure.

“That’s…a name,” you respond with a quiet laugh that she matches with similar amusement.

“I don’t know, the dude was singing their praises but he did flake on me, so,” she shrugs, “if anything, we can get a laugh out of this,”

The lights dimmed as the crowd began to quiet and you both focused in, hearing the sound of footsteps as they approached the stage but unable to make out anything in the dark. The steady beat of a drum comes first, then the powerful cord of a guitar before a deep, rich voice filtered through the microphone and the energy in the room shifted on a dime as the crowd erupted into cheers. 

The roar of excitement washed over you, igniting an unexpected thrill within your chest that you hadn’t felt in ages, the anticipation of the unknown. 

Then you saw him under the stage lights.

Joel.

Your hand clasped over your mouth immediately, your friend immediately catching notice as she looked at you with confusion, “Don’t fucking pass out on me,” she jokes, but you feel her hand at your back, holding you steady.

“No—” he hadn’t noticed you yet—but how could he? 

“What?” she asked with a twinge of irritation, “God, girl, spit it out,”

“Nothing,” you quickly regain your composure, “I’m—sorry, he’s just…cute,”

She grins, shrugging.

“I’m guessing that one is his brother,” she pointed to the guy on Joel’s left, also strumming a guitar but his hair was dark and pulled back, he appeared younger—and really, they must be related, “I don’t know, I think he’s cuter,”

The name was genuine.

Definitely brothers, those two.

And this could not be happening.

Halfway through the chorus, stuck in a daze as you watched Joel perform like an entirely different being, a powerhouse of vocals as his eyes drifted close and you watched him sing.

It was mesmerizing.

But, then he spots you.

Joel’s song stuttered for the briefest of seconds, a flicker of surprise breaking through his otherwise confident demeanor, like a crack in his persona. You barely recognized him like this.

A smile bloomed across his face, an emotion that seemed normal to the crowd but was all for you, his eyes drawn to your face for the briefest of moments as everything seemed to fade away.

You were barely listening to the music, the beat like a distant hum in your eardrums.

It was surreal watching him transform from the man who had kissed you tenderly, explored your body with a careful passion, to this dynamic figure commanding the stage. He was soft-spoken in private, awkward enough that it was endearing, always searching for your approval.

The screams began to creep back in, all for him, and he quickly switched back into character.

By the end of the show, most of the crowd had filtered out and your friend has snuck away to the bathroom as you waited for her, hopelessly searching for any sign of Joel even though you knew it was slim that he would show, holding out on the fact you had his number.

You had too many questions to ask him.

“Did you know?” The voice comes a few minutes later as you lose focus, the arena mostly empty as Joel waved away a few fans he had just signed an autograph to with a smile, your head whipping around at the sound.

“Huh?” you answer initially, eventually realizing it was him, “No? God, no. I didn’t,”

Joel’s silence lingers, but his smile is wide as he approaches with slow steps, fingers curling around the barricade as he keeps watchful eyes, his security lingering around him carefully.

“Should you be out here?” you ask, “Talking to me?”

“No,” he answers truthfully, “but, I’ve broken a lot of rules for you,”

“Like…giving me your number?” 

He nods, his teeth showing slightly as he grins.

“My friend invited me out,” you explain hastily, “we didn’t—I had no idea—you’re…”

“I should’ve told you,” Joel decides, “I just…appreciate that fact you didn’t have a clue who I was,”

You shrug, offering an endearing smile that tears right through him, his expression softening.

“I still don’t,” you tell him, “but I’d like to know you—not that you, but the Joel I met at the guitar shop and you gave me your number, so something tells me you already know that,”

“You’re so goddamn good at that,” Joel admits, “seein’ right through me,”

“Are you gonna answer my call?” you ask, eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, letting out a soft grunt as you tug him forward, pressing a quick but gentle kiss against his lips that has his hands filtering into your hair as they curl around the back of your head and neck.

To the outside, you probably look like a crazed fan with too big ambitions.

But, you knew that wasn’t true, so you didn’t care.

“I will hunt you down,” you warn him playfully, “Joel Miller,”

Joel smirks, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here,” he teases,

–

Joel was the reason you returned to the guitar shop, as much as you hated to admit it.

“Just go in, take another look,” he’d urged over the phone.

You had, without a single idea what you were doing.

When your name is called out from the front desk, you answer with a hesitant noise of acknowledgement.

“Got somethin’ for you,” the owner said, bringing the familiar acoustic you had your eyes on the week prior above the counter, all black and gold trim, “been holdin’ it for a couple days,”

You shake your head, approaching hesitantly, “There must be a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Paid for by Joel Miller,” he clarifies, “has your name on it, it's yours,”

You didn’t attempt to argue, despite the guilt that wound itself around your heart.

When you finally arrived home, the case sitting open on your bed with the guitar inside, you snap a picture and send it to Joel, unknowing of when he would get back to you with how busy he was, texting you sparsely when he could.

You’re a dead man.

You had sent the picture alongside it.

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle when he finally had the chance to look at his phone the following night, resting on the cramped bed of his tour bus, thumbing back a quick message.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

[pedgito]

THE LAST OF US (2023-)

2.07 “Convergence”

[pedgito]

so i had a thought (obviously spoiler warning)

not to cause any of you more emotional distress over losing joel but i had a thought watching this particular scene tonight and what if, just for a second

there was a flash of joel, similar to the interaction after david and joel is soothing ellie & how in the game they used joel’s voice (in place of tommy calling for her) when jesse and tommy find her in the aquarium…what if they had just used joel as a stand-in for tommy here for like half a fucking second to drive home just how fucking bad her grief and (eventually shown) ptsd is

guys…

GUYS 😭

[pedgito]

GIVE ME THAT MAN RIGHT THE FUCK NOW 🤲🏻 this was equal parts delicious and sweet, what a special treat after tonight’s tragedy lmfao

can i be yours?

pairing: jesse/fem!reader genre: fluff + smut w.c.: 10k a/n: i got so carried away with this one but consider it a fix it fic <3

summary: You've been living in Jackson for almost a year, you think you're in love with your best friend, and you're a virgin. Dina meddles.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, friends to lovers, slow burn?, virgin!reader, kinda oblivious!reader, soft!jesse, dellie being nosy, past dina/jesse, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity/first time, p in v, riding, jesse practicing his pull out game, mentions of alcohol, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You didn’t fit in yet.

You had only arrived at Jackson about 3 months ago, hiding behind a group of 6 people that took pity on you at least 100 miles ago with nothing but a rusty knife and the tattered clothes on your back.

The people of Jackson were kind, hospitable. They fed your entire group and kept you warm. It was frightening—being around so many new different people, in a town that you assumed looked too similar to how it was before the outbreak.

Now that the group was safe, surrounded by towering walls and hot food, it gradually disbanded. You found yourself feeling strangely hollow sitting at a table all by yourself in the food hall, the soup in front of you almost too warm and too good, or in your house, because all of the people you came with grouped off and found others they preferred to stay with.

Similarly to how you were surviving on the outskirts of the state of Wyoming, you were all alone again.

It was almost comforting, strangely reassuring, as you silently agreed to whatever tasks were available by the time you rolled out of bed just after sunrise. The town was already bustling with energy, people shouting good mornings to each other, and it was almost like there was nothing horrifically disturbing happening outside of these walls.

You got tasked with clearing out the stables one sunny day. You didn’t mind—you loved animals. They never judged you and they actually craved to be in your presence. It was nice to be wanted for once.

You were told to ask for a Jesse. When you arrived, there was already a group of three other people around your age; two girls and a guy.

The two girls were huddled around an auburn horse that was nuzzling into their open palms, giggling at the tickling whiskers. You watched as their shoulders bumped together, trying to ignore the ache you felt bloom in your chest at the mere sight of them.

“Hey,” the boy calls out to you, voice deeper and smoother than you expected, and approaches you. “Did Maria send you?”

He was tall, all broad shoulders and thick arms. He was pretty, in a boyish way, with sparkling brown eyes and a polite smile. The cold winter air bit at his face, causing his cheeks to look a bit pink.

You nodded, the instructions that Maria had left you with dying in your throat. He must have been Jesse.

“Dina, Ellie, come on. Let’s get started.” Jesse doesn’t even bother waiting for them, or for you, and makes his way to the storage closet around the corner.

You’ve seen the three of them around Jackson before. Either huddled together in the corner of the mess hall or laughing and shoving at each other when you were walking through the main street. Everyone in town seemed to step aside for them, whispering amongst themselves about Ellie and the rugged man she came with several years ago. You never caught what it was about, but you didn’t really care.

Dina greets you with a warm smile while Ellie gives what you can only describe as a grimace as they pass by.

The rest of the morning is spent in a similar manner. The three of them talk, argue, bicker, and you’re off to the sidelines. You feel awkward, like an outsider. There’s an obvious sense of comfort the three of them bring each other, and you don’t want to ruin that.

And yet, when Dina makes a joke at Jesse’s expense, she looks at you. When you couldn’t find the farrier tools, Ellie appeared at your side and was able to dig them out behind a pair of old boots for you. When you found yourself actively listening to a long-winded story Ellie was telling about a comic book series that she loved, you found Jesse was blatantly staring at you out of the corner of your eye.

When Dina invited you to have dinner with them by time you’ve finished, you found yourself agreeing.

But then you kept getting invited—most of the time by Dina with a friendly shoulder bump, sometimes by Ellie with a nervousness that you found almost endearing, and occasionally by Jesse, wearing that polite smile that eventually continued to thaw away.

The next several months pass like that.

You would wake up alone in your house that was much too large for one person. You would go do your job for that day, either helping out at the store or at the garden, have your meals with the three people that you have suddenly realized you considered friends, and then home again.

You found yourself looking forward to mealtimes, even if you weren’t contributing much to the conversation. They were used to it by now and thankfully didn’t mind. Besides, watching the three of them bicker with each other about the most inane topics was entertaining enough.

You found that ache in your chest slowly dissipating. You were smiling more, talking more, and whenever you laughed, you could’ve sworn the three of them would make eye contact with each other as if having a silent conversation you weren’t privy to.

But you didn’t care. How could you care about what they were thinking when you found yourself looking forward to the day, contributing to the community, and hopeful that you’ll be ready to go out on a patrol.

And then there was Jesse.

You weren’t blind—you and the rest of the girls in Jackson knew he was handsome. Anyone could have told you about the strong cut of his jawline or the broad width of his shoulders as he helped with the construction of the town. He was quiet, not as quiet as you, but appeared to be just as content as you to watch Dina and Ellie squabble.

Often times he would join the conversation, and that’s when you noticed the strange history between him and Dina, though you know they tried to hide it.

So you try to shove down the stirring of emotion you get when you notice the way Jesse glances at you from across the table, eyebrows drawn together like he’s not quite sure what to think of you just yet. You ignore the way his hands would dwarf his handgun while cleaning it when you were hanging out in Ellie’s room and the expanse of skin that would reveal itself every time he stretched, the flex of muscles evident even through his shirt.

It's almost summer when you get invited out to the Tipsy Bison for a couple of drinks.

You usually prefer not to step foot in the dingy bar, instead much rather enjoying laying out on your couch to work through the dusty novels on your bookshelf. And you were about to decline Dina’s offer, citing that exact reason, but then she says something that has the hair on the back of your neck raise.

“Jesse said he was looking forward to seeing you there, but, oh well.”

And that’s how you found yourself huddled in a booth, Jesse brushing up against your left side and Ellie on the other.

It was absolutely packed tonight due to an event that you didn’t even realize the bar even had the capacity to hold. The rancid smell of moonshine and grilled meats permeated through the air, while the live band playing off-key and the animated chatter of the rest of the patrons filled your ears.

The rest of them were in the middle of gossiping, something juicy happening on someone else’s patrol, but you couldn’t even bother to pretend you were paying attention. You were staring holes at the glass of water in front of you, sweating from the bar’s humidity, and trying and failing to not think about what Dina meant when she said that Jesse was wanting you here.

So far, he hadn’t given you any special indication he was waiting for you when you arrived. He just gave you that warm and genuine smile that has been inexplicably making your chest hurt more and more, and stepped out of the booth so you could sit inside rather than out on the edge. Because he knew you didn’t like the chance that someone could bump into you during the night.

You and Jesse were friends, good friends even. He made sure to check up on you at the end of the day, always giving you the last bite of his bread during dinner, and always offering to walk you home after a night out at the bar or even from Ellie’s.

And again, there was that… thing he had with Dina. You could’ve sworn you saw them talking in private the other day, facial expressions open and hopeful. They were clearly dating, or talking, so you weren’t sure why they hadn’t told you yet. Not like it was technically any of your business.

You’re suddenly aware of a lull in the conversation and multiple pairs of eyes on you.

When you glance up from where you were staring at a droplet of water racing down the side of your glass, your assumption was correct. Dina and Ellie were watching you with equal amounts of concern and amusement dancing in their eyes while Jesse was making his way back from the bar with a new drink in hand.

You blink, not even noticing that Jesse had gotten up. “What?”

Ellie’s mouth twists, as if trying to hold back a laugh. “We asked you a question.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue, you thought as you tried and failed to glance at Jesse out of the corner of your eye as he settled in next to you while taking a sip from his drink. “What was the question?”

“The question was,” Dina whispers, nearly conspiratorially and leaning into the table. You and the rest of the table unconsciously follow. “When was the last time you had sex?”

Suddenly, Jesse splutters out his drink, spraying the table and all of your hands. Ellie immediately yelps in disgust, swiping her hands on her jeans, while a burning heat crawls up your neck.

“What?” You hiss, yet it embarrassingly comes out like a squeak.

Jesse’s coughing, the corners of his eyes tearing, while Ellie has to stand and lean across the table to try and slap him on the back. It all would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the lazy eyebrow Dina raises and the smirk she’s wearing, as if she can see right through you.

“Don’t tell me… you’re not a virgin, are you?”

Blood rushes through your ears, dulling the music and the way Jesse hisses at Dina, most likely a warning. You can’t even be bothered to wonder why he would do that, react like that, because the hot flare of embarrassment blooms in your chest and up to your face. Your nails dig into your palms from how hard you’re clenching your fists underneath the table and your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish.

“Uhm,” is all you can manage out.

You know it’s nothing you technically should be embarrassed about—it was the end of the world. But it’s also been the end of the world for over 20 years now, and you’ve been living in Jackson for almost a year so you’re not sure if that’s an excuse anymore.

You’ve heard the other girls in the town gossiping, talking about sex so casually it was as if they were talking about the weather. And it’s not like you were a complete prude—you’ve seen the dirty magazines that were passed around in the groups you had to join for survival, the noises people would make when they thought everybody else was asleep. Only recently did you start experimenting with your own body, fingers silently dipping underneath your panties and adamantly trying not to think about soft brown eyes and thick biceps.

“You’ve had your first kiss at least, right?” Ellie looks concerned, eyebrows pinching together.

“Of course I have,” you mutter, avoiding everyone else’s eyes. You fail to mention that it only happened as recently as last year and with a boy who barely pressed his mouth to yours, and then had mysteriously disappeared the next day.

There’s silence. When you lift your head, the three of them are still watching you, waiting. They’re being nice, considerate, letting you open up as much as you want to. They’ve been so patient and welcoming, you don’t feel like it’s a chore at all when you heave a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as your eyes fixate on an old scratch on the table. “Yes, I’m a virgin. It’s kind of hard when the world is ending to find the right person.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke, but you can hear the lack of conviction in your own voice. No one laughs. In fact, no one says anything for several seconds, long enough where you feel your ears start to burn.

You’re wondering why no one is fucking saying anything, not budging from where you’re staring a hole into the table, when Dina seems to take pity on you.

“You know, Jesse’s a great kisser.”

It doesn’t process at first, your ears still ringing from anxiety, but then you hear Jesse say a very dumbfounded “What the fuck, Dina,” and then it’s like time begins moving again. The music rushes through you like someone just raised the volume, you’re suddenly aware of how fast your heart is pounding, and you can feel Jesse’s warm thigh pressed up against yours underneath the table.

You suddenly feel like you’re being excluded from some inside joke as you watch confusedly as Jesse and Dina argue over the table. He looks embarrassed, a flush decorating his neck that you’re starting to wonder if it was due to the alcohol or something else, while Dina is wearing a poorly hidden smirk.

Because why would Dina bring up the fact that Jesse was a great kisser when they were dating? It’s not like she was the type to brag or rub it in people’s faces. In fact, she’s never even told you that they were dating in the first place besides it being a well-known fact throughout the town.

Maria suddenly appears to discuss a patrol-related issue with Jesse, and then it’s like nothing ever happened. The rest of them continue casual conversation as if Dina didn’t drop a nuclear bomb into your brain.

You try not to ruminate over it, not wanting to make the night more awkward than you felt like it already was. You attempt to participate with the group shenanigans and gossip, but it all feels stilted.

By the time you guys call it a night, citing an early patrol for some of them, you’ve come to terms with the fact that Dina had said that because she had already had too many drinks and was just making a poor attempt at flirting.

“You ready?” Jesse asks, throwing his coat over his arm to carry. You ignore the way you can see the flex in his arms as he leans against the booth. He’s stopped asking you whether he can walk you home or not, knowing that you would politely decline anyway, and has just decided for himself that he would whenever he could.

You nod wordlessly, tamping down at the fluttering in your stomach.

The both of you say bye to Dina and Ellie outside the bar. You watch with a slight frown when Dina whispers something in Jesse’s ear, causing him to hiss at her again and elbow her in shoulder. She laughs, loud and full of delight, and you manage to tear your eyes away at something that was clearly a private moment between them.

You were happy it was almost summer—warm enough where the snow has long since melted,  but still a refreshing coolness in the air as you and Jesse walk side by side. The air smelled crisp, the smell of a bonfire starting to become familiar and comforting, and you were looking forward to the summer heat after months of snow.

Despite the late hour, there were still people milling around Jackson, coming to and from the bar or just huddling around a group to joke around. You wonder if this was what it was like before the outbreak—people able to just stand outside without worrying about being heard by clickers or attacked by raiders.

Jesse’s arm continues to brush against yours with every step, the heat from his body nearly burning you from the inside out with every second of silence the passes.

It’s always nice to spend time with Jesse, even if it was only for the five-minute walk to the main street to your house. You’re content to have him all to yourself, even if it was only because your house was along the same route to his. He usually doesn’t bother talking to fill up the silence and you don’t mind, the sounds of your steady breathing and the noises of Jackson being enough.

Except today.

“So,” Jesse says suddenly, nearly causing you to jump. “You seeing anyone?”

The question almost stops you in your tracks, but instead you trip over your feet and nearly fall flat on your face.

His hands reach out, as if to catch you, but you’re able to stabilize yourself before letting out an incredulous laugh, head whipping around to face him. “Are you serious?”

To his credit, he looks embarrassed, looking off to the side and setting his shoulders. He’s been embarrassed a lot tonight. “What? I’m just curious.”

You take his word and assume that he’s right. He’s just being curious, or maybe even a bit protective, but there’s an annoying nagging feeling at the back of your brain that says otherwise. “I think you would notice if I was dating someone since you guys are my only friends.”

You’re grateful that Jesse doesn’t wince like anybody else would. Instead, he laughs, shoulders dropping as if in relief. The sound makes something warm settle in your chest. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t lying about being a virgin.”

The comment makes you flush, the near crudeness making your heart skip a beat. You try not to let it show, but you don’t think you do a very good job with the way Jesse tilts his chin to look at you. His gaze is dark, sending a strange shiver down your spine.

“I’ve barely even had my first kiss, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” and then you’re desperately rushing to change the subject, suddenly able to sense his curiosity. “Well, what about you? Are you and Dina still dating?”

For a moment, Jesse doesn’t say anything, and you start to think that you’ve overstepped a boundary. It makes sense since neither of them have even confirmed they were dating in the first place.

And then he’s chuckling, a low sound that doesn’t help the sharp desire crawling up your throat. “No,” he says. “Dina and I aren’t together.”

You hum, partly because you weren’t quite sure how to respond without giving away the sudden relief you felt but also partly because you’ve made it to your front porch. The stairs creak with every step and you’re glad that you had remembered to turn the porch light on, not confident that you would be able to have steady legs with Jesse at your side.

If him and Dina weren’t dating, what has all the whispering and nudging been about?

Both of you stop in front of the door, quiet besides your soft breaths. It’s awkward, or maybe it feels awkward to you and it’s all in your head, because you don’t think Jesse and the word awkward can even exist in the same sentence.

And yet, as you stand on your front porch to your too-big house, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jesse like this. A pretty tinge of pink plastered on his neck, thick fingers wringing together, shoulders tense as he shifts in place.

You’re struck with how handsome he looks like this, his hair ruffling from the faint breeze and boyish despite how much more experienced he was then you in probably all aspects—within the community, combat, and even in relationships, romantic or otherwise.

You’re not sure where you get the surge of confidence from, feeling spectacularly sober, but the way Jesse’s eyes flits to your lips and then back up has you feeling dazed like you had knocked back five drinks.

“Do you want to come inside and help me?”

You know you don’t have to clarify about what when Jesse’s eyes widen, lips parting, before he nods.

As you open the front door, breaths unsteady and hands nearly shaking, you wonder if he could somehow hear the concerningly erratic rate your heart was racing at.

The stale scent of dust and the fire you had burning last night immediately envelops you as you both toe off your shoes. The house was sparsely furnished since you were the only person living in it; an old couch with a cracked coffee table in the living room, a wobbly dining table with only one mismatched chair, and a worn mattress upstairs. There were a couple of bookshelves filled with the dusty novels you've been working on and random knickknacks that you hadn't had the heart to toss out.

The house is still unfamiliar to you, not quite a home yet, so you feel a strange sense of anticipation as you turn to face Jesse, your socks sliding against the hardwood.

You hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, so the only way you were able to see was due to the street lamps bleeding through your windows and casting the empty living room with a warm glow.

You clearly hadn’t thought this through, not sure what to say or what to do next, and felt suddenly inadequate.

Because what if you do everything wrong and mess it up somehow? Or worse, you don’t even get that far and Jesse changes his mind, not finding you desirable in the same way you find him and avoids you around Jackson for the rest of your life?

Your racing thoughts come to a startingly quick stop at the brush of Jesse’s hand against your cheek, soft and warm. You meet his eyes from where you were staring at your feet, and you find yourself unconsciously holding your breath when you notice how close he suddenly was.

He’s unbearably gentle as he cradles your cheek, your jaw, as if you were a skittish animal. You catch a glimpse of the softness in his brown eyes, honeyed from the light filtering in from the street. His voice is low, raspy in a way that had lightning shoot up your spine, when he asks “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, barely a tilt of your chin, and then he’s leaning in and finally pressing his mouth to yours.

His lips were soft, just like you predicted, and so much better than the boy you had kissed last year. It’s clear Jesse knows what he’s doing too, with the way his large hand tilts your head to kiss you better, his other hand coming up to land on your hip.

He tastes like his drink he had at the bar, spicy and like caramel, incredibly intoxicating and enough for you to place your palms on his sturdy chest. You resist the urge to grab him by the collar and tug him closer.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, not even realizing you had shut them in the first place, he’s watching you with an expression so fond it steals the breath from your lungs.

“How was that?” he asks, a nervous smile tugging at his lips and drawing your attention to them.

You could feel the erratic thumping of his heart underneath your palm, nearly matching yours, and you’re starting to realize that maybe your feelings weren’t all completely one-sided.

“I think I’m going to need more practice,” you attempt to joke, however the breathiness in your voice gives you away.

He smiles then. “I guess I can’t say no to that.”

You feel less awkward when he kisses you this time, exhilarated at the heady sensation of his mouth against yours, and you’re not even aware you’re stepping in closer into his embrace until your body is pressed up against his.

He hums, his hand tightening on your hip and tugging you even closer, and the sudden onslaught of pleasure that thrums through you when his muscular thigh settles against your core has you gasping in his mouth.

And it’s like a dam breaks. His hand leaves your jaw to grab at your hips, tugging you until your back was pressed up against the wall. He immediately delves into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and the feeling of his tongue lightly brushing against yours was new but not unwelcome. In fact, you fist at the fabric of his sweater, pulling you into him so his chest was pressed against yours.

By the time he pulls away, you’re gasping for air but following his mouth for more. His head dips to press tenderly along your jawline and then up to nip at your earlobe.

It’s nearly ticklish with his warm breaths and his hair brushing against your face, but you can’t help the whimper that escapes when he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. A familiar coil of heat starts at the pit of your stomach, only intensifying with each brush of Jesse’s clothed thigh in between yours.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he whispers against your neck. “Whatever you want.”

It’s sweet, and so earnestly like him to make sure that you were comfortable that it makes you smile.

You don’t think you’ve ever trusted anyone more than you trusted Jesse. The few times that you went on a practice patrol with him, just barely on the outskirts of town, you knew you were safe. He always treated you with kindness, more than you ever deserved, and you knew this was no exception.

“Can we go upstairs?”

He presses one last kiss on your bare shoulder, the collar of your shirt skewed, and pulls back to lean his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as if he needed a second to breathe.

When he opens his eyes, arousal runs hot through you when you notice the way his pupils were blown and nearly swallowing the honey brown of his eyes. Lips parted with heavy breaths, he searches your gaze.

You’re not sure what he finds or what he was looking for, but he swallows and nods. “Okay.”

When he steps away, leaving your body significantly colder than before, you take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers with his to pull him upstairs and into your bedroom. You think you notice him try to hide a smile.

If your living room was sparse, your bedroom was even worse—an old twin bed tucked in the corner, an empty desk, and all of your clothes spilling out of your backpack instead of hung up in the empty closet. Even though it’s been several months since you’ve been in Jackson, you weren’t quite ready to hang your clothes up.

If Jesse notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead crowding against you with large hands on your hips until the back of your knees collide against the edge of the bed. He captures your giggle with a chaste kiss, and then another, and tugs you close until you were flushed against him.

You feel him fidget with the hem of your shirt and it causes a sudden spike of anxiety in your stomach, overpowering the steady hum of arousal.

Jesse must notice because he pulls back, pausing. “Is this okay?”

Now you were crossing into unknown territory, but rather than being scared, the tenderness in Jesse’s eyes did nothing but comfort you, your nervousness slowly ebbing away.

You nod and move your hands to grasp at the edge of his shirt, his fingers still ghosting over the hem of your sweater. “You first.”

He huffs a laugh at that, rolling his eyes fondly, and then lifts his shirt off to throw in the far corner of your room.

Any words you were going to say die in your throat. You knew Jesse was in shape, evident by how often he was called on for construction duty, but seeing it in person with no clothes and in the privacy of your bedroom was a whole different story.

Fair skin riddled with scars dusting over his chest and his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen jumping out at you. Before you could stop yourself, you brush your fingers across his chest to trace a predominant scar before trailing down. You watch, entranced, as he shivers, stomach tensing and goosebumps rising along his skin.

He sucks in a sharp breath, breaking you out of your reverie, and when you glance up at him, he looks nearly dazed, eyes wide and searching.

When you lift the hem of your shirt off and over your head, you jump at his hands suddenly coming to run along your ribcage, fingers brushing against the stiff underwire of your old bra. He deftly unclasps it, letting it fall away, as he mutters a curse under his breath at the sight of your breasts.

“On the bed,” he rasps, eyes still fixated on your chest.

It makes you want to giggle, maybe preen a little, because he’s being such a boy, but then he steps away to unbuckle his belt and you spot the noticeable bulge pressing through the crotch of his jeans. Your breath stutters, fingers twitching with curiosity, before eventually obeying and climbing up your bed until you were laying with your head on your flat pillow.

He’s on you a moment later, crawling up the length of your body until he’s hovering over you. His arms are on either side of your head, his warm breath fanning over your face. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, finally allowing yourself to run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise, almost akin to a purr, and nudges his nose against yours, causing a grin to form on your face.

He studies you for a moment, eyes wide as if in awe despite the clear arousal swimming in them. He reaches up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear, the pad of his finger brushing along your cheekbone. The action sends your heart flipping in your chest.

“You know this is more than me doing you a favor, right?” he whispers, as if worried that speaking any louder would break the daze you felt.

If possible, your heart nearly seizes. You had your suspicions, having difficulty justifying the plain affection Jesse wore as soon as he stepped through your doorway. It explained the deliberate way he sought you out in the food hall or how he seemed to always find you when you were on your way back from the store, silently falling in step with you.

It certainly explained the now obvious way Dina was trying to set you two up.

The revelation has you grinning, fondness for the friends you’ve made here in your new home fluttering in your stomach. Maybe Jackson wasn’t too bad after all.

Jesse’s brows furrow in confusion, and before he can climb off of you thinking you were hesitating, you tug at his hair. A thrill runs up your spine at the way his eyes flutter shut, a rough groan tumbling out of his mouth that sends molten arousal between your thighs before you say, “I know.”

You tug him down to kiss you, this time your lips parting easily as if to convey just how sure you were.

You think he can tell, knows, by the way he hums into your mouth, tongue brushing against yours briefly before making his way down your jaw again, your neck. His warm breaths and the way his teeth skims along the column of your throat, the dip of your collarbone, has you feeling dizzy and distantly wondering if he’ll leave a mark if you ask for it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, muffled against the base of your throat, the low hum of his voice causing you to press your thighs together. His hands splay along your sides, thumbs brushing along the underside of your breasts. “You’re so pretty.”

His words warm you from the inside out despite the way you want to immediately shake your head and adamantly deny it. He doesn’t give you the chance to before he’s kneading your breasts, groaning under his breath again, and then dipping his head to wrap his plush lips around your nipple.

A broken gasp escapes you as you arch your back to push your chest further against him. The ache between your thighs flares further as the hard heat of his cock straining his jeans presses against your inner thigh. He swirls his tongue around the nub before flicking it with the tip before moving to your other breast and giving it the same amount of meticulous attention.

“Jesse…” you breath, mind muddled with the amount of pleasure humming through your veins. You’re not sure what you’re trying to tell him, whether to keep going because it feels so good or to stop because you’ve only just started but it feels like he’s been touching you for hours.

He pulls away with a lewd pop. “What is it, baby?” he murmurs, his lips faintly brushing against your nipple and causing you to whine. “Use your words, tell me how you feel.”

The pet name nearly sends you into a heart attack. Your hands move to grab onto his broad shoulders, the firmness of him somewhat grounding and giving you enough strength to answer him. “Feels good…”

“Yeah,” Jesse whispers before pressing a brief open-mouthed kiss to your nipple that has you sharply exhaling. “I always want to make you feel good.”

He kisses down your stomach, the warmth of his hands following, and then his lips stop at the waistband of your jeans. He glances up at you then, pretty brown eyes wide, and you’re not sure how you suddenly found yourself in your shitty bed with your best friend peering up at you between your thighs but you’re certainly not complaining.

“You don’t have to…” you whisper, a sharp edge of insecurity digging into your chest again. You’ve never had someone go down on you before.

He presses a chaste kiss to the skin right below your navel, sincerity dripping from his voice as he says “Of course I want to.”

But he’s still gentle, cautious as if you were on the verge of running out of the room, as he unbuttons your jeans and slides them and your panties off. You balk at the obvious spot of wetness in the crotch of them, nearly sticking to your pussy, but Jesse doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on even further, watching the way your slick leaves behind a string of your arousal.

And then he’s laying in between your legs, head perfectly framed between your thighs and mouth so achingly close to your core. You could feel his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your inner thighs, and a whine threatens to come out of your throat at the way his hands dig into them.

“Just tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, okay?” He’s staring at your pussy, the way your puffy folds glisten even in the darkness of your room, but eventually peers up at you for your answer.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and shakily nod. Jesse gives you a grin so nonchalant, carefree, as if he wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world except for in between your legs.

He starts by kissing your inner thighs, open-mouthed and gentle, and it already has you slightly arching your back. Your hand reaches out to take a hold of his where he has it wrapped around your thigh. The immediate way he threads your fingers together over your lower stomach has your heart threatening to burst.

You know he’s not trying to tease you, most likely wanting to take his time with you, but fuck if you aren’t impatient, aching like you’ve been teetering on the edge all day.

He spares you, most likely just as impatient, and leans in to slowly swipe his flattened tongue up your seam and against your clit.

Your reaction is immediate—a shiver running through you and your mouth falling open as a low sound comes out of you. Your elbows give out, your head falling back onto your pillow.

That must have been what Jesse was waiting for because his grip on your thigh tightens and then he’s delving in, deliberately parting your folds with his tongue to gather your wetness and tasting you. He groans, the sound muffled in between your thighs, as he dips his tongue briefly in your entrance before coming up to circle around your clit.

It feels like fucking heaven and you’re not sure how you’re going to go about your day, your life, without the feeling of Jesse taking his time with you between your thighs imprinted in your brain. The warmth of his wet mouth, the eagerness and expertise of his tongue, and the way he’s pressing his face into you, like he can’t get enough of you, has you lightheaded.

He’s slow, unhurried, but you can tell he’s holding back from immediately fucking you with his tongue, eating you like he was a man starved. He’s trying to make it good for you, and he was, but the thought of him ravenously devouring your pussy until he had to hold you down by your hips to take it has you bucking your hips and whimpering into the open air.

Jesse makes an approving noise against your cunt, the vibrations sending heat curling up your spine, and then he’s trailing the tip of his tongue through your folds before flicking against your clit.

It feels like he just started, but already you feel the unfamiliar coil of your orgasm forming at the pit of your stomach. It’s been nearly months since you had your first orgasm, wretched out of you in your half-asleep daze with your blankets wrapped around your thighs and pressing against your pussy, and the way you were throbbing like how it was then has you breathless and dizzy.

“Jesse,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut and your grip on his hand tightening. Your hips jerk up, chasing the heat and expertise of his mouth, and he just lets you. “I think I’m—”

His resolve fractures, because he doesn’t hold back as he essentially makes out with your needy pussy—suckling onto your clit before leaning down to fuck you with his pointed tongue, his hand that was gripping your thigh coming to rub firm circles around your clit, slick with the combined wetness of your arousal and his spit.

When you peer down at him, he’s already staring back at you. A particularly well-timed thrust of his tongue against your entrance has you coming with a shout, the tension in you snapping harder than you’ve ever thought possible. You felt your hips grind down unashamedly against his face as you cry out, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

He works you through it, tongue gently running over your folds as you catch your breath. Your thighs are still trembling when he crawls up your body to hover over you.

The entire bottom half of his face was covered in your slick and the sight sent something hot zinging through your body, your arousal now reduced to a soft hum between your legs. He was smirking and the scent of yourself on his face, so close to yours, was new. But then he’s licking his lips, tongue flicking out to capture the rest of you, and he looks so fucking sexy.

You surge up to capture his mouth in a kiss and the taste of yourself has you whimpering, kissing him harder as if he could tamp down the flare of all-consuming desire that was starting to overwhelm you.

When you pull away, you snake your hand down between your bodies to wrap a hand around his cock. He’s thick, velvety smooth, and weighs deliciously heavy in your hand as you curiously stroke him once.

Jesse grunts in surprise, hips jerking forward involuntarily and thrusting his cock into your fist. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The sound of his voice, already low and smooth like molasses, rasping in your ear because of you had you craving for more.

You attempt to wiggle your hips down the bed, hitching your legs around his waist and blindly trying to aim his hard cock against your entrance when Jesse stops you with a large hand on your wrist.

Before you could anxiously ask whether you were going too fast or coming on too strong, he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and gives you a soft smile despite the sticky trail the head of his cock leaves against your inner thigh. “Sit up for me?”

Curious, you sit up and maneuver around so he could take your spot in the center of the bed, propped up and leaning back against the headboard. He was broad, taking up nearly all the room on your ratty twin mattress, and you stare at the flex of his thighs as he spreads them a bit and the pearly string of precum his cock leaves against the hard planes of his stomach.

“Come here,” he whispers, tapping his bare thigh.

You swallow, throat dry as you watch the bob of his cock and wonder what he would taste like, but you listen. You crawl up the bed until you’re straddling him, hovering your pussy over his cock with your knees on either side of his hips and your hands holding onto his shoulders.

You release a breathy sigh when you drop down briefly and feel the smooth skin of his cock against your aching pussy. You’re tempted to just move your hips back and forth, allowing your slick to coat his cock as he rubs against your seam.

And you think, why the fuck not, and lower yourself down to rub your pussy against his length. You gasp at the way his shaft rubs along your clit and how the continuous slick leaking out of you easily coats him and allows him to glide against you seamlessly.

Jesse groans at that, dick twitching against you, and his head falls forward until his forehead was pressed against yours. His hands fly out to clutch at your hips, torn between pulling you back and forth against his cock or up so he could fuck into you. “Fuck, baby, you’re killing me here.”

You bite back a smile. The thought of you, inexperienced and eager, causing Jesse to feel overwhelmed made you feel a bit smug, even a little prideful. It was flattering to know that Jesse was as hopelessly head over heels for you as you were for him.

Your smile is wiped off your face when you feel the head of Jesse’s cock slide along your entrance, dipping in quickly before sliding through your pussy and nudging against your clit.

It’s overwhelming, the heat underneath your skin nearly burning you from the inside out, so you lean forward until you’re panting, lips brushing against the shell of Jesse’s ear. His breath hitches, hands tightening on you, and then you whisper, “Please fuck me?”

He releases a strangled noise that sends heat straight between your thighs before he’s grabbing the base of his cock and notching the tip against your entrance. He stills, the muscles in his stomach tensing as you slowly bring yourself down on.

You bite your lip, face scrunching up at the initial stretch. It’s uncomfortable, burning just a little, but the barest hints of pleasure were there just out of reach.

“Breathe,” he says, voice strained from holding himself back from fucking into you immediately. When you open your eyes, eyebrows still furrowed as you slide down his cock, Jesse’s watching your face with such open concern and affection it has your heart thudding painfully.

You release a shaky breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding, nodding as you take a deep breath. You feel your lungs expanding, concentrating on the cool air filling them, as you lower yourself fully onto his cock until he was buried all the way inside of you.

He throws his head back against the headboard with a light thud, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and you’re able to see the thudding of his pulse in his neck. His hands are clenched into fists against your hips, biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself back from running his hands all over your body.

And that won’t do, you think, craving his touch so much that your chest ached.

So you circle your fingers around his wrist, catching his attention as he lifts his head up to look at you curiously. You raise his hand until his palm is on your breast, and you smile when he instinctively molds his hand around you, fingers squeezing around your flesh. “You can touch me, you know.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he rasps. His eyes run over your entire body, drinking you in and lingering on where he could see his cock disappearing in your cunt.

“More than okay,” you whisper before leaning in to kiss him.

The slight change in angle nudges his cock deeper inside of you, causing your lips to part against his in a sigh, and he takes that opportunity to kiss you deeper with a hand cradling your cheek. The plushness of his lips and his harsh breaths fanning over your face was a nice distraction, allowing your tight pussy to adjust to him.

After several minutes, you experimentally rock your hips forward. The action immediately causes you to moan into Jesse’s open mouth, heat fizzling up your spine.

“Yeah?” He whispers, allowing you to continue moving your hips back and forth. The sensation of his cock rubbing against your walls, nudging against spots that you didn’t think were possible, made your head fall back. He takes the opportunity to dip his head forward and lick and nip at the delicate skin of your neck. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak without rambling. The stretch has faded to a dull ache, blending into the one you felt at the pit of your stomach. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your sensitive clit, just on the border of being too much, so you straighten up a bit on your knees.

You lift yourself up with your hands on his shoulders, moaning at the delicious friction of his cock dragging out of you, before dropping yourself back down. It’s a little graceless, clumsy even, but fuck does it feel good. You repeat it, pulling yourself off and then back down on his cock with your knees pressed against your flimsy mattress until you were riding him at a steady pace.

Your knees and thighs were already starting to ache, possibly due to the fact that you haven’t been as physically active since you arrived at Jackson, but the strangled noises Jesse was making with each thrust made you think that it didn’t even matter.

His hands were all over you now—fingers tracing every freckle and palms running over your curves. His hips have started moving alongside yours, timing his thrusts perfectly to make sure his cock was driving into you as deep as it could get each time you dropped down onto his thighs.

He was staring at you again, eyes flickering all over your face and your body, catching on your breasts every time they bounced or when you licked your lips. He was vocal, which you appreciated—groaning deep from his chest every time you decided to grind against him or whispering praises about how good your pussy felt squeezing around him that made your face heat up.

It hits you then, as Jesse rubs his thumbs back and forth along your nipples, that he must have chosen this position for you.

He wants to make it good for you, not caring if he gets off at all or if you’d return the favor. Realizing the extent of how much he cares about you and making sure the first time you were physical with someone was pleasurable and exciting made you smile from feeling a little giddy.

“What are you giggling about?” he asks, an amused smile playing at his lips. He’s not even out of breath the same way you are, clearly more in shape than you based off the thickness of his arms and the deliberate way he was rutting his hips into you without so much as a sweat.

“Nothing,” you say, smile growing wider for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was because you’re realizing that Jesse, seemingly unobtainable Jesse, has shown you more kindness than you thought was possible to exist in a person. Or maybe it was because the reason he always offered to walk you home was so he could spend more time with you.

Or maybe it was from the way he was rolling his hips up, making sure the thick head of his cock was nudging against a spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your hands to squeeze his shoulders “Oh, fuck.”

His grin widens, dark eyes glinting underneath the moonlight, and then he’s pulling you down until you were laying on his chest and your face was nestled into his neck. He grabs you by your hips and manages to scoot himself down until he was lying flat on the bed, not once letting you off his dick. He takes a hold of your thighs and lifts you up an inch, and then he’s driving his cock back into you.

You have to bite back your moan, aware of how close you were to Jesse’s ear, but you can’t hold back the high pitched whimpers seamlessly leaving your throat out of your own accord.

He fucks up into you, relentlessly, hips snapping against yours in a frantic rhythm that belies how on edge he’s been the entire night. “Fuck, you take my cock so pretty, baby.”

And the filth of his words, so sudden, has you shuddering, moaning softly as heat crawls up your spine and your walls clench around his length.

You try to sit up, your hands pressing on his chest, but the white-hot pleasure running through your veins has you feeling weak and your arms give out immediately. You knew you were getting close, can feel it in the throbbing of your cunt, and you didn’t want it to be over yet. You wanted to see him.

“Oh, just like that,” he moans, his thrusts faltering and turning sloppy from how tight your pussy was clenching around him. “That’s my perfect girl.”

The possessive edge in his words lights you up, stoking at the fire burning under your skin and in your stomach. You groan directly in his ear, your breath fanning against the side of his neck, as he somehow fucks you harder, faster.

You’re distantly aware of your poor bedframe, already on its last legs, creaking forebodingly, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, but your orgasm is creeping up the length of your spine, just barely out of reach.

You manage to straighten up, gathering enough strength in your arms until you were sitting up, your knees pressing into the mattress next to his hips and his cock deep inside of you. His rhythm doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, and you’re dazedly snaking a hand between your legs to rub your clit.

You don’t get the chance to as Jesse bats your hand away, replacing it with the pad of his thumb. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you were, your slick coating the insides of your thighs, if it weren’t for the fact that it allowed him to glide effortlessly through your folds until he was dragging careful circles around your clit.

Your entire body jerks at the sensation, muscles tensing and your cunt clenching around his cock impossibly tighter. Blood roared in your ears as you reached out to grab his wrist, as if to stabilize yourself. “Jesse, fuck—”

His dark eyes don’t stray from your face, his thumb expertly dissolving you into nothing but a moaning, shaking mess. His lips are parted, face flushed and only now slightly out of breath as he continues fucking into you so hard your breasts jolt with every thrust. “You gonna come for me, baby? Let me feel that pretty pussy come on my cock.”

When your orgasm finally takes a hold of you, it’s stronger than the one coaxed from Jesse’s mouth. Your breath catches, jaw dropping open in a silent scream, your grip on his wrist tightening into a near death grip as you pulse around him.

Jesse curses, biting out your name as your pussy clenches around him, nearly pulling him in even deeper. He still makes sure to slow down the motions of his thumb, helping you ride it out until you were twitching and shuddering on top of him, but his thrusts quicken, turning almost sloppy.

You could tell he was close based off the deep grunts accompanying each thrust and whispers mixed with curses and your name. You try to blink away the daze in your eyes, wanting to watch the way he fell apart right below you—needed to witness it, as if you wouldn’t be able to believe this whole night even happened if you didn’t.

His hips stutter, exhaling like his breaths have been punched out of him, and then he’s thrusting into you once, twice, before scrambling back. You gasp wetly when his thick cock slips out of you, but your mouth snaps shut and your eyes widen when his large hand wraps around his cock, turning into a blur as he strokes himself.

And then he’s coming with a guttural groan, voice so deep it sends another shiver through you. You watch as ropes of his come shoot out, landing on the puffy folds of your pussy and dripping down your thighs, landing on his stomach and thighs.

Your legs are trembling from where you’re still kneeling above him, nearly screaming out at you until you finally sit down on Jesse’s thick thighs, your knees still on either side of his hips. The entire lower half of your body was sore, your pussy deliciously so, and you’re ready to just pass out while nestled into a certain man’s strong arms.

You’re still catching your breath when Jesse leans over the edge of the bed to grab his shirt and then he’s diligently wiping away his release from your skin, eyebrows furrowed as he makes sure he’s gentle with you.

He balls up his shirt and then tosses it aside before suddenly leaning over to wrap his arms around your midsection and pulling you up to him. You squeal, giggling as he manhandles you until you were lying on your side and he was flushed up behind you, his softening cock nestled at the base of your spine.

“You need to get a bigger bed,” Jesse mutters, face buried at the nape of your neck. The combination of his arms still wrapped around your midsection, giving you a gentle squeeze as he tries to get impossibly closer to you, as well as his warm breath against your skin has the beginning seeds of arousal sparking in your stomach again.

“You going to get me one?”

“If it means I can cuddle you without the threat of falling off the side of the bed, then yes.”

You smile, wrestling your arms free from where he’s essentially got them pinned at your sides so you could intertwine your fingers with his. He presses a kiss behind your ear, his lips soft, and the action causes your eyes to droop shut.

“As long as you’re the one paying for it.”

You feel Jesse’s laugh before you hear it, his chest shaking against your back, as the heat emanating from him and the low hum of chatter outside your window lulls you to sleep.

-

You wake up before him the next morning, beginning streaks of sunlight breaking through your curtains and shining into your face.

He’s still pressed right up against you, spooning you with his face tucked into your neck as if neither of you had moved an inch throughout the night. However, your thin comforter was thrown over the both of you, and combined with Jesse being an absolute furnace, you were nearly sweating through the sheets.

You’re blinking the sleep from your eyes, anxiety already curling around your heart and mind beginning to race that maybe this was a mistake or that Jesse didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

You don’t have any friends besides essentially his friends, everyone in town seems to steer clear from you, and you’ve never been in a relationship before. Hell, you’ve been here for several months now and you still can’t think about actually being assigned for patrol and picking up a gun without your hand shaking.

You’re about to untangle yourself from him, suddenly craving the cold tile of the bathroom against your skin in an attempt to calm your pulse, but then he’s exhaling softly and squeezing his arms around you. He stretches his legs out, ankles popping, and then he’s mumbling something you can’t quite hear.

“What?” you say, heart nearly jumping in your throat.

He lifts his head, just enough so his words weren’t muffled against your neck as he says “Stop overthinking. Go back to sleep.” He nuzzles his face against your skin again, pressing his chapped lips to the curve of your throat that sends your pulse flying down to settle in between your thighs, and then he’s falling back asleep.

His soft snores right in your ear comfort you in a way that you never thought was possible before, warmth floating in your chest as his breath deepens.

So you fall back asleep.

-

It’s past afternoon by the time you two crawl out of bed. It wasn’t your fault that Jesse was particularly handsy and needy in the mornings.

Your knees are knocking together underneath the table as you eat your late lunch in silence, the bustle of the dying lunch rush filling your ears. You’re trying to keep your smile off your face, nearly giddy with excitement and affection, but you don’t think you do a very good job based off the way Jesse continues to glance over at you with a similar expression.

When Dina and Ellie arrive, already in the middle of a conversation, you don’t pay them much mind and instead focus on the last remnants of your stew sticking to the edges of your bowl.

But then Dina takes one good look at you, eyes roving up and down and taking in the oversized sweater that swallowed you up and smelled faintly like pine. Her gaze lingers somewhere above your chest before her face splits into a wide grin.

“I see you got to experience how good of a kisser Jesse is.”

Your heart drops, because you think Dina’s going to be mad, but then she’s cackling so loud it echoes through the building, and Ellie is snickering behind her hand, and Jesse leans over to swat at her shoulder, pretending to look irritated but instead appearing endearingly sheepish.

“Dina,” he warns, voice low.

“Relax, I’m just teasing,” she says, eyes comically jumping between you two. “Pass the salt?”

And just like that, conversation flows like nothing even happened. Like it was any other day where Dina and Ellie would touch each other more than usual, you would take advantage of the sunny weather and spend your day at the stables, and Jesse would pretend that he was assigned at the same station that day anyway.

Warmth settles deep within your bones as you throw around the fact that if your friends didn’t take you in like they did, you’re not sure how you would’ve survived the deep-seated loneliness that threatened you every time you walked through your front door.

Jesse places a broad hand on your thigh, essentially breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s studying you curiously, concerned.

You give him a soft smile, place your hand over his to intertwine your fingers together, and think about how maybe staying in Jackson doesn’t sound too bad.

[pedgito]

fuck around and find out: Tommy Miller version