pedropascalsbbg

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how i'm chosing fics to read

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excuse me……

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I am a slut for this man

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can we, please, talk about about this?

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[pedropascalsbbg]

honey, honey | three: stirring up a hurricane

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: a lunch outing with joel brings some unexpected company and digs up anxiety. 10.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirting!, one (1) more jerk off session, talk of past relationships on joel's part, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader's clothing is described (dress and jacket).

a/n: i definitely intended to have this out sooner for y'all but life got in the way. i'm so ready to keep going on this journey with them, and this slow burn has been sooo fun to write. i really love them getting to know each other and fighting their feelings 🤭

The elevator softly whirs as you fly past the floors, all the way up to twenty. Alone and enclosed by the monochrome walls you fidget, smoothing your dress and wishing you had enough time to double check your appearance. 

It’s exhausting, apparently, actually caring what Joel Miller thinks about you. He always seems to have a compliment or two in store, but you can’t shake this pesky, anxious feeling gnawing at you that comes at the prospect of seeing him. Of him seeing you - perceiving you - and deeming you worthy of his time and money.

The elevator doors open to the office beyond with a rounded, wood paneled desk sitting centered in the foyer. Joel’s company comprises the entire floor, and you see a bustling crew beyond the glass walls and dividers. Black, shining floors beneath your feet, dark wood walls, and leather furniture adorn what appears to be a waiting room. It's decidedly masculine, but it doesn't feel cold in the slightest.

You nearly turn back around, wondering if this is a good idea after all. Being seen out in public together held its risks, you know that, but Joel seems assured that nothing will come of it. And if it does, he's promised to be there for you. You aren’t a public figure by any means, but any overachiever here in the know of Joel’s business associates might be able to place you and your connection to your father. The thought alone makes you feel itchy.

The young man behind the desk greets you in a chipper, smooth voice before you can make a decision on scampering back the way you came. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

You snap back to attention, approaching the rest of the way, trying to move with more purpose, a way to trick your brain into believing this will all be okay. “Yes, I’m here for Mr. Miller. It’s a - a lunch meeting.” Your cheeks heat in a rapid blaze, not having rehearsed any of this. You couldn't be the first of this nature in the office, based on Joel’s history, and you wonder if the man - Vincent, by the little nameplate on the desk - knew exactly what you were to his boss.

With a few clicks on the computer in front of him, Vincent gives you a soft smile of recognition. “Absolutely. I’ve got explicit instructions to have you brought back to his office first.” He holds up a finger to you as he dials on the phone, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Mhm, Mr. Miller’s twelve thirty is here. Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

You shift awkwardly, but only for a few moments before a woman appears around the corner, wearing a stylish blue pantsuit. She calls you by name, making your eyes widen in surprise before beckoning you to follow her. You’re guided between cubicles, open areas that appear to be free working spaces, and conference rooms. The place is buzzing with energy, a well oiled machine with employees engrossed in their individual work or collaborating. A pang of jealousy shoots through you, reminding you just how far you are from your goal of feeling that same spirit and drive towards your work.

You stop short in front of an office enclosed with glass walls, half opaque, half clear. “Mr. Miller will be just a moment. You can have a seat,” the woman says. “Water? Coffee? Tea? While you wait?” She rapidly fires the questions at you, to which you shake your head mutely, having a seat on the leather sofa that sits opposite to Joel’s office. 

She settles in at a nearby desk, turning her attention back to her computer, and it dawns on you that this must be Joel’s personal assistant here. Movement inside of Joel’s office catches your attention, your prying, curious eyes unable to look away even if giving Joel privacy feels like the right thing to do. Hurried movements ensue - a flash of Joel, hands flung up and then falling in frustration, and his face comes into view, screwed up tight before he says something that you can’t hear. You don’t see who he’s talking to, blocked by the fully opaque door, only leaving a shadow of a body that looks equally as heated. 

A few uncomfortable, shameful moments of spying pass before the door to his office flies open and a woman appears, throwing it shut behind her with a purposefully loud and dramatic thud. She appears closer to Joel’s age, dressed well and adorned with expensive, flashing jewelry. She seems to have a permanent scowl on her face as she approaches where you sit, stalking with purpose in her heels.

When she makes eye contact with you, the side of her lip curls up with a sweep of her gaze up the entirety of your body. You feel small on the leather loveseat under her scrutinizing stare portraying her message loud and clear: I am better than you.

“Feels good to be the latest model, huh?” she rasps, hips swaying as she walks.

You stutter, your voice only able to make a strained sound before you finally squeak out, “E-excuse me?”

A scathing breath of a laugh leaves the woman, and she shakes her head as she slows to a stop in front of you, letting her eyes rake over your outfit once more. It’s a simple, casual dress covered with a jacket to keep the October chill off of you - you hadn’t wanted to go all out for only a lunch date, but you’d felt good, presentable, for Joel. Until now, that is. 

“Good luck with that,” she says without any real sincerity behind it. A cruel joke sits in her words, something you don’t seem to be in on. “Until the next comes along.”

Your brows knit tightly as you just stare at her, your heart thundering heavily against your ribcage, nearly painful. No witty retort comes to you, too shocked by the turn of events to even think straight as she just huffs in satisfaction, moving along. You crane your neck, following her movements with your mouth agape until she turns the corner, not even bothering a glance back at you.

It feels like hours condensed into these few moments passing as you sit stupefied on that couch, your cheeks burning in shame. You try to avoid eye contact with Joel’s assistant who almost surely heard the entire exchange with how close she’s sitting. Eyes down, you finally bring them up when you hear Joel’s office door open once more.

He looks brighter than you’d seen him minutes ago, so heated inside his office with that woman. At least one of you seems to have shaken her off.

His smile is wide and warm when he spots you, and you hope the distressed look on your face has wiped off enough to avoid suspicion. You’re not sure if you want to tell him what just happened, unsure if what it all means is something you can handle. It was embarrassing too, to imagine speaking the words she’d said aloud to him. It had felt demeaning, your existence boiled down to whatever that mystery woman saw in you, some kind of less than being, some thing for Joel’s pleasure. She knew nothing about your situation, who you were to Joel, or the fact that he didn’t even seem interested in it becoming about more than money. 

“Hey there,” Joel’s voice cuts through the depths of your mind, and you softly smile, standing to greet him. He places a hand on your bicep, wrapping his fingers tenderly around it, leaning in to peck your cheek. His scent envelops all of you, forcing you to hold back a sigh, this particular smell already worming its way to a place of comfort for you. “Y’look fantastic.”

You have to clear your throat before your voice betrays you. “T-thanks.” You flash him another smile that luckily he seems to buy, but that woman's piercing, judgemental stare has your confidence completely shaken up. Beyond that, your curiosity is piqued on who the hell she even is to Joel, but you don’t know if it’s nosing into his business too much to ask about it. The way things had seemed between the two, it gave the impression it was a topic best left forgotten in Joel’s eyes.

So you bite your tongue, trying to become the pleasant, fun-loving girl Joel signed up to spend time with. It’s hard though, to not break open this dam of emotions that’s been full to bursting. Everything has just been too much this past week.

This arrangement. That woman. Joel. School. Your parents. Lying.

You have nobody to lean on, nobody to understand the stress, the diamond forming amount of pressure you’re put under to be somebody you don’t want to be. You’ve been dodging calls from your father, not having the energy to make up lies about the firm you’re supposedly interning for. You know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out somehow - knowing him he’ll likely try to call the CEO using his own influence just to try and keep tabs on you. To make sure you’re doing it all right, up to his gold standard. When this comes to light, the fallout could be catastrophic, and you wonder if it might be better to just come clean now, maybe helping to absorb some of the blow.

The thought of doing that instantly makes you feel nauseous, and you realize you’ve gone the entirety of the way back down the elevator and out onto the street with Joel, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Joel has been talking on and off the entire time, his voice a distant murmur, and you’re flooded with guilt for being so rude. The sudden city noise blaring hits your ears harshly, and you turn to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry, what’d you say?” you ask him.

“Oh, jus’ that we should walk to lunch. It’s nice enough, and the place is just a few blocks. That alright with you?”

“Right, um, sure,” you reply, stumbling over your words when you feel Joel’s questioning gaze on you. You try to brighten up to avoid suspicion, tuning in to the autumn sun on your face and Joel’s presence beside you. It doesn’t seem to help the constant loop of anxiety swirling in your gut like you'd been hoping.

“How’s school goin’?” Joel asks, sounding far away.

“Alright. Just trying to get through the semester until I figure things out,” you tell him on autopilot. You know he’s only being polite, trying to check in, but the question pulls up pressure from inside of you, choking your already anxious stomach. It’s like the weight of the world crashes on your shoulders, like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by now. That way, Joel can stop this ruse with you and get back to his normal life, not having to continue to waste his money taking care of someone who can’t seem to sort their life out. You’ve been researching schools, ideas, and careers, wanting to do your due diligence to Joel’s generosity, but you keep coming up short or feeling indecisive. It seems too big a choice, too weighty, right now to decide your entire future when for most of your life you’ve never been able to think this way.

“You’ve got nothin’ but time,” Joel replies, seeming to either not notice or not be bothered by your flat attitude today. His hand gives your back a quick, reassuring rub as you walk, and you stiffen, but only because of the unexpected flutter it brings to your belly, momentarily distracting you from overthinking.

You let him do most of the talking as you saunter along, and are grateful it’s only those few blocks until you reach the restaurant. It’s a chic, modern looking space with high, airy ceilings and minimalist furniture. It’s bustling, apparently a hot spot for the business elite to attend their lunches with each other and their clients as you scan the room and see mostly suits and black, gray, and navy attire.

You’re seated right away despite some lingering groups clearly waiting for tables at the front, which makes you finally crack a smile. Joel always has things so figured out, so planned to perfection.

“This place is all the rage, I guess,” Joel commentates, glancing around at the busy dining room. “Ate here a few weeks ago with some folks and it was pretty damn good. We’ve got to get you one of these grilled, uh, avocado appetizer things. Wouldn’t have thought myself keen on it, but hell, it surprised me,” Joel rambles on, picking up his menu and scanning it. He holds it further and further away from himself until he sighs, pulling his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and plopping them onto his nose with a frustrated sigh. The entire series of events melts away some of your sourness, and you grin at him. It makes you glad to have someone like Joel, who so effortlessly lifts your spirits.

“Don’t say anything,” Joel snips, noticing your amusement at his struggle. “You’ll need these someday too.”

“I didn’t say a word,” you reply smugly, glancing down at your own menu. 

“This is nice, y’know,” Joel remarks out of nowhere after a beat of silence. “Goin’ out together, enjoying the day.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little brighter, almost starting to feel silly for pulling into your shell so much. Joel is always laid back in his own way it seems, acting as if it’s not a bother to be here with you. You only wish you could believe it to the degree he so effortlessly exudes it. “It is.”

Joel orders for the both of you when the server comes around, but only after finding out what you’re interested in eating. Of all the assholes you’d been set up with or asked out by, thinking they were doing you a favor by ordering for you, Joel has been the only one who actually asked. 

Whether Joel has detected the difference in your mood or not, he seems intent on keeping the mood positive, continuing to carry the conversation while you two wait for your food. You do swear you perceive some minute difference in his eyes, though, some discerning quality that's attempting to figure you out. You try to avoid suspicion, but it seems that the harder you try to act normal, the less you feel it, and the more that Joel’s studying gaze deepens, trying to read your mind. 

You answer his questions about school, about your life, and ask him how his week is going, playing the part as best you can. When the avocado appetizer Joel so excitedly mentioned comes, you rave about it, but everything feels half hearted when all you want to do is scream out in questioning about that rude woman at the office. Could Joel be secretly married or have some serious relationship you aren’t aware of? Could that be the type of woman he liked to affiliate with - someone cold and mean with no regard for other people’s feelings?

“Everything alright?” he finally decides to ask once the main course comes. His fingers wiggle together anxiously, his voice softer with a shy edge to it.

“Uh, y-yeah," you lie. You’re caught off guard, blurting it out before you can think about it. “Just tired with schoolwork and stuff. Haven’t been sleeping enough.”

That stare is on you again, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he nods. “Well alright, then,” he says faintly, looking down at his meal. You feel a pang in your chest, a desperation there to fix it. You’ve wounded him, and you open your mouth to speak, to retract what you said and tell him the truth, but something catches your eye over Joel’s shoulder. A woman is approaching, deliberate in her movements with her eyes on Joel’s back like she knows him.

“Joel?!” the woman’s perky voice cuts in. Joel turns just as the woman sidles up beside him, a cheerful look of recognition on his face. She’s dark haired, curly and wild, but in a way you know has been styled to look so effortless. She seems to have a glow about her, something glossy in her aura that’s instantly friendly and attractive. “I thought that was you!”

You hate that jealousy sears through you in an instant. You hate this protective feeling you get over Joel, over this undefined, amorphous thing you have with him. She’s everything you wonder if you should be - the perfect, shiny match to his desires for investing all his hard earned money. You’re only the latest model, after all.

“Valerie? Hey there.” Joel is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around the woman in a familiar embrace. Never forgetting his manners, he introduces you in the next breath. She flashes you a bright, inviting smile and tousels her hair before waving a hand at you.

���Valerie,” she replies with her graceful, perky body language, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you muster up. The look she’s giving you is coy and knowing, understanding of the situation, because you’re guessing that she has been exactly where you are, who you are.

“Randy and I were just having lunch ourselves. We love this place. It’s so funny to run into you here. Did I tell you we got married last year?!” Valerie rambles on to Joel, her hands animated as she speaks, one of them held up to display the ring as if it would be hard to miss the giant, sparkling rock that sits heavily on her finger. She gestures to a table behind Joel, and you glance over his shoulder to see a man near Joel’s age, his hair a coiffed, shining silver. He’s facing away, typing on his phone, and blatantly unavailable and uninterested in his wife’s side quest to your table.

“That so? Well congrats to you two, then,” Joel says, sounding genuinely excited for her.

She nearly squeals. “Thank you, it was so beautiful! Just every girl’s dream, really. We flew everyone out to Fiji, did it on the beach at sunset and everything. But enough about me! I’ll let you two get back to your date. I just saw you here and had to say hi. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?!”

As much as Valerie steals the spotlight, you’re stuck on watching Joel’s face, the subtle ways it moves and reacts to her. The corner of his lip twitches up, clearly privately amused but not fazed by her erratic yet charming way of taking up the entirety of the space in the conversation. When he shoots a glance at you, your heart squeezes, feeling in on the little joke that this is just Valerie being Valerie. You feel part of his wide, glamorous world. 

Joel is polite and kind as they wrap up the conversation, sending Valerie back to her table with a smile where it appears she begins to animatedly recount the entire conversation to her husband.

“Who was that?” you ask, your lip curling up a little deviously, your problems half forgotten for the moment at your piquing curiosity and seemingly innate desire to tease Joel. “One of your girlfriends?”

Joel flushes, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. “You know I don -” He sighs, clearly flustered. “She’s an old friend. And married now, by the sound of it.”

“Ah, a friend. Like I’m your friend?” you ask, and Joel shoots you a pointed look. 

“Would that be a problem?” He finally snaps, latching onto your teasing and throwing it right back with a raised brow as he leans towards you. Your face heats the tiniest bit, knowing despite your teasing that yes, it actually did seem to be a problem while Valerie was here chatting up a storm. Even if whatever it was between them was ancient history, you feel insecure, wondering if you can live up to the other women he’s let into his life. You’d been feeling good about the arrangement - finally - even excited for this lunch today, until that presumptuous woman at the office threw a complete wrench in your emotions.

“I’m juuust asking,” you tell him, “So…?”

“Yes, alright?” He clicks his tongue, sitting forward and placing his forearms on the table, challenging you. “It was ages ago now, but yes, if you must know we had a similar arrangement.”

You give him a slow, intrigued nod. “I see,” is all you reply.

Joel’s lips twist to the side in irritation, but the sparkle in his eye reminds you that he’s having just as much fun as you are with this. “You see, what?”

“Nothing!” You chuckle. “I swear. I just - she’s really nice. And pretty.” You hear the way your voice falls, cracks a little without trying, on your last words, so you clear your throat, hoping to cover it up. Eyes on the table, on your half eaten meal, you can feel Joel’s gaze boring into you.

“What is this? What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, sounding a little impatient, losing that light edge to his voice that says he’s no longer teasing. 

You sigh, waving a dismissive hand. “No, nothing. I just, I mean what I said.”

“It’s true. Valerie’s wonderful person. And so are you.”

You nearly snort, but feel yourself go shy at the last minute under his praise. “I guess. Yeah, thank you.” You try to sound sincere, but you can hear the way you’re trying too hard, the strain of each syllable an attempt to hide your rising emotions.

“I don’t get it,” he says, sounding exasperated. Joel always tried his best, but sometimes he was stumped by the inner workings of the women’s minds he chose to have relationships with. Even Sarah, when she was growing up, had her share of moments just like this where he felt helpless, just wanting her to talk to him, let him help. “Are you jealous? Of a fling I had five years ago?” he asks, guessing what seems to be the first logical explanation. “Cause I promise you that I only like to focus on one woman at a time. That’s long in the pas-”

“It’s not that, I swear,” you cut in. Processing his words a second later, you flick your gaze to his, wonder in your widening eyes. “Wait, what? You - Joel, you don’t have to do that for me. This isn’t -” A relationship, you’d wanted to say. But you can’t discount that you did feel protective over keeping Joel all to yourself, even if he’d made the promise that it wouldn’t become anything more. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“I’m doin’ nothing of the sort, I promise you. I’m too busy for having all kinds of relationships, and besides, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I swear t’you.”

Joel’s reassurance instantly cuts through your racing thoughts. You put your head in your hands, your whole face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m acting so… so… insane right now. I mean we literally just started this whole thing and I’m already more trouble than it’s worth. God, I -”

“Stop it right there,” Joel says softly, but his voice hits a dichotomy with the biting edge to his words, urging you to listen. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist. The touch is gentle but his fingers are thick and rough, sending a skittering of sparks across your skin. Affection isn’t something you’re used to, and it does the job he’d hoped of stopping you in your tracks. “Just know, whoever told you that about yourself before, it ain’t true. It’ll never be true. I chose this too, y’know. You didn’t force me to spend time with you, to want to help you out. I wanted it, too, right? Hell, I’m the one that offered, remember?”

Your breath catches, a lump in your throat thick as you attempt to swallow. You peek at Joel from where your head rests in your hands, slowly lowering them, but his hold on your wrist stays steady for a few more seconds, a comforting presence while his thumb rubs a few lazy circles. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him with a watery smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think this is all just new, and a lot. And worrying about everything with my parents… Or being seen together like this…” You blow out a long, stressed breath. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Joel gives you a nod of understanding. “It’s true, it is a lot. You know I’ve got your back now though, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna go back on things, that’s just not the kind of guy I am.”

Until the next one. The woman’s words cut in, making you nearly flinch. You believe Joel, you do. He’d already proven to be generous and steadfast, but would he really show up for you long term? Would he keep up the charade of pretending you mattered in the world, that you could find your place with his help? Or would he be distracted as soon as something better came along?

You stare at him for a long, quiet moment, biting at the inside of your lip. “The - the woman… Who is she?” you ask quietly, balling your hands in your lap underneath the table. At Joel’s quizzical look, you sigh, elaborating. “At the office earlier.”

He clicks his tongue, his head drooping and fingers coming up to swipe at his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks decidedly defeated and tired now. “God damn it, Marissa,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes flick back to yours, burning with fresh intensity. “What did she say?”

“I - Well-”

“What did she say to you?” Joel’s sudden surge of protectiveness over you is surprising, but welcome. The intensity of it, though, takes you aback, making you start to regret bringing it up. This was a whole new side of Joel you hadn’t gotten to see yet. 

“J-Just some bullshit, it’s fine.”

You see the recognition flash across Joel’s face, now reaching a new level of anger and defeat. “I knew it was somethin’. That’s why you’ve been acting quiet today, yeah? So it ain’t fine.” 

You groan internally, hating the confirmation that he’d noticed. “She just made a dumb comment about me being the latest model, or whatever.” And looked at you like you were the scum on the bottom of her shoe, but you hold back from saying that part out loud.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s got a flair for the dramatic, especially when she’s not gettin’ her way.” You stay silent, so Joel goes on. “That’s my ex. She’s - it’s complicated.”

“Two in one day. Lucky me,” you say flatly, and Joel offers you a sympathetic, guilt ridden smile. “At least one was nice.”

“Marissa is… it’s a different situation. As much as I wish we weren’t, we’re stuck together. On account of havin’ a kid and everything.”

The realization hits you hard. You’ve never seen Sarah’s mother or heard much about her. She doesn’t show up to functions, is never mentioned, and effectively, Joel has always seemed like a single dad from your perspective. 

“Oh, shit. That’s Sarah’s mom?” you ask.

Joel nods solemnly. “It’s complicated, like I said. It’s a long history, and her favorite thing seems to be stirrin’ up trouble for me, so I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That sounds awful,” you tell him, sympathetic to his cause. 

“She shouldn’t have said that, or said anything to you at all. I’m sorry. She showed up this mornin’ out of the blue as she does, on her usual shit and I didn’t notice the time. Should have sent her away the minute I knew you’d be comin’.”

You give him a shrug. “It’s - it’s not your fault, Joel. You can’t control what she says.”

“There’s no merit to it, I swear. I would never have let her speak t’you that way. She say anything else?”

You shake your head at first, hesitant to share more for fear of hurting Joel. You could tell how heavily the guilt of someone else’s words was weighing on him, like he was responsible for everyone in his world and how they behaved. 

 “Not really. Just… basically that I was about to expire and be replaced any minute. And if looks could speak, well, yeah. She had a lot to say with those,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact, focusing on fiddling with your fork on the table.

Joel’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Don’t pay any mind to it. She’s always done this, always wanted to make sure I’m less happy than she is, even though I’m the one that took care of things when she was too -” Joel cuts himself off, placing his palms on the table. His sudden distress causes you to snap your head back up, looking to him and seeing the worry now etched on his features. It nearly breaks your heart to see him like this. “Sorry, you don’t need my whole sob story, sweetheart.”

This time, you reach to him, placing a hand on his and squeezing before pulling it back, unsure of yourself in the intimate gesture. Joel seems to be so much better than you at this kind of thing. “If you want to share, I’ll listen. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I - I thought she wasn’t even in the picture, but…”

“She ain’t,” Joel snips. “Not really. She comes and goes when she pleases, and I - I let her walk all over me, take from me. Shit, hard to even admit it, but that’s the truth. Never do that shit for anyone, just… when it comes to Sarah, I’ll do fuckin’ anything. Marissa knows that.” Joel avoids holding your gaze, his eyeline averted to the left at some spot off in the distance. “The worst part is, watchin’ Sarah get that hope in her eyes, like maybe it could be different this time. Even after all these years. God, listen to me. Second meal together and I’m turnin’ into this big sap, ranting like some sad old man. You should be havin’ fun, being shown a good time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Joel,” you chide him. “What did you just tell me? About wanting to be here?”

He cracks a small smile and you return it. In a way, it’s nice to know he has this baggage, that he’s not always put together and suave. He has demons, like you do, like the rest of the world does. He’s not invincible, he’s complicated. Just like you, too.

“You’re a good one, kiddo, y’know that?” Joel says, sighing, and you try to fight the bolt of disappointment hurtling itself through your chest at the nominer. A kid. Joel says it so passively, and you know he’s not trying to undermine you, or make you feel the crush that it brings to know he doesn’t see you in the way you’d like him to, so you just smile.

“I like this kind of conversation much better, anyways,” you reply, swallowing down your hurt. “Helps me get to know you.”

Joel’s smile cocks sideways. “Right. Almost forgot this is what it’s all about, ain’t it?” he teases. ��Been talkin’ your ear off, not even askin’ about you.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re not getting off that easily. I have more questions.”

He laughs, the thick tension in the air starting to evaporate as his shoulders relax. “Really, now? Alright, nosy, shoot.”

You bite your lip, reigning in your cheesy grin. “Okay. So… What happened with you and Valerie?”

Joel speaks bluntly. “We ended things. She did, actually.”

You raise one brow, unimpressed. “Well, that much is obvious. But, you just let her go? I don’t know, she seems so… nice. Perfect. Like someone every man would want to be with.”

Joel’s look shifts to something more amused. “You ever broken up with someone before?”

“I - Well, kind of, I guess. But they were assholes, and it wasn’t anything serious.”

“And maybe just not the right person for you, yeah?”

“A mistake, more like it,” you mumble, and Joel chuckles, scratching a hand through his beard as he shakes his head at you.

“My point is, some people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how perfect they seem,” he says pointedly. “Me and Valerie got along, but we were just wanting different levels of, er, commitment at the time, I guess.”

“Oh? And you… weren’t committing then?” It’s hard to see that for Joel, given what you’ve already learned about him in this short time. He was steadfast, seeming singularly focused when he put his mind to something, given his success, so it was hard to picture him shying away from commitment. Especially seeing as how whenever you’ve been in his presence, it's felt like you are his sole priority, like he's dedicated only to that moment with you - it seemed to be a gift he had. 

“She was lookin’ for more, and I wasn’t really there with her back then. We were havin’ fun, and she realized she was lookin’ for someone to marry, spend her life with, y’know? So, I’m happy for her that she found it. She’s a nice gal, deserves that.” 

You consider it, knowing there may be more to the story than he’s letting on, but you don’t press him. Maybe it’s too early to dig into things, despite you wanting to learn everything you can about him. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. It seems like things ended amicably, then?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, it did. Never was really contentious with any of the others, neither. Sometimes y’just grow out of things, or realize it ain’t a good fit, even if money's the motivating factor. For me, I want to look forward to spendin’ time with the person, too. It makes it all worth it.”

You give him a genuine smile, feeling your gaze going soft. Something about the way Joel speaks about this, so surefooted and thoughtful, and the way he regards the women he’s involved in his lifestyle, it grasps at you and refuses to let go. He recognizes where he’s at and owns it - not trying to say anything to please you, but just speaking honestly about the experience. 

“And not to mention the, you know, little boost of… motivation you get from it,” you say, poking at him.

Joel nearly chokes on the sip he’s taken from his water glass, then composes himself. “Very funny,” he grits out with an overexaggerated frown, one you can tell he’s forcing. “Keep it up, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You put your hands up in mock defeat. “It was just too easy. But I get what you’re saying. Uh… have the others known about that part of it, too? I - I’m just genuinely curious about all of this. I guess I never thought about the, uh, intricacies of these sorts of things.” You’d been wondering if it was obvious or expected in that kind of arrangement, or if what you knew about Joel was some kind of rarity. Was it always all about that for these men providing lavish gifts and financial stability? Or could it be something more, like what you and Joel have? Was it the big secret that all these women were in on, that writing checks and throwing credit cards their way was a one way ticket to these men getting hard in their overpriced slacks?

You’ve been feeling so naive, ruminating on it since that dinner with Joel, that you hadn’t guessed the minute he’d brought it up in his office that day. Was that the only reason he was here doing this, to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it? 

Joel grimaces a little, clearly anxious about toeing back towards this topic with you. “Well, yeah, to a degree. It’s not always spoken, but sometimes it’s part of the fun. Making jokes about it, or… shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re both adults here, I ‘spose. It’s foreplay at times, knowin’ about what’s going on for both people. Makes it fun.”

You fight the slight gape your mouth has dropped into, snapping it shut into a smug smile, nodding. “Oh,” you blurt out dumbly, feeling your cheeks go hot, curling the back of your knuckles to rest your chin in your hands, looking down. One mention of foreplay with Joel and you’re reduced to an awkward, wordless mess, unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t any foreplay happening here, he’d made that very clear repeatedly, but your conversations always seem to edge towards something else, filled with an unspoken tension. It was messing with your mind, your ability to keep things compartmentalized for your own sanity. You pick up your fork, attempting to return to your meal just for something to do with your hands. “That’s…”

Joel seems to catch himself, leaping into action. “B-but not… this. This situation is different. I’m able to separate things, and… and… shit, I’m sorry. I’m the one goin’ on about not crossin’ those lines, and here we are. I was jus’ trying to tell you how it usually goes for lots of folks doing this sort of thing, that’s all.”

You wave your hands as if to pardon his blunder, finally collecting yourself. “No, no, I get it, and that makes sense. I was the one who asked. It sounds fun, honestly. I see why people do this.”

Joel loosens up, his tense shoulders dropping and lips giving you a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m havin’ fun now, too, just to make that clear.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, giving him a playful scrunch of your nose. “Me too, though,” you add on with more sincerity.

“Oh, so gettin’ treated to new things and meals because of me is fun, is it?”

You feign thinking for a long moment to irritate him. “Hmm, I guess so.” You laugh, grateful to be back on track with Joel, the banter right where it should be in both of your sweet spots. This was far from normal - secretly dating but not dating such an old friend of your father, accepting his money and gifts - but it felt like one of the most natural places you could be right now.

“Now, should we enjoy our meal together?” Joel asks.

Smiling at him, already feeling the hefty weight that had been pressing on your soul this entire week lifting some thanks to Joel, you nod.

You walk side by side along the busy sidewalks with Joel, his body constantly hovering close to you so as not to lose you amidst the throngs of people going about their busy days. The lunch rush is still alive and well, a blur of people in business casual rushing past, clutching their bags or talking hurriedly on their phones, likely all on their way back to their respective jobs.

Joel had insisted on walking together instead of going separate ways after lunch, seeming to have a secretive air about him that piqued your interest enough to go along with it. 

“Want to make up for everythin’ from today,” he tells you, stopping outside of a jewelry store with gold and silver alike, gemstones and diamonds glittering in the window displays.

“Joel…” you chide. “There’s nothing to make up for. This seems to be a theme with you. Wasn’t lunch supposed to make up for the mustard incident where you almost poisoned me to death?” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yes, but this is for Marissa.” At your insistent mouth opening to brush it off, he puts both his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’m serious. I’m gonna have a talk with her about it. She shouldn’t be gettin’ into my business or yours. I really am sorry.”

You melt quickly under the softness in his tone and the bulk of his hands weighing comfortably on your shoulders. 

“It’s really not like she’s making it out to be, I want you to know that. I know you don’t know me as well as you’d like yet, but it’s always been… as respectful as I can get things to be between me and whoever I’m with at the time. She can’t see that, and doesn’t want to, ‘cause she’s bitter she’s not getting more out of me. So if she made you feel like you’re just someone to use an’ throw away, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m here until we get everythin’ sorted out for you and more, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, willing away the unwelcome tears starting to make your eyes shine. You’ve never heard words even remotely like what Joel is saying to you right now, never have had anyone take the time to express a sentiment like that, make you feel worth the time of day for it. It’s… incredible, a warmth that quickly burrows itself inside your chest, so foreign but so welcome to feel like you’re truly seen, truly matter to someone else beyond what it could give them. Even if it was Joel, who barely knows you, but seems to see the merit in helping you figure your life out despite it being risky for him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before.

“I…” you stutter out, clearing your throat and looking down at the sidewalk. Joel’s gaze is pensive and sharp as he studies you, trying to read the emotions warring within you. “Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry, I’ve just never - you’re really kind. Not just the money thing, but you’re… not what I expected.”

He smiles, seeming to understand the struggle you’re unable to verbalize. It was obvious here, what was going on based on everything you’d told him about your father. There was a deep wound you were simply trying to fill. It should make Joel feel dirty, but he lit with pride somewhere deep inside, making him want to keep being the reason for you to smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replies smugly, forcing a weak chuckle out of you. “Now c’mon. We’ve got things to buy.”

Joel surprises you when his hand trails down, grasping at yours, making a beeline for the door to the shop. You let your fingers intertwine with his like it’s a natural, everyday occurrence for the two of you, tugging you along. 

The man behind the counter knows Joel, greeting him by name, which amuses you to no end. Joel really has perfected this type of relationship for himself, down to the jewelry shop he frequents. Joel introduces you, and you can only offer a shy smile and hello, feeling the difference between the bustle of the outside world and placidity of the polished jewelry shop hitting you hard. You’re too aware of the way your hand is clasped tightly in Joel’s now that you’re somewhere quiet with eyes on the two of you. The more places you’re seen together, the more likely it is that your entire world could come crashing down with this secret getting out. There are millions of people in this city, yet you keep getting the sinking feeling it would be just your luck to be spotted by the wrong one.

Joel senses your shift, slipping his hand out of yours and briefly grazing the small of your back with it. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here knows anythin’, or would say anythin’, even if they did,” he whispers, and you eye the clerk suddenly acting very interested in wiping the surface of a case across the room to give the two of you privacy.

You shoot him a nervous look. “Should we really be out together like this? It’s been making me nervous all day. What if - what if…?”

Joel’s entire body nearly lurches forward, but he holds himself back from grabbing onto you, squeezing those anxious cheeks of yours between his hands and holding them tightly, making sure you look into his eyes while he reassures you. This instinct he has, the one he’s never been able to ignore, feels like too much with you, too suffocating. You have a father, someone to look after you that way already. Hell, all of them have had a father, but never one that he knew personally. Yet, he saw the need you had for it, the craving maybe you weren’t aware of, the one that brought you to tears the moment he’d shown you any sign of that kindness.

It hurts his heart to see you so neglected - all these years of knowing you by proxy, and he’d never seen it. How could he have missed it, how miserable you’ve been? How much sooner could he have been able to help you realize that you were worth anyone’s time, that you were worthy of living the life you wanted to live? Somehow though, he felt that this was exactly where the two of you were meant to be at this point in your timelines. Any sooner and maybe he wouldn’t have been able to make the difference he wanted to because you’d not have been ready to face it, or too late in the game, already too miserably deep in your path to CEO to care.

Meant to be - the words that kept running through Joel’s mind, despite everything in him fighting to stop thinking like that, to stop gently placing your sweet self so deeply in his heart so early on in the relationship. You yearn so earnestly for something he was so innately able to give, and that’s making it harder than it ever had been with the others.

“We don’t have to go out like this again, if you don’t want. I know, I thought the same thing, and we can stick with my place if y’want to. I just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

You throw him an appreciative smile. “I - I’ll think about it. I liked today, though.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “Now can I treat you to somethin’ pretty like I’m supposed to?”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Impatient. Let’s have a look,” you reply, stepping forward to peer down at the closest display, feeling Joel’s presence sidling up beside you. Heat radiates off of both him and the lights in the glittering case, making you sweat at the proximity of it all, the nearness of his body and that cologne of his wafting invitingly into your space.

“What do you usually like? Noticed you mostly wear gold. But not many bracelets.”

You flick your gaze to him, brows lifted. “Very observant of you.”

“It’s all part of the gig. Got to know what kinds of gifts you’re lookin’ for, so I can surprise you when you least expect it.” Joel’s pleased smugness shadows his face, and you roll your eyes at him, even though you are impressed. Men don’t have the best reputation for paying attention, or at least not the ones you’ve known. Your father has never opted to buy his own gifts for your mother, always either hiring someone to do it or deferring to you, since you’d clearly know better what his wife would like.

“Well, what would you pick out for me if I wasn’t here?” you ask him, feeling emboldened.

Joel seems to like this game, taking on the challenge with an intrigued twitch of his brows. He leans the tiniest bit closer to you, but he may as well have crossed an entire canyon with the difference the proximity makes to your steadily beating heart. He seems to morph into something more right there - giving you the suave show he offers to any other woman in your position. 

“Alright, well, I’d want to know first if you don’t wear bracelets because you don’t like ‘em, or if you just don’t think about buyin’ them for yourself, which would be a damn shame. ‘Cause for some reason, I really want to be the one clasping something nice to your pretty wrists. Just a feeling I get.”

You can scarcely breathe at the way his voice reverberates so close to you, lowering to a gravelly rumble with each word weaving its way inside of you. It’s all too sensual, too evocative of an image painted in your mind for this to be the casual thing you’re both seeming to pretend it is. Your skin is prickling, warm all over as you stand with tightening thighs, your hip pressed against the jewelry case to help hold you steady. You don’t dare look him in the eye now, for fear he’ll be able to see the mortification burning its way through you at the effect his words have. 

“I - I just don’t think about it. I like bracelets, though,” you somehow squeak out, keeping your answer safe and only opting to respond to the actual question rather than… whatever the hell all the other stuff was. You simply can’t dive into it further if you want to remain sane right now and pretend that Joel didn’t have some kind of obscene hold on you.

“Alright, then. Let’s have at it,” he says casually now, dropping some of the charm. He prowls along the cases at a slow, steady pace, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll stick with gold, for obvious reasons. No point in mixin’ it up if you’re not interested.” He flashes a glance back to you, to see if he’s on the right track, so you nod for him, agreeing. You do your own browsing, admiring the wide selection of jewelry while he’s quiet for a while, stopping to observe each case with scanning eyes before he glances to the clerk across the room.

“William, I think we’re all set here,” he booms out, and you look at him curiously, walking over to the case he’s landed on. You peer down through the glass, trying to guess which one he’s selected, but Joel stops you with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do you want it to be a surprise?”

You consider it, pursing your mouth in contemplation. A flutter moves through your middle, making you lick your lips before smiling wide for him. “Yeah, why the hell not?” you conclude. 

Moments later, after dutifully averting your gaze from across the room as Joel and William pack up your new gift, he walks over to you with a slender, black box in hand. There’s a bag in his other for you to carry it home in, sporting tissue paper and the shop's name in a classy, black font across the front. 

“For you,” Joel says quietly, presenting the box to you and cracking it open. It’s a dainty, gold bracelet, periodically studded with flowers, daisies by the look of it, each one beautifully crafted and shimmering with diamonds. You’re accustomed to nice things like this - diamonds, designer clothing and bags, all the highest quality things your parents provided for you growing up, yet you still gasp at the sight before you. There’s something touching about it being specifically chosen for you by someone who truly wanted to do it. That makes it the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, despite having laid eyes on much more elaborate, eye-catching pieces. 

This feeling was pure magic.

“I love it,” you exclaim softly, bringing a hand up to your mouth, some self conscious part of you desiring to conceal your smile, not wanting to seem materialistic. Joel’s hand goes to your wrist, moving it away, his eyes intently flashing between watching your grin and your eyes crinkling happily with it.

“Mm-mm,” he chastises you, nearly a whisper. “This is the best part, watchin’ you be happy.”

Your smile falls into something more subtle, an electricity crackling down to your very veins at the intimacy brimming in the air between the two of you. “Thank you, Joel. I love it. You did really good,” you manage to say, your breath a little shaky.

“Let me,” he says, bringing your wrist a little lower and gently pulling the new bracelet out of its box. The way he so gingerly moves, wrapping the gold chain around your wrist and clasping it, all so certain yet reverent, has something inexplicable taking hold of you. He’s an expert, this sort of thing practically a second job for him, yet you feel like it’s the first time, as if he’d never tire of making you feel this cherished and special. 

“Now would you look at that,” Joel marvels as he finishes up, turning your wrist in a slow, graceful manner to allow a moment of appreciation as the bracelet shines and sparkles. When he lets go, you feel the absence like a plunge of ice to your skin, much colder than you could remember it being before he’d touched it. You smile absentmindedly at the bracelet, shaking it to hear the tiny, pleasant jingle. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell Joel. “Thank you again.” Before you can think, your arms are thrown around him in an embrace, wanting to show your appreciation. You feel his hesitation at first, but once his arms finally wrap around you, they’re committed, squeezing you tightly to his chest. “I thoroughly forgive you now for your rude ex. And the mustard,” you say into his shirt.

You both descend into laughter, pulling away to watch his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. “Thank god. I was worried it was a deal breaker.”

You shrug. “Nah. More where this came from, and we’ll definitely be even.”

Joel’s hurried footsteps have him rushing along the sleek black floors past the front desk, not so much so as to not give Vincent a proper greeting as he passes. Thankfully Bianca, his assistant, is still on her lunch too, no questions or needs or check-ins from her buzzing in his ear. Just for these few minutes, that’s all he needs.

The office door closed in a haste, shaky hands pulling the shades on his windows into the hallway, he makes sure to lock the door before settling in at his desk. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the half hard cock he’d been fighting for blocks now straining against his slacks, so stiff and achy it’s nearly painful. Leaking a spot onto his briefs, he palms it, sighing softly at the relief it brings.

Jerking on his cock, the length of springs out, slapping at his belly before he tugs out his balls too, resting heavily against the hastily shuffled down fabric. He swallows the tiny pit of shame growing inside of him before skimming a finger through his precum, spreading it along his head in a circular motion.

This time, he doesn’t even try to avoid picturing it’s you doing it.

He’s hardly allowed himself to let go like this for days, not since your first dinner together. It’s been too difficult to not tie it to you, to not conflate the fact that he was rock hard more often than was convenient now to the fact that he had someone new out there enjoying all the wonderful things he could provide for them. That someone being you, maybe one of the few people he absolutely should not be fantasizing about. He was coming on too strong, he knew that, unable to help himself from giving in to what seems to come naturally between you two. You’re too nice, too sweet to ruin with vain, carnal desires, so he’d have to resort to this instead - holding back until he’s nearly bursting with unplaced desire. 

He thought he could handle the jewelry store, could handle you. But just as you’d said he’s different than you’d expected, so are you. Funny and biting, but so soft and caring underneath it all, passionate and driven but without a direction yet, something in you so wanting of it, so needing, you were simply… lovely. Radiant and perfect in all your own little ways, you’ve been one of the biggest pleasures to be around after only two god damned dates. Joel hates himself for it. It’s such a shame it had to be you, the one who’d finally caught his attention in this way. It has been too long since he’d indulged himself, let someone in and taken care of them. He’d just stayed focused on work and family, ignoring the part of him that ached to be satisfied with being seen as someone’s provider.

Joel’s slick hand slides up his cock, gripping tightly, a dichotomous hope uttered on his lips that it should be you, and that he wishes it wasn’t you running through his mind during such an intimate act. 

“F-fuck, yeah,” he mutters to himself, stroking faster. You and that smile, the new bracelet hanging off your wrist, just as he’d imagined it. The new dress you’d worn to dinner, aching to see more, more, more - new, pretty things, or to watch your stress melt away as he took on all those burdens for you. You could have everything, you could have it all, because of him.

He’d never touch you, no, and never let you touch him like this. But in this moment, squeezing his own slickened cock, he allows himself just one glimpse of it in his mind - one time, and he’d be done. One moment of imagining your hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers curling delicately as they move up and down, struggling to take him all in your hand. You would struggle, with that pretty new bracelet sparkling the entire way through.

He groans. 

It’s louder than he’d meant, unexpectedly so, but that’s just what you do to him. The unexpected. A thin sheen of sweat coats Joel’s brow now as he strokes himself furiously, enjoying every second of allowing himself to relinquish his morals. It would be over too soon, he thinks to himself, catching a glimpse of his ruddy, pulsing cock in his hand, desperately imagining you’re there instead, touching it, riding it, the two of you doing something nobody has to know about.

“Sh-shit, shit,” Joel blurts out, hastily reaching for a tissue, pumping his cock a few more times, throwing his head back. When he comes, it’s harder than he has in recent memory, so much built up tension and need behind it all, but he doesn’t picture any specific thing to push him over the edge. It’s just you.

Catching his breath, he copes with the shame of it all, still feeling you buzzing pleasantly around his mind. This thing he can not rid himself of now that you’ve taken up residence there. It was a new kind of high, one he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever. None of the others had felt like this, his heart and mind seeming to slip out of his control and into something dangerous. Joel always found he didn’t like things to be out of his control if he could help it. You, however, were completely, irrefutably out of his control now.

Sitting there in his pool of shame, Joel cleans himself up and discards the evidence in the trash, feeling defeated. He’s already let this get too far, putting you in a dicey position, and for what? For him to self satisfy some part of him that he’s considered broken?

Isn’t that exactly what you were doing too? Could two people trying to fix what’s broken come together and not have it end in disaster? This isn't like his other relationships - there hadn’t been so much at stake, no end that resulted in upsetting the status quo of the other’s life. 

He’s pondering all of it, if he’s being fair to you, if he should be more careful with what parts of your life he holds in his hands now, when he feels his phone buzz inside his pocket.

You’ve sent him a photo of your wrist, seemingly out on the street somewhere. He catches the facade of a high end, cream colored building in the background, and he wonders in passing if that’s where you call home. Wonders if he’ll be able to see it, be let into your world a little more. Not the parts of it he knows from being on the fringes, but the bits of you that you don’t share with your parents, your friends, or maybe anyone else.

Never taking this off, you tease in the message attached to the photo, and Joel’s chest tightens and swells with affection. He longs to make you feel like this every day, to make sure you know that you have someone looking out for you even when so many people in your life seem to have forsaken that. He studies the picture, looking over every inch and promising himself to put aside his vain desires to see this through for you. To give you all the things you deserve to have, because you’re a nice girl who deserves better than the lowness he’s stooped to in his office today.

It nags at his mind though, in a way he can’t shake off despite trying, the things he feels when he looks at the photo, the new bracelet shining in the sun. The things he feels when he looks at you.

You. You were certainly going to be the death of him.

[pedropascalsbbg]

pedro look alike contest this pedro look alike contest that WHERE IS MY PIXEL JOEL LOOKALIKE CONTEST

GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY NEEEEEEEED

[pedropascalsbbg]

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY PEDRO PASCAL EDITION:

Oberyn Martell - 8 Daughters

Agent Whiskey - Baby Boy 👼🏻

Ezra - Adopted teenage girl

Dave York - 2 Daughters

Francisco Morales - Unknown #, but 1 new baby

Max Lord - 1 Son

Marcus Moreno - 1 Daughter & the entire Heroics team

Mando - 1 adorable 50-year old baby

Silva - 1 Son

Marcus Acacius - 1 Stepson who hates him

Clint - 1 Daughter

Joel Miller - 2 Daughters

Reed Richards - 1 Son

Bonus: This motherfucker 😂

[pedropascalsbbg]

ICE is in Los Angeles conducting raids and arresting families and children on their way to their court dates and raiding workplaces. Trump has called the National Guard in to stop protestors and is spreading a false narrative about violence, raiding, etc. to distract from the fact that ICE is abducting children in a SANCTUARY CITY.

Do not look away, do not be silent. If you or a loved one is detained by ICE, stay silent except to ask for your lawyer. Keep your documents on you. Call legal aid foundations who are standing by.

If you are NOT in LA and want to help, you can contact rapid response networks and ask how to help or donate. Donate to ACLU, the Mexican American Legal Defense Fund (MALDEF), or the Immigrant Defense Project.

Here are some slides with good tips to share and a list of SoCal rapid response networks:

DO NOT LOOK AWAY!

And as a not so gentle reminder, if you voted for Trump or his ilk you can unkindly get the fuck off my page. You're not welcome here.

[pedropascalsbbg]

please rub your bulge against me

please rub your bulge against me

please rub your bulge against me

please rub your bulge against me

please rub your bulge against me

[pedropascalsbbg]

if you support ICE get the FUCK off my page

Photos from the LA Riots against ICE (2025)

[pedropascalsbbg]

The Savage and the Sanctuary: Ch. 13 - Reconciled

Joel tries to move on. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 12 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Remembered aftermath of a suicide attempt, mild violence, angst. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 11.5k

A/N: Special shout out to @cosmickid-inmotion who shares my vision of a Bruce Springsteen loving Joel.

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

October 5, 2019  

“Joel!” 

He could hear his brother’s voice but he sounded so far away, wet and waterlogged. 

Joel felt like he was floating. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened or even exactly where he was. There was something bright in front of him but it was blurry and the whiteness was tinged with glistening red. 

“Fuck, fuck!” 

He was moving then. Not of his own accord - he wasn’t entirely sure he could do that - but there were hands on him, pushing him from his side and onto his back. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel, what’d you do?” 

He wasn’t sure how long he was lying there but he heard Tommy call 9-1-1, say he found his brother with a gunshot wound to the head but that he was alive and seemingly conscious. Joel remembered more then, how he’d put the gun to his head, how he’d been ready to die, how he’d pulled the trigger, how he’d had a moment - the briefest flash of time - where something primal and basic within him took over and he flinched away from that welcome end. 

In all honesty, Joel wasn’t sure how he managed to bullshit his way out of getting locked in a fucking psych ward. He supposed it was a combination of things - shit insurance that wouldn’t pay for that sort of thing so the hospital didn’t want to waste the money, the fact that the shot had been so far off that it hadn’t done any permanent damage beyond a scar so his lie about cleaning his gun was just as reasonable as trying to blow his brain out, Tommy insisting that his brother would never do something like kill himself but he would keep an eye on him, anyway, just to be safe - but he left the hospital just a few hours after he put the gun to his head in the first place. 

“I’ll bring the car around,” Tommy said, leaving Joel standing there clutching the plastic bag that held the bloodied shirt he’d worn to bury his daughter. “Get you home.” 

Joel let his little brother take him home. Let him drive, let him watch him like a hawk, let him beg to understand what he’d been thinking that dark day. 

“Nothin’,” Joel shrugged for the thousandth time, staring down at his hand clenched in a fist on the scratched wood of Tommy’s kitchen table. “Wasn’t thinking anything. Just an accident, told you.” 

Eventually, Tommy stopped looking at him like he was a bomb that was about to explode. Instead, he took on the role that Joel had always held in their relationship. He got them hired on jobs, made sure there was food in the house - even if it was just canned bullshit - and kept an eye on Joel to make sure that, whatever he did, it didn’t cause permanent damage. It was unsettling, knowing what his little brother was doing for him. Joel lived with what seemed like a permanent stomach ache, this disquieting hurt that was so small he couldn’t say anything about it but so persistent he couldn’t help but be aware of the nagging pull. 

It was that ache that made him throw the first punch. 

He was out at a bar, Tommy chatting up some girl while Joel drank himself into oblivion, when some asshole a few stools down staggered to his feet, fumbling with his keys as he did. Joel frowned, sitting up a little as he watched the guy stumble back from the bar. 

“Hey man,” the bartender wrapped his knuckles on the bar in front of him. “Can’t let you leave like that. Sit down, I’ll call you a cab.” 

“Nah, s’fine,” the man waved him off, slurring and swaying as he did. “Gotta get my truck home, m’good to… to… to drive.” 

“No, you’re not,” the bartender said, voice sharp. “Sit. Down.” 

“See you later,” he waved, ignoring him and staggering toward the door. 

Joel felt it then, the same burning rage he felt the night he’d found out that he’d probably never know who killed his daughter, when his skin was still sticky with her blood and the police had already given up. It had been someone like this man who’d done it, some fucker who didn’t give a shit about anybody else, who hit Sarah and left her bleeding and dying in the street. 

He moved without really thinking about it, bar stool wobbling in his wake, and grabbed the man by the shoulder, ripping him around to face him. He looked surprised for a moment, blinking in shock, before his eyes narrowed. 

“The fuck is your problem?” He said, more sure-footed and coherent than he’d been in the last few minutes. He gave Joel a small, half-hearted shove. 

“My problem,” Joel spat, shoving the man back far harder. “Is assholes like you-“ another shove “-who got no problem gettin’ people killed-“ another shove “-so you can get fuckin’ drunk.” 

“He’s right, George,” the bartender said, coming out from behind the bar. “Why don’t you sit down, let me call you a cab, c’mon.” 

“You really sidin’ with this jackass?” The man - George - said. “You know I’m good to drive! It ain’t…” 

Joel didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead, he hit him, his fist catching him on the jaw and sending the man sprawling to the ground. 

That should have been enough. Once upon a time, it would have been enough for Joel. Back when he was someone who didn’t want to hurt people, in a time where he had it in him to give someone the benefit of the doubt, it would have been plenty. 

But now, all Joel saw at his mercy wasn’t just a man who would have left his daughter bleeding in the road but one who had and it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. 

Joel more fell on the man than anything else, his limbs feeling out of sync in a way that only alcohol could bring but that just pissed him off more. How could someone drive like this? How could someone be this reckless? 

He took it out on the man, landing blow after clumsy blow as he cried below him and Joel couldn’t seem to catch his breath or make his heart stop racing and he couldn’t stop hitting him even though it hurt and even though he could hear people screaming he couldn’t stop it. 

Joel wasn’t sure how long he beat the man before Tommy caught his fist as he wound back to swing again, throwing him off balance enough that he had to stop to catch himself. 

“Joel!” Tommy yelled, ripping him away from the man on the ground. “That’s enough!” 

Tommy held him back as he panted for breath, his knuckles aching and his chest tight and he looked at the man for what felt like the first time. He was bleeding, a rattle in his lungs, his hands shaking as he lay flat on his back. Joel looked down at his hands. They were bloody, too, skin on his knuckles split and angry and raw. 

“Get him outta here,” the bartender said to Tommy, phone pressed to his ear. 

“C’mon,” Tommy said, pulling Joel to his feet and leading him quickly, surely to the door before guiding him to his truck. 

They were half way to Joel’s before he said anything else. 

“The fuck was that, man?” He asked. Joel felt him glance his way but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. 

“I dunno,” Joel said, his voice cracking. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at his hands, at how they were bloody like they’d been that night. He couldn’t stop shaking. “I… I just…” 

Tommy was silent, the quiet heavy against the sound of the engine. 

“You’re not alone,” he said eventually. “You can stay with me for a while, til shit is… I dunno. But I’ve got you. You’re gonna be OK.” 

Joel didn’t say anything. He just stared at his bloody hand and tried to ignore the nauseating twist of his stomach when he wondered what their mother would think about Joel failing at taking care of his little brother like she’d asked him to do on her death bed and Tommy took them both home.

January 5, 2025

It was an act of self flagellation, watching the TV. 

Joel knew that, he did. But the Golden Globes were on in his living room, anyway. 

He’d turned it on at the start of the red carpet coverage and told himself that it was because it was the smart thing to do. One of his colleagues was there working, after all. If something happened - a thought that made his heart stutter in his chest - it could be helpful if he saw it in real time. 

But that wasn’t why he did it. And he knew that, too. 

No, he did it because he couldn’t bear not to. You would be there and he was powerless when it came to you. You had proven that time and time again. You kept proving it, even after you were gone.

When he first came home after you gutted him in front of your house, he did what he almost never did: He went to Sarah’s room. 

He was unsure why he was drawn there at first, unsure enough that he hesitated, his hand on the knob, feeling like it was a violation to enter such a sacred space without good reason but the pull was too strong and he gave in. 

Joel stood beside his daughter’s bed, like he always did at first, and took in everything. Little pieces of his daughter what would be lost to time if he weren’t here to memorize them, like the way she liked to loop hair ties together before abandoning them or the fact that her bookshelf didn’t look organized at all but he knew that it was because she kept her favorites near the beanbag chair so she could reach out and grab one whenever she wanted. Her clothes and her nail polish and her books and her stickers and her posters, too. 

The poster of you. 

You watched him with those sad eyes, ones that were so familiar to him now. He thought your eyes looked like that - sad and longing in some way - when you’d told him to never come back but maybe he was imagining things just so he could pretend he’d meant something to you. 

Not that it mattered now. 

Because being here, in Sarah’s space and looking in your eyes, he knew he’d done the right thing. 

Losing his daughter had all but killed him. In a kinder, fairer world, it would have. But he had somehow survived and been left here, haunted by her in everything and he knew - viscerally, painfully - that he could not do this again. 

He wasn’t sure that anything could be as painful as losing Sarah but he knew that losing you would come close. He couldn’t go through this again, not even for a minute, not even for however long it took for him to put a gun to his head and get it fucking right this time. It seemed like it shouldn’t be possible to ask one person to lose that much, as though some law of physics should protect you because the pain of losing you after losing her couldn’t be contained within him. 

The only thing he could do was leave you. He cared too much, he couldn’t protect you properly. He would constantly be distracted by your eyes and your smile and the softness of your skin and the taste of your mouth. It was disaster waiting to happen. He had to leave you, he had no other choice. 

He lasted about a day before he started looking you up online. He told himself it was because he needed to know how you were doing, if there were any updates in the case. It made sense, professionally speaking, for him to know what was going on with you. 

That was bullshit, of course. 

He knew it then, too. He knew he was watching for any news of you because he couldn’t stop himself, it was a compulsion, and for weeks he hoarded everything he could learn about you. 

It was almost entirely speculative. The basic statement that Quinn had given the press was repeated over and over again. You weren’t in Hollywood and the press seemed to be respecting your request for privacy, no new pictures of you or Ellie in Austin popping up anywhere. You were nominated for a Golden Globe just a few days after the attack and, even as the ceremony got closer, no one in the press seemed to know for sure if you were going. 

Joel didn’t ask about it at work. Tommy made him take time off but he was eager to get back to normal because he couldn’t bear to sit inside his tomb of a house without something to distract him for much longer. He saw Seth once, coming in for a debrief, and Joel listened in for a moment. The report was short, nothing had changed. He tried to take comfort in that. Nothing was good. Nothing meant you were safe - at least, relatively speaking. But it didn’t tell him anything about how you were. Were you jumpy or afraid after what happened? Did your laugh sound the same? Did your smile reach your eyes? Did you pace the halls of your large house in the night because you couldn’t sleep? He didn’t know and he couldn’t ask. 

He was relieved when he learned that you’d be going to California. Not because he wanted you to go to fucking California but because he was sure that he’d get some glimpse of you then and he was right. 

You popped up on Twitter first, someone spotting you at the airport and posting a blurry photo taken too far away. You had a bag over your shoulder and you had your baseball cap on like you always did. Seth was walking alongside you, his arm around your shoulders as he guided you to security. 

Joel refreshed things almost constantly then. It wasn’t long before pictures of you on the flight cropped up. You posing with fans, you pressed back into your seat on the plane in a photo he could tell you didn’t know was being taken, looking like you hoped the chair was going to swallow you.  

You disappeared again once you got through the crush of paparazzi at LAX and Joel looked at every single photo, examining your short walk from the terminal to the waiting SUV from every possible angle. You kept your head down, sunglasses on, baseball cap tugged low over your face. His heart stuttered when he realized it was the hat he’d gotten for you but then, you’d probably grabbed it without thinking. He knew you’d never have picked it on purpose.

Last night was nothing. You’re nothing.

He went back to the photos of the flight after it was clear there was nothing new coming out about you after you left the airport. You smiled for pictures with fans but it didn’t reach your eyes. It reminded him of that poster in Sarah’s room, some lingering sadness - or was it more emptiness? - in your gaze that made his chest get tight. 

What if you weren’t OK after the attack? What if you were afraid all the time? Was there anyone you could actually turn to or were you too busy trying to take care of everyone else around you to ask for help if you needed it? Because, when he thought about it for even a second, he knew that’s what you’d do. You’d put Ellie first, then Elise, then Esmo, then the people working on Savage Starlight, then then then. Anyone but yourself and you’d be alone in it. It wasn’t good to be alone in those things. He knew that better than anyone. 

So, by the night of the Globes, he was desperate. He needed to see you again, for more than a a second of you posing with someone in a situation that he knew was awkward. He turned on the red carpet coverage the moment it started even though he knew you wouldn’t show up until the end of it. He’d learned, guarding you, that there was a hierarchy in Hollywood and you were at the top of it. You were the biggest name, the most beautiful woman, the brightest star. Anyone walking the carpet after you would pale in comparison and everyone knew it. You were the grand finale of every event you attended and he had hours of watching other stars and the commentators speculating on winners and outfits and the rest of awards season to get through before he’d get to catch a glimpse of you. 

It lasted a small eternity, Joel keeping himself busy with things that had long needed doing around his house that he’d let lapse in the last month while the red carpet coverage played in the background. He wiped away the sticky rings of coffee stains from his counters while some actress he didn’t recognize made bullshit small talk with the reporter and cleared dust from the half empty shelves by his TV as two commentators made stupid, punny jokes back and forth that he knew Ellie would love and he tried to shove the emptiness at her loss down deep inside him, too. He was sewing a button back on a shirt that had been lying neglected on his dresser for months when he finally heard your name and he dropped the shirt without thinking, the plaid flannel laying in a heap at his feet as he watched Chris fucking Reese help you out of the back of a limo before tugging you against his side. 

The camera on you was too far away - from some high vantage point, watching the arrivals on the carpet - so he couldn’t tell if the smile on your face as you waved to fans was genuine but he could see you and fuck you were beautiful. 

Not that it was a surprise, you were a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman, you were paid to be beautiful but it still caught him off guard sometimes. He’d become almost used to it in his time with you, the same way someone gets used to a stunning view outside their kitchen window, but it struck him like it was fresh now. You were stunning, even at a distance. Your gown looked like it was silk or satin - not that Joel knew fuck all about anything like that - and like it had be created to be worn by you and you alone. The fabric flowed over your body, moving with you as you turned to talk to people, and Joel resented your goddamn costar as his hand slipped down to the place at the small of your back where your impossibly soft skin - he didn’t think he’d ever forget just how soft you were - was bare and tempting. 

There was a little picture-in-picture view of you working your way up the carpet as the reporters talked to other stars Joel didn’t give a shit about. He just sat there, leaning forward on the edge of his couch like he was watching a damn playoffs game, taking in everything about you he could manage to find. 

Eventually, finally, mercifully, you made it to the reporter. Reese’s arm was securely around your waist and you were stunning with your makeup and hair done but something in Joel resented that, too. This was the first real look he’d gotten of you in more than a month and it was couched in all this artifice. You were beautiful but ethereal, so far out of his reach like this and he wanted to see you in a way that he had at least a hope of touching you. Not that he would ever be on your level but he wanted the dream of it. When you were like this, when he was robbed of the intimacy of seeing the tiny variations in your skin tone when flesh shifted over bone, you were too far. 

You smiled at the reporter and Joel thought it reached your eyes but it was hard to tell at this distance and he kept watching how your hand found Reese’s chest as you stood beside each other and the way you looked at him with a small, almost adoring smile on your lips while listening to him answer questions. It was all so distracting that he didn’t even notice that the scar was exposed on your chest until the reporter asked about it. 

Your mask slipped when she did, your face falling ever so slightly, your body shifting. You pressed yourself a little tighter to Reese, your arm dropping to your side. He watched as your fingers sank into your thigh enough that the fabric of the gown puckered and it was a little movement he knew so well, how you pushed against that spot on your leg when someone made you uncomfortable or you had to sit through some bullshit on behalf of the damn industry you worked in and he wanted to step in and help you, tell the reporter to get fucked but Reese did for him. 

“Now I know you’re not asking my costar questions just to make her uncomfortable,” he said, his grip on you tightening. “Because that would make you a jackass who’s shit at their job, wouldn’t it? You must have something in that research of yours that’s actually about the movie we’re nominated for tonight, yeah?” 

Joel smiled a little bit at that. At least you had someone in your corner, even if that someone looked too close and too comfortable for his liking. 

Now that he knew there was a chance at seeing you, Joel couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from the TV. He was sure it was because he was always watching for you but it seemed like the cameras always found you in the crowd, so often showing you clapping as someone else made their way to the stage or you taking a sip of champagne as you nodded along to something someone near you was saying as the broadcast went to commercial. He tried to memorize as much of you as he could in those scraps of moments, things he’d somehow forgotten in the month it had been since he’d last seen you in person. The arch of your neck, the precise way you used your hands when you talked, the tiniest purse to your lips you got when you were thinking of something very seriously. He needed to make sure he didn’t lose these things. He might have to share them with the world but he needed to have them for himself, too. He needed to be able to picture what things might have been like with you, in some other reality. One where Sarah was alive and you weren’t hunted by a psychopath, where the people he’d lost and the fame you’d earned weren’t what defined either of you. He wanted to pretend like he knew what it would be like to be in bed with you, to feel you laugh against him when he told a dumb joke or to have your fingers absently run through his hair enough that there was some familiar path they always took over his scalp. He was done caring whether or not it was smart or healthy to live in that other world sometimes, he just wanted to be granted access to that reality with these little glimpses he could stash away and keep close. 

When you won, Joel had barely moved in hours, not willing to step away even during commercial just in case they cut back to the theater to a shot of you there, smiling and laughing with your contemporaries. You looked shocked that they’d called your name even though there was no possible way it was a true surprise - Joel was almost embarrassed by how closely he’d been watching the predictions for who would win the major awards this year and you were at the top of almost every list - and you hugged and gave your costar a quick kiss before you looked at him a little longer and then the two of you kissed. Really, truly kissed. Joel’s stomach turned but he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the screen as he watched another man hold your face and taste your lips. It was like a train wreck, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring even as every fraction of a second felt like some new cut made on his heart. He knew it couldn’t have been long but it seemed like a small eternity when the two of you separated and Reese tugged you to your feet and helped you to the stage. 

You mercifully went up the steps to the microphone on your own and took the award in your hands, staring at it as the entire audience clapped and cheered for you before you finally looked at him. 

It wasn’t really at him, of course. It was to the crowd and the camera and the millions of other people watching at home but Joel let himself think you were looking at him, that he crossed your mind at all. 

There was something almost sad and lonely in your eyes as you held your trophy and, for half a second, Joel was reminded of the night he’d left you. But he put a stop to that thought quickly. You’d told him what you felt and it hadn’t been a lie. You were a great actress, he knew that, but even you couldn’t say something to his face with that much vitriol and have it be a lie. 

Maybe that should have poisoned something in him. Made it so he could stop thinking about you and caring about you but it hadn’t. Instead, it just felt true. Like you’d cracked him open and looked at the rotten core of him and known what he was good for and been done with it. How could he possibly blame you for seeing what he was? How could he blame you for excising him for it? 

He got to his feet as you finished your speech - he wasn’t sure why, it’s not like he could clap for you from here - and his socked foot found the needle from where he’d been mending the button before, his work long forgotten since you’d appeared. 

“Fuck!” He fell back onto the couch, pulling his injured foot into his lap. The needle was lodged deep into the sensitive skin of the arch and he looked back to the screen just in time to catch you making it off stage, the arm of the presenter around your shoulders as you looked at the golden statue in your hands, that same almost familiar look on your face as you did. The telecast cut to commercial and he sighed, looking back to his foot. He pulled the needle out slowly, carefully but it still stung and pulled at him, a little plume of blood blossoming on the white of his sock once it was free. 

He limped to the bathroom for a bandage before settling in on the couch again, shirt and needle safely on the coffee table this time, watching the rest of the broadcast and pouring himself a large glass of whisky. Before the final award of the night, it cut to commercial, camera focusing your table again as the emcee teased what was to come. You were drinking straight from a champagne bottle and Reese’s hand was planted firmly in the middle of your bare back, his grip so firm that Joel could tell that his fingers almost digging into your skin, even at a distance. He was smiling at someone on the other side of you but there was something off about it. Even from here, even though Joel didn’t know the man, he could tell there was something off. He just had no idea what it was. 

Your movie won best picture and Joel barely paid attention to the speech, watching as you stood next to Reese, you looking like you hadn’t won anything at all. Your face was blank, almost dead, and Joel frowned, leaning closer to the TV as though that would tell him something more. 

It didn’t. But it meant he was closer when Reese said something to you and you smiled a little at him before kissing him again, deep and desperate. 

“Fuck,” Joel said, a whisper this time, hanging his head before turning off the TV and going to bed, trying to keep that image from his mind as he passed out.

He was still asleep the next morning when the vibration of his cell phone woke him up. 

“Hold on,” he said when whoever was on the other end just started talking at him, wiping a hand down his face and picking up the watch you gave him from his nightstand to check the time. Just after 10 a.m., he’d slept in. “What?” 

“Joel,” Tommy said sharply, a layer of urgency in his voice that made him sit up, blankets settling around his hips as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Need you to tell me anywhere she might go.” 

“Who?” Joel said, trying to sift through the last few minutes in his head and see through the fog of his hangover. 

Tommy said your name and he froze. 

“What?” He whispered. 

“Siren,” Tommy said. “The woman you spent the last few months protecting, do you know where the fuck she might go if she took the fuck off?” 

“She’s missing?” Joel jumped out of bed, scrambling for something to put on. His head swam. “Since when? What the fuck happened, I thought Cook…” 

“He got her back to the hotel last night, guess they were out real late and she got pretty fucked up at some after party,” Tommy said. “Went back to that same hotel you were at with her last month. He says she went to bed, then he went to bed. He got up little while ago, didn’t hear anything from her room but figured she was still passed out, knocked on her door when breakfast was delivered and there was no answer. He went in, looks like she didn’t even sleep there. Her dress and jewelry from the night before were there, phone too, but she’s gone. He’s looked through the hotel, tried the room of that idiot she’s in the movie with but he wasn’t there, either…” 

“Fuck!” Joel grabbed a shirt from the floor, jeans, too. “I’m comin’ to the office, get me a plane ticket.” 

“Joel…” 

“If those fuckin’ idiots don’t know how to fuckin’ keep her safe then -”

“You asked me to take you off her case, Joel!” Tommy cut him off. “I called you because you were with her in LA for weeks, thought you might know some places she likes. Cook’s been there two goddamn days, he don’t know the place yet. There’s no sign of foul play, she probably just took off which she pulled on you at least once…” 

Joel just shook his head even though Tommy couldn’t see him. He’d never told his brother the truth of any of that, that you hadn’t just been some flighty, spoiled child, you’d been traumatized by the appearance of a man who’d abused you for years and had dealt with it in the only way you seemed to know how. 

“Was Henry Wilde at the awards last night?” Joel asked, getting into his truck. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Tommy said. “Why would I know what Hollywood muckety-mucks are at some goddamn award show?” 

“Call Quinn,” Joel said. “Find out if that asshole was there, they got… there’s some shit there, if he was there and said somethin’ to her, it might make her run off.” 

“Well,” Tommy said, his voice hesitant. 

“What.” 

“You watch the news today?” He asked. 

“No,” Joel said. “You fuckin’ woke me up, when the fuck would I’ve watched the damn news?” 

“There were some photos of her leaked last night,” he said. “During the ceremony.” 

“Photos?” Joel said. “What do you mean photos, she’s famous there are photos of her everywhere.” 

“Not photos like these there aren’t,” Tommy said darkly. “They’re from years ago, probably taken by some boyfriend or something…” 

Joel’s stomach turned. 

“Shit,” he said quietly. 

“She was pretty upset from what Seth said,” Tommy said. “When she went to bed, he said she seemed OK but… maybe she wasn’t.” 

“Shit,” Joel said quietly. “Alright… try the beach.” 

“The beach?” Tommy asked. 

“The beach,” Joel said. “Not sure which one but a quiet one, where she won’t run into a bunch of gawking tourists. She likes the water, said it’s comforting for her. She’d go to one near the hotel, whatever one’s real empty.” 

“Thank you,” Tommy said. “That helps, I’ll tell Cook.” 

“What if she didn’t just go,” Joel said, a tightness in chest that he couldn’t shake. “What if…” 

“There’s no indication it was her stalker,” Tommy cut him off. “I’m sure she’s fine, that she just took off on her own. There’s no reason to panic, Joel.” 

“I’m still coming to the office,” Joel said, tone sharp. “Because if she ain’t there, you need to send me to California.” 

Tommy sighed. 

“Just come in, Joel,” he said. “We’ll talk when you get here.” 

The office was surprisingly calm when Joel got there. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but, when the company’s highest profile and longest running contract was missing, he thought it would be louder, more chaotic, something to indicate that there was panic happening somewhere outside of himself but it was quiet. 

“Is anyone around here fuckin’ doing anything?” Joel snapped, not bothering to knock before entering his brother’s office. “Or are we just gonna fuckin’ stand around like nothin’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong,” Tommy said, looking up from his computer. “Good to see you too, by the way.” 

Joel frowned. 

“The hell you mean nothing’s wrong.” 

“I mean, we found her,” he said, looking back at his laptop. “Not at the beach but she wasn’t far from one, at some diner with that dumbass costar of hers, surrounded by fuckin’ paparazzi.” 

“Thank God,” Joel said, all but collapsing into a seat opposite his brother. “She OK?” 

“Fine, from what Seth said,” Tommy replied. “Well, fine beyond the fact that it sure seems like she’s lost her damn mind but…” 

“What do you mean?” Joel frowned, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Seth found her, alright,” Tommy said. “But she was dressed in nothin’ but some giant souvenir t-shirt, she sat on the patio at some fuckin’ restaurant there like that and once the paparazzi heard, they were all over the damn place like flies on shit. I’m sure Quinn is having a fuckin’ field day…” 

“Christ,” Joel sighed, dragging a hand over his face like the gesture could somehow wipe away the morning. “How’s Ellie doin’ with… everything? You talked to Elise or Esmo at all since…” 

“Joel,” Tommy cut him off, his voice sharp. “You wanted off this case, remember?” 

He clenched his jaw and looked toward the ground but didn’t say anything. 

“Can’t have you goin’ on and off shit like this,” Tommy said. “I appreciate that you worked with her for a long time and that you got opinions. You’re one of our best guys and you know I care about you but that don’t mean you can just pick and choose what assignments you get based on what’s convenient -“ 

“That ain’t what this is,” Joel snapped, harsh. 

“It ain’t?” Tommy asked, brows raised. “Then tell me, what is it? Because this ain’t like you, Joel. One minute you are begging me to reassign you and now you’re fighting to come back. I got schedules set for the next few weeks, you’re with that oil exec next week, should be a nice, easy gig to ease you back into things and you’re telling me you’d rather work the job you were dyin’ to get out of a few weeks ago?” 

“Tommy…” 

“I need you to fucking talk to me,” he said, completely ignoring the computer now, all pretense gone. “This shit only works if you tell me what’s going on. I can’t just be stuck guessing, I can’t live with…” 

He trailed off, squaring his jaw and shaking his head, his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Live with what,” Joel said more than asked. His kid brother looked at him from across his desk, his eyes - so like their father’s - ranging over him in silent assessment. 

“I can’t live with not knowing what I’ll find if you don’t show up to work one day,” Tommy said quietly. “You scare the shit out of me sometimes, man. I can’t say I blame you for… for doin’ what you did after Sarah died. I thought I got it then but now that I got a kid of my own… Don’t know that I’d want to keep goin’ either. But it’s not just you in your life, Joel. You think if something happened to you that shit would just go on for me? Because it wouldn’t. Just the the thought of finding you like that again…” 

“M’sorry,” Joel muttered, not really able to look at his brother but not really able to look away either. “I… I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you…” 

“I know,” Tommy said. “But Joel… Look. For a long time, seemed like… well, seemed like part of you was gone. And then you started working that job and… Sure, there were some rough patches at first but from the start, you gave a shit. I could see it. Hell, Maria could, too. For a little while, it was like I got my brother back, at least a bit. I ain’t seen you care about anything in years, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you care about anything that wasn’t Sarah or Benji as much as you seem to care about them so you can’t just ask me to put you back on that job when I know what it could do to you. I’m not sure what it is about them that did it. Fuck, maybe it’s not even them, maybe it’s just that enough time has passed and you’ve been able to heal and they were just close by when you did, I don’t fucking know, but I am not going to find you like that again, Joel. I’m not, end of story.” 

Joel just clenched his jaw, not sure if he should apologize to Tommy for everything he’d put him through when he was supposed to be the responsible one or try to fight for what he was asking for. 

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about putting you on any job right now,” Tommy continued eventually. “That’s why I set you for the CEO gig. It’s a short job, the guy’s a jackass, don’t think there’s much risk of you gettin’… attached.” 

Joel snorted at that and Tommy smiled a little before he sighed. 

“Do you really want back on that assignment?” He asked. “Because…” 

“No,” Joel said, his heart beating faster at just the thought of being the person responsible for protecting you again, at what it would mean if he failed you. “Not… not all the way. But… I got to know the kid - Ellie - and she’s… I know ‘er. Don’t seem right for her to be going through this shit with someone she don’t know.” 

“What’s she goin’ through exactly?” Tommy asked, brows raised. 

“She had some issues at school few months back,” Joel said. “Bullies picking on her for what her aunt does for work. Can’t imagine they’re being nice right now if… if there are those photos floating around out there. She’s a good kid. Been through a lot as it is. Lemme just… I’ll look after her, when… when she’s -“ he couldn’t bring himself to say your name “- in LA, I can take her to and from school, stay with her at home, just keep an eye on things. I won’t be the one doing any of the travel and I won’t work with… with her. Just the kid.” 

Tommy’s brows drew closer together for a second as he considered Joel and Joel felt a little like he was at the principal’s office after getting in trouble as a kid, like he was waiting to find out if he got to go back to class or if he was going to be barred from the life he led alongside his classmates. 

“Fine,” Tommy said eventually. “You can pick the kid up from school today and take over then, I’ll make some calls. You go home and pack a bag.”

“Thank you,” Joel said, trying to ignore just how overwhelming the relief in him was.

“Welcome,” Tommy said, turning back to his computer again and Joel took that as his cue to leave, getting to his feet and heading for the door when his brother stopped him. “Joel?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I meant what I said,” he said. “I ain’t finding you like that again. It seems like you’re losing yourself? I’m pulling you out. We clear?” 

“We’re clear,” Joel said. 

Tommy gave him a nod and went back to whatever was on his computer screen and Joel headed back to his truck, a bubble of anticipation in his chest when he thought about the fact that he would get to see Ellie again in a few hours. 

He packed a bag quickly when he got home and then found himself with nothing to keep him busy, his mind stuck on what Tommy had told him before about the pictures of you, both the ones from the night before and the ones from this morning. 

The ones from today particularly bothered him. It just didn’t seem like you. Removing yourself from a place that distressed you made sense, but wandering around half naked? Trying to attract the attention of the paparazzi? It was like a caricature of you, of what someone thought a famous movie star should be. 

He tried to distract himself for a while, tried to do anything to keep himself from Googling your name - as if he had any claim to you and your welfare at all, as if he actually knew you well enough to know that this was strange for you - but, before too long, he caved. 

Joel sat at his computer for this. It seemed like it was more professional that way, as though he was doing research and not doing this because he cared. The desktop was a relic, rarely used anymore. He’d bought it when Sarah was in middle school so she could type out her reports and look things up and not be behind the closed doors of her bedroom when she did it. He’d never bothered to update the thing and it took an almost agonizingly long time to boot up. He bounced his leg impatiently, some distant part of himself trying to talk himself out of looking the pictures up, some last-ditch effort to give you the distance you so desperately wanted from him, but then the welcome screen popped up and he froze. 

There were two user profiles on the computer, one for him and one for Sarah. He’d been expecting that, he wasn’t about to remove hers and he’d set hers up with all the parental controls that would keep her from stumbling onto things she had no business seeing as a kid. He’d just forgotten the photo she’d chosen for her profile. 

Next to his icon - a guitar - was a small, close-up photo of you from Siren. 

Joel just looked at you for a moment, the cursor hovering just outside the frame of your image. Even in that small place, even as an old picture, he had this strange drive to protect you. He owed you that. He owed Sarah that, too. She’d loved you, without even actually knowing you she’d loved you. Even if you didn’t want it, he had to take care of you for both your sakes. Even if it hurt, even if it killed him, he’d take care of you. 

He logged into his account and, after a minute of mechanical creaking, went to the browser, typing your name into the search engine. 

The first thing to pop up was something from TMZ, the headline blaring “WINNING TOP PRIZE, LOSING HER PANTS!” Joel clenched his jaw but clicked anyway and the picture was right at the top. 

You were coming out of some stylish restaurant in LA and you, indeed, had lost your pants. Your hand was tightly in Reese’s and you were in a t-shirt that had to be four sizes too big for you, the words Los Angeles emblazoned across your chest, men’s sunglasses on your face and a pair of cheap flip flops on your feet. Otherwise, from what Joel could tell, you weren’t wearing anything at all. 

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, scrolling to see if he could find more pictures, ones where he might be able to get a clearer look at your face. 

He started reading the story that went with the photos more by accident than anything else. 

The Golden Girl from the Golden Globes was apparently ready to party the night away long after leaving the post-award celebrations. The Best Actress winner stepped out with co-star and fellow awardee Chris Reese early this morning looking like they’d just come in from a roll in the hay - or maybe just a day at the beach! Sparks flew on screen and now it sure seems like they’re flying off screen, too.

They captured you from every angle in the photos and, before too long, Joel made it to the bottom of the story where there was a link to another story, this headline all but screaming your name followed by NUDE PHOTOS LEAKED FROM ACTRESS’S WILD CHILD YEARS! 

Joel’s stomach twisted and he tried to resist clicking the link, he really, truly did. But it was a compulsion. It wasn’t that he wanted to see you naked - especially not when he knew these were pictures you wouldn’t want him to see - but he needed to know the things that hurt you. He couldn’t protect you from what he didn’t know and he needed to protect you. 

The pictures were censored - something he was thankful for - but even with the pixelation, looking at you here made his skin crawl. You were young, disturbingly so, maybe even younger than you’d been when you made The District. There was something in your eyes that made him wonder how much say you’d really had in taking these photos. He couldn’t help but think about what you’d told him about that fucking producer. These pictures had to be from that time - you were so young that they couldn’t have been from after - and he knew that, even if you’d agreed to taking them, it couldn’t have been willing, not really. You’d been forced into this when you were a fucking teenager and now they were out in the world for anyone to see. 

No wonder you’d taken off. 

“Christ,” Joel sighed, cradling his face in his hand. 

He remembered, without meaning to, how you’d clung to him the night he’d let you get hurt. He’d been able to take care of you then, before he’d fucked it all up. He was too far away to take care of you now. 

He turned off the computer, not willing to let himself sink any further into the hole he was digging himself, and it was a relief when he could finally get in his truck to go pick up Ellie. 

Joel got to the school before it was done for the day, one of the first cars in line for pickup but he didn’t mind. It at least let him feel like he was doing something and that, at least, was better than the fuck all he’d done for the last month. 

When the first students started leaving the building, he got out of the truck and leaned against the side of it, watching until he caught a glimpse of Ellie coming outside, walking alongside a girl who looked a little familiar. It took Joel a second to place her but then he realized she was the girl Ellie had made a TikTok with last fall, the one that you’d shown him after he filmed the one of you and Tanya in LA. 

Ellie noticed him then, freezing on the steps for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him, leaving her friend’s side and stalking to the truck. 

“Well would you look who it is,” she said, squaring her jaw and planting her feet. “Big Asshole - sorry, Big Miller - back again.” 

“Hey kiddo,” Joel said. “It’s good to see ya.” 

She scoffed.

“Wow,” she said. “And here I thought you might be a better liar the next time I saw you.” 

“Ain’t a lie,” Joel said. “It’s real good to see you. Missed you the last few weeks.” 

“Oh right,” she said. “Because you care about me so much, that’s why you decided to ditch me without even bothering to say goodbye.” 

“Look,” he said. “I’m sure you’re real upset with me, I don’t blame you. But let’s get you outta here and you can tell me how bad I fucked up once we’re home, alright?” 

She narrowed her eyes again almost like she was waiting for him to up and leave but, when he didn’t, she shrugged out of her backpack and shoved it into his arms. 

“Then let’s go.” 

They were silent for the first part of the drive, Ellie’s backpack and Joel’s duffle sitting in between them. 

“So,” she said eventually, kicking the duffle lightly with one foot. “This mean you’re sticking around? Or was I just a quick errand on your way to some other job.” 

“I’ll be lookin’ after you while your aunt is in LA,” Joel said. “At least for now.” 

“Lucky me,” she muttered, shaking her head a little before staring out the window. 

Joel drove in silence, glancing over at Ellie who seemed to want to look anywhere but at him. 

Eventually, when he was getting close to the house, he couldn’t take the quiet anymore. 

“Look,” he said. “I’m sure you’re real upset with me…” 

“You think?” She snapped, leveling him with a glare. 

“And you got every reason to be,” he continued, ignoring her. “But…” 

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she said, a twinge of real hurt in her voice. “You just fucking left.” 

Joel sighed. 

“You’re right,” he said as he came up to your gate and checked a text from Tommy to get the updated code before punching it in. “And I’m sorry for that. Wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you, I just…” 

“Just what?” She cut him off, her eyebrows raised as Joel drove up the long path to your front door. “Decided you’d had enough of us so you ditched us without even thinking about it?” 

“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle but quickly failing. 

“Right,” she said. “Because we just don’t matter, do we?” 

She didn’t wait for him to respond, just grabbing her backpack and throwing her door open before stalking toward the house. 

“Ellie!” He called after her, jumping out of the truck and following her but he didn’t need to go far. She rounded on him, her small body taught with rage, her dark eyes harsh on him. 

“Do you care about me or not?” She demanded. 

“Course I do,” he said without really thinking about it. The answer to that question should be no. “But that don’t…” 

“Yeah?” She said, incredulous. “Because it sure doesn’t fucking seem like it and you know what, Joel? I’ve lost enough in my life. My dad didn’t want to stick around, my mom died, I moved away from where I grew up to come here so I lost my friends, too. If you’re going to ditch me then ditch me. I don’t need you to fucking pretend to feel bad about it first.” 

He squared his jaw for a moment, that sharp and never-healing wound at the center of him throbbing painfully, a reminder of what he was risking by just standing here. The front door opened and Esmo stood there, her eyes narrowed at him. 

“You don’t gotta like me,” he said to Ellie, ignoring Esmo’s glare. “But you do gotta deal with me protecting you, whether you like it or not.” 

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “Even more shit I get no say in.” 

She didn’t wait for a response, just stomping off to the house, Esmo ushering her inside with an arm around her shoulders and a little squeeze. Joel just sighed, going to get his bag from the truck and his guitar from the truck bed. 

He’d been playing it more since he’d left you behind. He played often, before Sarah died, and then it had faded to the background. Playing made him feel too inside his own skin for his comfort. Still, it was just a few days after you’d told him he didn’t matter - standing in almost this very spot in front of your home - that he’d picked up his guitar and sat down to play it. 

He took his time tuning it, feeling the strings and the wood and the sound as he did, and then he started to play. 

It hurt at first. The practicality of it hurt, of course, because his callus had softened over the years of not playing the way he once had, but more than that, it hurt inside himself, somewhere deep and dormant that had been numb and quiet for years. 

That pain made him pause, but once he started, he couldn’t seem to stay away from it. It was painful, yes, but it was a pain he had some semblance of control over and he hadn’t realized just how numb he’d been until he wasn’t anymore. He was almost addicted to it then, becoming masochistic in the way he played and the way he sought you out because hurting was better than the gaping nothingness that was so stark after you’d been there. 

It was that masochism that brought him back here. He knew that now that he was back in your space and all he could think about was what you’d said to him the last time he’d stood here. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before he went inside. 

Joel tried not think about you as he got settled in again but you were everywhere. The house smelled like you - even though you hadn’t been here in days - and he wished he didn’t know that. He didn’t want to have this lingering memory of what your skin smelled like or what you felt like inside or how your voice changed when you were upset or tired or trying not to laugh. He resented all of it. There was nothing to be done with any of it, it was all just shit that made him miss something that was never his to begin with but he didn’t want to lose, either. 

Once he was unpacked, he tried to keep himself busy and distracted in his room but felt like he was losing his mind before too long so he moved to the living room, glancing around cautiously like something might come out and bite him. As though he wasn’t the protector here. 

Nothing did. He settled into the corner of the couch and drummed his hands on his thighs before pulling out his phone, looking you up again. 

There was an update to the story from the morning. The owner of the shop where you’d gotten the t-shirt had shared security footage of you and Reese taking the shirt from a display hanging high and out of reach outside the still closed beachfront store. You were dripping wet, wearing nothing but a bra and panties as you stood there in the early morning light. Reese had scaled the security gate that closed off the front of the building, hanging off of it comically and reaching between the bars to pull the shirt down, dropping it into your arms as you laughed your ass off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out money and a pen, scrawling some note on the cash before tossing it through the gate toward the door as you pulled the shirt on. He kissed you then, pulling you tight and close and even on the grainy CCTV footage Joel could tell that his tongue was in your goddamn mouth. 

“Was wondering if we’d see you around here again.” 

Joel’s head flew up and Elise stood at the end of your massive couch, smiling tightly. 

“Got reassigned,” Joel said, shoving his phone in his pocket. 

She hummed in understanding but still looked skeptical, moving closer to him but taking a seat a few cushions away all the same. 

“I hope you’ve been well,” she said, looking him up and down. He shrugged noncommittally and she nodded slowly, her lips pursed. “Well, Joel - is it alright if I call you Joel? I’m not sure what the convention is, if I’m being honest.” 

“Joel’s fine.” 

“Joel,” she said again, something serious in her voice now, her hands clasped on her lap. “I think we need to have a talk.”

She gave him a chance to object but he didn’t so she pressed on. 

“I’m aware that this is just a job for you, that looking after my girls is just clocking in and accepting a paycheck…” 

“That ain’t…” 

“Please,” she cut him off. “Let me finish. I don’t expect you to care, that’s not in your job description and I understand if you don’t get attached to your work but Ellie is a child. She’s a tough kid but she’s still a kid and she’s lost an awful lot for someone that young. You may not be attached but she is, whether she admits it or not, and she doesn’t get attached easily. That’s not your fault, I understand that, too, but I am going to ask that if you’re coming back into her life that you at least respect her enough to tell her when you’re leaving again.” 

Joel considered her for a moment. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he was attached, too attached. That leaving had been a necessity, that it wasn’t because he wanted to abandon either of you. 

“I will,” he said instead. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her.” 

She watched him for a moment before she nodded. 

“I know,” she said. “And now that that is out of the way… Thank you for saving my daughter. If you weren’t there, who knows where she would be and… If you’re not a parent, you wouldn’t understand, but I couldn’t survive losing another child and I very nearly did. I owe you my life.” 

Joel just tightened his jaw, that gaping hole at the center of his chest burning and raw, but he just gave her a nod. 

“Which is why I’ve asked Esmo to make you dinner tonight, too,” she continued. “Because that woman holds a grudge and she was ready to starve you straight out of Texas.” 

Joel huffed, smiling the tiniest bit. 

“Appreciate that,” he said and Elise smiled, reaching across the sofa cushions to pat his thigh affectionately. 

“See Big Miller?” She teased lightly, giving his knee a squeeze. “Not so bad, getting a little attached. Just don’t tell my daughter or granddaughter I said so.” 

Esmo did, indeed, make Joel dinner, the four of them sitting around the table, a scowl on Esmo’s face every time she passed Joel a bowl of potatoes or Brussels sprouts. Elise, bless her, kept trying to get Ellie to open up but she was giving the bare minimum response to every question and Joel wasn’t sure if it was because he was there or if it was just Ellie being a teenager. 

Esmo left after the dinner dishes were cleared and Elise got Ellie to go to bed before turning in herself and Joel was left sitting there, too restless to sleep, the house quiet and haunted by you in every breath he fucking took. 

When he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit still, he sighed and got out his guitar. He made his way to the backyard, the light in the pool making the water glow, the ripples throwing lines light across the pool deck and the side of your house. 

He settled on the end of a lounge chair and gave the guitar a strum before setting to work tuning it. Once he was satisfied, he just toyed with it a bit, trying to figure out what to play. 

He knew he wanted to play something, something that, in a masochistic way, was painful. It was like pressing on a bruise, a compulsion just to see what he could do with the hurt. 

His fingers got ahead of his mind and he was playing before he really realized he was. He hummed along at first, playing through a chunk of the song on its own at first before singing along. 

“Ain’t no sunshine when…” 

“Since when do you play,” Ellie’s voice appeared behind him, sudden enough that it made him jump. Stopped playing and looked over his shoulder, finding her standing close to the house in a t-shirt, hoodie and baggy flannel pants, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Since long before you were born, kid,” he said. 

“Well,” she said, sounding almost resentful. “You don’t suck.” 

“Gee, thanks,” he said wryly. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” 

“Shouldn’t you be at your own fucking house?” She asked, brows raised.

“Kid…” “Why are you back.” 

Joel quirked his jaw. 

“Why do you come over here so I ain’t craning my damn neck,” he said. “And we can talk.” 

She considered for a moment before she stomped over to him, flopping down on the end of the lounge chair next to his, tugging the hoodie tighter around herself before resting her elbows on her knees and staring him down. 

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s talk.” 

He sighed, setting the guitar down beside him and turning to face her. 

“Well?” She said when he was quiet a little too long. 

“It’s… it’s complicated,” he began but she cut him off. 

“No, it isn’t,” she said. “Either you give a shit or you don’t so which is it?” 

“It ain’t that simple,” he said. 

“Seems like it is,” she said.

“It’s not smart for me to care,” Joel said. “If… if I’m distracted, if I’m worried about more than keeping you safe - worried about if you’re happy or comfortable or anything else - then you’re at risk.” 

“So you just left us,” Ellie said. “Just like everyone else.” 

Her dark eyes were sharp and cold, narrowed at him. 

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Should’ve… should’ve told you I wouldn’t be back.” 

She stared him down, like if she looked at him long enough she’d be able to tell if he was telling the truth or if he was lying. 

“So why are you back now,” she asked. 

“Well…” his voice trailed off and he remembered the look in your eyes in those photos and the look in your eyes when you’d told him to leave and never come back. He took a deep breath. “When I heard about… everythin’ from last night…” 

“You mean the fucking photos?” Ellie asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. “The fucking photos.” 

“Those really fucking sucked,” Ellie said. 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“I know,” he said. “And… well… I remembered the issues you had with that one kid at school before. Figured it’d be worse for you now and…” 

He tightened his hand into a fist and stared at the water. 

“And you give a shit,” Ellie finished for him. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he said, looking back to her. 

She nodded slowly, quiet for a while.

“I know I’m not like… your daughter or anything, Joel,” she said eventually and his heart clenched but he did his best to hide it. “I don’t expect you to love me or any of that that shit. I just don’t want to feel like I’m fucking nothing again, alright?” 

“Alright,” he agreed. 

“Alright,” she said again. 

“So,” he said after a moment of nothing but the sound of the water lapping gently at the tiles of the pool. “How was school.” 

She scoffed. 

“Shit,” she said. “No one had the balls to say it to my face but everyone was talking about those fucking pictures and I just… does she ever think of anyone but herself?” 

“She does,” Joel said, too fast and with too much certainty but he knew this, how you fought tooth and nail for fucking everyone else. He couldn’t convince you to pause filming because you were worried about the crew getting paid. He knew how much you missed taking Ellie to and from school but you’d given her the distance she asked for. Fuck, just moving to Texas was uprooting your entire life so she could be closer to her grandmother and not be swarmed by press. His mind drifted to those pictures again. You couldn’t have been much older than Ellie was now when they were taken, younger than Sarah would be now if she were still alive and that made him want to vomit. Ellie raised her brows at him, surprised. “Believe me, she does.

“I ain’t talked with her since all this happened,” he continued. “But I know you mean everything to her. She didn’t want those photos to come out, it was just… someone bein’ an asshole, trying to knock her down when she did something great. She thinks about you and your grandma all the time, kiddo. Promise she does.” 

Ellie sighed and looked out at the water, fidgeting with the cuffs of her hoodie. 

“Not much anyone can do about it now I guess,” she said eventually. Joel just nodded and she looked back to him before nodding at the guitar. “Can I try it?” 

“You should get back to bed,” he said. “It’s late.” 

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she said. “Come on, Big Miller. Keep me from scrolling TikTok all night, let me play a little.” 

He smiled a little and shook his head. 

“Alright,” he said, passing her the guitar. “Only for a little bit. You already know some of the basics, right?” 

“Yeah,” she lit up a little, taking the guitar and settling it on her lap. “Justice and Sissy have taught me some.” 

“Well, I ain’t some country star,” Joel said, a hint of resentment in his voice. “But I know my way around a six string alright. Show me what you got.” 

She nodded, a serious look on her face, and she started to play. 

She had a knack for it and Joel helped her with some small adjustments, smiling as he watched her get better with every rendition of the song until she started to yawn. 

“Alright, c’mon, kiddo,” he said. “That’s enough. Bed.” 

“I want to hear you do it,” she said, holding the guitar out. He opened his mouth to protest but she pressed on. “Then I’ll go to bed and I won’t even bitch about it. Promise.” 

“Fine,” he said, taking the instrument. “One song, then you go to bed.” 

He thought for a moment, trying to think of what he felt like playing and settled on The River, a song that had stuck with him when Sarah’s mother had left them both and he was trying to process it all. 

“I come from down in the valley…” 

Ellie lay down as she listened to Joel’s slower, softer rendition of the song and, by the time he played the final chords, she was asleep on the lounge chair, her small body curled in on itself, her face relaxed. 

Joel couldn’t bring himself to try and wake her. Instead, he set the guitar to the side and slowly, gently, lifted her into his arms and carried her to her room. He tucked her into bed, taking comfort in the fact that he could keep her safe enough that she could rest.

A/N: I really have no good excuse for why this took a month to write. I went on vacation, summer semester of grad school has been kicking my ass but still. This was insane, I'm so sorry it took so long, thank you for being patient with me.

On the plus side, I LOVE to write Joel all yearning and down bad. I love putting that man through it, it's literally my favorite hobby, and that's going to be what's on deck for him for the next few chapters! Siren too! Buckle up for the angst train because it's here and I hope you're on board for it because this is just how it's going to go.

Thank you so much for putting up with my bullshit writing schedule and for spending your time with these characters.

I love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen@eff4freddie@brittmb115@copperhalfcent@r3dheadedwitch@pedropascalsbbg@lovelyjess69@yopossum@moel-jiller@picketniffler@lilyevanstan1325@reluctanthalfwayoptimism@wintersquirrel@missladym1981@mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent@secretlyangelic@pedrobae@scarletsloveletter@phry-k@sunnytuliptime@mistresssolana@joelmillerpascal@hoddystark@b3l1nd5

[pedropascalsbbg]

OH. He’s unbuttoning his shirt while kissing her.

[pedropascalsbbg]

Good

Pairing: detective!joel miller x f!reader (one-shot)

Summary: Joel gives into his desires and shows you just how good he could be for you, more than anyone else. Including your husband.

Warnings: no outbreak au, language, infidelity, extreme obsessive/possessive behavior (like, stalkerish), male masturbation, smut (18+ MDNI), angst, reader has long-ish hair (unspecified length), reader wears lingerie, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), Joel Miller worships the ground you walk on, ending implies some dark!joel

WC: 6.7K

A/N: very loosely inspired by season 1 of True Detective because I was bored on bed rest and cooked this up after a rewatch.

Joel Miller considered himself a good man.

He paid his taxes. He called his mother once a week. He took a baby aspirin for his heart every night. He rarely lost his temper — which was a huge feat, considering his profession. He played by the rules. He joined the precinct when they invited him out for drinks. He always laughed, joked, bought a few rounds.

Overall, he was a decent, ordinary man.

Except for one huge, gut-wrenching flaw.

You.

He was hopelessly and devastatingly in love with you.

He realized it for a while, now. Maybe six or eight months ago.

Before that, it was just a harmless crush. One that made his heart flutter whenever he was invited over for dinner. But somewhere along the way, he found himself thinking about you more and more. The way you smell, the way you laugh, the way you got shy every time he complimented your cooking.

After one particular dinner where he had a glass too much to drink, he crossed a line. At least, to him, he crossed a line.

He went home that night and barely stumbled through his front door before pulling out his cock. He had been hard for over an hour and it was making him sick, but the second he wrapped his fist around his aching length, the only thing he could think about was you.

And he couldn't stop.

It felt too fucking good.

Imagining you touching him instead, moaning into his mouth, leaking all over his lap, fucking — begging for him to fill you up and make you feel good.

He made a mess of himself, standing hunched over in his hallway, one hand holding up his weight against the wall, the other furiously stroking his cock until he came all over his own hand. He stared at the floor, gasping for air, watching as a few pearly white drops splashed on the hardwood.

And he swore he would never do it again.

Except, he couldn't stop. And it filled him with guilt every single time, but he couldn't help himself. You were too beautiful and sweet and funny — the perfect woman.

The only problem was, you're his partner's wife.

Anthony. Tony. Joel's closest friend for the last two years.

When he was first paired with your husband, Joel dodged your invitations to dinner, but you were insistent. You wanted to meet the man who was protecting your husband every day. You wanted to put a face to the name. And after a few months, Joel couldn't come up with any more excuses. So, he showed up on your doorstep, clutching some inexpensive bouquet of flowers in his right hand.

The flowers were an afterthought, something he bought in a panic along the way when he remembered his mother scolding him when he was younger about never showing up empty handed to someone's house.

When you saw them, you lit up. You gushed over how much you adored white daisies, took his coat, pushed a bottle of beer into his hand, and made him feel right at home.

Month after month, Joel sat at your dinner table, learning everything about you. He especially loved the way you spoke about Pennsylvania, home, where you and Tony had lived before he got a promotion and uprooted your lives to move to Austin. You spoke about the winters and how you missed those the most.

You mentioned you got married young and didn't ever pursue a degree, so you ended up working odd jobs here and there. You mentioned finding a job as an assistant manager at a local grocery store.

Once Joel's crush became too unmanageable for just a monthly dinner, he sought you out at work. Your store wasn't near his home, but he went out of his way to do his shopping just on the chance he would run into you.

It was the first clue Joel was sinking in too deep, but he couldn't see it.

Some time after that, when Tony would leave for mysterious lunch appointments, Joel would reach across the desk and turn a framed photograph of you in his direction. On those days, he liked to pretend you were his. That you were looking at him behind the camera, smiling and laughing like he was the only man in the world.

He was always careful about putting it back before Tony returned.

When out working a case, he would ask Tony how you liked work, how you were adjusting to life in Austin, if you made any friends. Eventually, Tony laughed and asked why he was asking so many questions. So foolishly, Joel said the only thing he could think of — he wanted to be set up on a date with someone you knew.

It was a stupid idea. Joel hated every second of the date. Nina was nice, but she didn't hold a candle to you. She was too loud, too flirty, and couldn't hold her liquor. And she was oblivious to the fact that Joel's mind was completely fixated on you the entire time.

But one good thing that came from it was the first phone call he had with you.

After he blew Nina off for another date, you called him at home one night, taking him completely by surprise. His damn knees just about gave out from under him when he heard your sweet voice on the other end playfully scolding him for not calling Nina back.

"She's gorgeous, Joel! And she's got a great job."

Joel shrugged, stretching his legs out across his bed, leaning his back up against the headboard.

"No spark, darlin'."

"She's always talking about her dates at book club," you mused, "I figured she was exactly what a guy is looking for."

Joel chuckled.

"Ain't what I'm lookin' for."

"Oh. Well, tell me what you like in a woman and maybe I can find a better match."

He paused when you asked him that, unsure how to answer because the first thing that jumped to the tip of his tongue was you — I'm looking for you.

"Uh, well..." he stammered, "I like girls who are easy to talk to. Girls who don't ask me for the gory details of my job. Girls who don't mind if I gotta work late or break dates last minute if we catch a hot lead."

He heard you scoff on the other end of the phone and he thought he heard sheets rustling. For one blissful moment, he imagined you in bed, in a silky gown with a lace edge, and thinking about him.

"That last one is tough, but it comes with time," you sighed. "Like tonight. Tony told me about that drug bust he had to supervise downtown."

"Drug bust?"

Joel sat up straighter in bed. Tony never mentioned anything to him about a drug bust.

"Yeah. And I get that it's part of the job, but I made his favorite dinner to surprise him..." You trailed off while Joel's mind raced. "But it's fine. It'll heat up tomorrow just fine. It's... fine."

"Darlin'," Joel murmured, "you said fine three times."

You groaned and he found himself smiling at the frustrated little noise.

"Okay, maybe it's not fine now, but it'll be fine."

After that, Joel started to pay attention more. The late nights, the missing hours midday... it was one thing to not be able to have you so long as you were happy and being taken care of, but it was another to discover Tony was cheating on you.

You. Of all people in the world. What could Tony possibly find in someone else that you didn't already have?

After Tony had come into work for the third time that month in the same clothes as the day before, Joel had had enough.

"Late night?"

Tony raked his fingers through his hair as he collapsed into his ancient rolling chair. The brown tie around his neck looked stretched, his tan shirt wrinkled. He looked like a mess.

"Yeah. Workin' that, uh, that Carter case."

Joel nodded, pretending to look impressed. He began to click things on his computer so it looked nonchalant when he asked, "Where'd you end up?"

"Not far. I think we gotta run at the ex again."

Joel hummed, blood boiling when Tony's phone pinged and he picked it up with a loopy smile. But when he asked if it was you texting, Tony shook his head.

"Nah. Just — y'know."

Joel had to force himself to stand and walk away before he punched Tony in the throat.

A few days later, Tony confessed. He was seeing another woman named Melissa, an informant on a closed case. He promised it wasn't serious, that he was being careful, just blowing off some steam, but Joel didn't want to hear it.

You deserved better than that. Tony took you from everything and everyone you loved and he had the audacity to cheat on you?

It wasn't right. But it wasn't his place to get involved, either.

So months went by where Joel sat at your kitchen table, gazing at you adoringly over white daisies while you talked about work or some movie you had just seen or how you were interested in learning how to play piano while Tony texted Melissa under the table.

Around that time, the phone calls became more frequent.

He would call to ask if you made it home okay after work because he heard a radio call for an accident. Joel knew you were fine — he knew your car and knew your schedule, but it was an excuse to hear your voice.

One time he called to tell you a movie you mentioned wanting to see was on cable. That time, he ended up staying on the phone with you for two hours, laughing and gasping together as you watched.

The calls became a regular thing, and so did Tony's absence.

Joel told himself he was calling to distract you, but he knew deep down he was being selfish. He needed those calls more than you did.

It wasn't until much later when he would realize you never bothered to ask why Joel wasn't working late along with Tony. He was too happy to have those evenings with you to question it. He looked forward to them. He could talk to you for hours.

It was why he began showing up a little early to your monthly dinners. The moment he got off work, he would rush home to fix his hair, change into a fresh suit, and stop to examine every petal on every white daisy until he found the perfect bouquet to present you with. And you got along so well, it was no problem if Joel made it to your house before Tony some nights. It was easy to pass the time with you. And if you let him, he'd roll up his sleeves and help you make dinner.

It was never a problem. Joel sucked it up, bit his tongue, admired you from a distance and allowed himself to have his fantasies in private.

Until one night, everything changed.

---

"So what was wrong with this one, Miller?" you asked, biting into a carrot stick with one hand while the other stirred a pot of pasta.

"Nothin' wrong with her," Joel corrected, "Lori's nice 'n all, but..."

He sighed and set his knife down next to your cutting board so he can turn to look at you.

"You ever notice she grinds her teeth when she gets nervous?"

You made a face before bursting out laughing. The sound set his heart on fire.

"Oh, Joel..." you giggled, wiping your hands on your apron as you turned down the burner on the stovetop. "I'm starting to think there isn't a woman on earth who would make you happy."

"Yeah, there is."

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Before he had a chance to swallow them down and muster up some joke in their place.

Perhaps if anyone else had said those words, someone who hadn't been calling a married woman twice a week to talk about everything and nothing for hours, someone who didn't sit in the parking lot of your grocery store to make sure you made it home okay when you closed down, someone who didn't steal a picture of you from your husband's wallet — a picture he now carried in his own — then the words wouldn't have held as much weight as they did.

But you felt it. You both did. Because your smile faltered when you read the serious expression on his face. Your eyes widened and your perfect lips parted to suck in more air to steady your shaking hands.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Joel took a step forward. And it looked for a second like you might do the same, but then your phone rang, cutting the moment down at the legs.

You blinked, cleared your throat, and hurried over to the counter where your phone was plugged in.

"Hey, h-honey."

Joel dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. He pulled his phone out of his pocket for something to do.

"Oh, that's a shame. What, uh... what happened?"

He loosened his tie as you spoke, staring blankly down at his phone and idly opening his messages. He blinked when he noticed one from Tony about an hour ago.

"That so?"

Your tone went flat, Joel heard it. At the same time, he read the missed text from your husband:

Sorry for the late notice buddy, but we're gonna have to take a rain check on dinner. Little lady isn't feeling too hot tonight.

It took him a second to catch up to the lie, but unfortunately, you beat him to it.

"Yeah, that's not a problem. I understand."

Then you turned to face him when you added: "Tell Joel I said hello."

You hung up the phone, pinning him with a hard look. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"What's—" But you cut him off before he even began.

"Tony said he's spending the night with you, but I think he meant to say Melissa."

Joel's heart jumped into his throat at the same time the pot of water began to boil over. He swiveled around, cursing under his breath to turn off the stove.

"I'm— I'm sorry," was all he could mumble before facing you again. Your eyes watered but you shrugged indifferently and crossed your arms.

"Before her, there was Beth," you said bluntly. Joel leaned against your counter, the edge digging into his spine, watching as you pretended to think. "Oh! And before her there was Annie. There might have been another one, too, but I couldn't prove—"

"Why'd you stay with him, then?"

Your mouth clamped shut. You tilted your head to the side with a sad grin.

"C'mon, Joel," you said softly, taking a step forward. Towards him. "You know as well as anyone how cops make it so damn difficult to leave."

His fingers curled around the edge of the counter, nails digging angrily into the wood.

"Is he—"

Joel exhaled shakily and bit the inside of his cheek before trying again.

"Does he — hurt you?"

You shook your head and his shoulders sagged with relief. You took another step.

"Threaten you?"

You paused and rolled your eyes up to the ceiling in thought.

"Not directly, no," you finally said. "But there's been implications. Certain things said a certain way. You know how it is."

Joel shook his head, jaw pulled tight. "No. I don't."

You gazed up into his stormy eyes, feeling the anger radiating off his body. Watching the way his muscles twitched with restraint underneath his shirt. How white his knuckles appeared as he gripped the counter.

"I guess it's just easier. If all I gotta deal with is some side piece of his now and again, is that so bad?"

Joel's nostrils flared. His pulse kicked faster in his throat.

He wasn't a man who lost his temper. And yet, in that moment, if Tony were to appear, Joel had no doubt in his mind that he would wring that man's neck.

"You don't deserve that," he grit out. "You shouldn't have'ta put up with anythin'. You-you're so fuckin'—"

Joel caught himself that time. He bit his tongue, swallowed down the words, dropped his head between his shoulders and stared at the floor.

You took one more step. Close enough now so he could smell your perfume. The one he spent two hours in a department store months ago trying to find so he could buy a bottle and spray it on his pillow at home.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, took a deep breath, and forced himself to meet your eye.

"Yeah?"

Slowly, you reached out. One of your hands covered his. His breath hitched at the contact, at the way your thumb grazed over his knuckles.

"Why don't you like any of the girls I set you up with?" you asked.

The question took him aback. He tore his eyes off your hand to look at you again. He searched your face, noting the way your chest rose and fell slightly faster and how wide your pupils looked.

You knew.

His gaze softened, and so did his grip on your countertop.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

You exhaled, sounding relieved. You managed a nervous smile before stretching up onto your tiptoes and slowly, tenderly, brushing your lips against his own.

He couldn't move. Every muscle in his body was rigid. He couldn't even close his eyes. He just stood there, hands planted on the counter behind him, watching you peck feather-light kisses against his lips. He dreamed about that moment for so long and yet, he couldn't react. Not right away.

Then your hands drifted up to press against his chest. Your fingers roamed a little shakily across his shirt, like you were trying to map out what he looked like. His eyes fluttered closed and his stomach tightened, unable to stop himself from swelling up behind his zipper. His clothed cock twitched against your stomach and he heard you gasp before dragging your lips lower, brushing over his prickily jaw until you found a spot you liked on his neck.

He swallowed thickly, his whole body shaking with restraint the bolder you became. Your lips puckered over his skin and you began to suck a little mark there while your hands slowly drifted lower, only pausing when your fingers reached his belt.

"Wh- what're y'doin'?"

His voice sounded nothing like his own. It was deep and filled with need. He was breathing so fast, he felt lightheaded, and he was so fucking hard that it hurt, yet he still couldn't touch you.

You froze and smiled into his skin before leaning back ever so slightly. You made sure he was looking you right in the eye when you replied:

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

Everything snapped. It happened so fast that it made you yelp in surprise.

He scooped you up, wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, and crashed his mouth hungrily over yours. One hand remained firmly planted on your ass, holding you up. The other got lost in your hair, keeping your head still so he could plunge his tongue impatiently past your lips.

Your arms eventually circled around his neck and you whimpered into his mouth, making him think you might have wanted this just as badly as he did. His mind was a blur, every neuron firing off at once now that he knew what it was like to hold you, kiss you, taste you... yet he still somehow managed to successfully carry you down the hall past your kitchen, where he knew your bedroom to be.

When you cracked an eye open, you loosened your grip around him and fell onto your bed. Neither of you realized how starved for oxygen you were until you finally broke the kiss and you each dragged in deep lungfuls of air.

"Y'sure 'bout this?" he asked, ripping off his tie as if it offended him. You grinned and sat up to slide your jeans down your legs.

"Fuck yes. Are you?"

Your mouth watered as he began to unbutton his shirt. The pull between your legs was almost uncomfortable at that point, so you squirmed a bit, pressing your thighs together as Joel shed his dress shirt.

"Oh, darlin'," he cooed, untucking his undershirt from his slacks. His eyes raked up and down your body, still clad in your underwear and blouse. "You got no fuckin' idea how bad I want this."

You exhaled with a smirk before grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging it over your head. Joel's hands paused on his belt, mouth going dry when he saw the matching set of black lingerie you had chosen to wear. You seemed pleased with his reaction but a little shy. You pressed your lips together, fingers grazing over the lacy edge of your underwear.

"You like it?"

Joel made a pained noise from the back of his throat, blinked, and began working twice as fast to remove the rest of his clothes.

"Love it," he croaked, dropping his belt to the floor and unbuttoning his pants. "You look... Jesus Christ, I— I never th—"

You grinned and pushed yourself up so you were kneeling on the mattress in front of him. Your fingers toyed with the edge of his white shirt, lifting it just a bit while he stepped out of his pants.

"Never thought what?"

"Never thought you'd be wearin' somethin' like this..."

He trailed off again, his eyes still greedily taking you in.

You lifted his shirt up and he raised his arms, letting you pull it over his head.

"Do you want to know a secret, Joel?"

He nodded, jaw slack, staring at you like he were in a trance. You bit your lip coyly and whispered, "I always wear something special whenever you come over. Always."

"Y— you do?"

"Mhm," you hummed, sliding your palms over the softness of his stomach. "And I try to wear loose tops so when I bend over, you might see."

His eyes fluttered closed with a groan. Your fingers travelled higher, over the broad planes of his chest.

"Didn't — didn't wanna look," he confessed softly, "didn't w-wanna disrespect you."

"You're such a good man, Joel," you purred, hands curling around his shoulders.

"I try," he whispered, tipping his head back so you could suckle on the flushed skin of his throat.

"But can you do me a favor tonight?" you asked, your voice sounding so soft and needy in his ear. He nodded, biting back a curse when your tongue peeked out to taste him.

You tore yourself away and slipped both hands through the loose curls on the back of his head. His eyelids opened, only halfway, still heavy with lust.

"Can you show me how bad you want me?"

"Yes," he rasped without hesitation. "Yes. Christ, honey, I think 'bout it all the time—"

He brought his hands to your hips, marveling at the softness of your bare skin.

"Think about what?" you urged, nails gently scraping against his scalp. He licked his lips, watching his rough hands glide across your sides, your ass, your back.

"Think 'bout... what I would do if y'were mine. 'N not just this," he clarified quickly, eyes snapping up to yours before looking back down at your body. "I think 'bout it all. Think 'bout takin' you to run errands, takin' trips together, celebratin' birthdays and holidays..."

His hand drfited up your arm and he gently pulled one of your hands free from his hair so you could lace your fingers together. He stared at the way your hands looked interlocked before pressing a kiss against each one of your fingers.

"Oh, Joel," you sighed, "I think about that, too. When I close my eyes at night, I pretend it's you sleeping next to me instead of—"

You stopped yourself from saying your husband's name out loud, but it wouldn't have mattered to Joel if you did. Tony stopped mattering to him twenty minutes ago. Now, his entire focus was firmly on you and you alone.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

"Don't worry," he murmured, then pressed a firm kiss to your lips while gently pushing you backwards. Your spine softened and you let him lower you carefully onto the mattress, his lips never leaving yours the entire time.

When you were laying flat, all sprawled out underneath him, hand still locked with his, he broke the kiss and looked down at you.

"You don't gotta pretend for long. I'll make it happen, baby. We'll be together, okay?"

Confusion flickered across your face for a moment, like you wanted to ask how, but you didn't. You trusted him. So you nodded obediently with a sweet smile.

"Make me yours, Joel."

Fuck, it felt like a dream to hear those words come from your mouth. He knew in that moment that he would do anything he had to — anything — to follow through with his promise.

He smiled, kissed the tip of your nose, then ventured lower. His lips grazed your chest, traced his tongue over the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups of your bra, and continued downward. Soft kisses were peppered down your stomach until he reached the band of your panties. His eyes flickered up to yours once, briefly, before releasing your hand. His fingers curled around the lace, tugging them down slowly until they slid down to your ankles. You wiggled your feet and let them fall to the floor with your other discarded clothes.

His palms slid over your thighs, gently prying them apart and pressing them into the mattress. He heard your breath stutter when your pussy was finally exposed to him.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, fixated on the way you glistened, just for him. "You're so pretty. So, so pretty." His chest heaved as he stared between your legs, mania slowly curling around his brain with each passing second. "Can I— can I kiss her, baby? Can I taste her?"

"Yes," you breathed, squirming a little under his intense gaze. "Yes, please Joel, please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. He dropped his shoulders between your thighs, settling in, and suctioned his mouth around your pussy. You gasped at the contact and your back arched off the bed for a moment until you relaxed with a sigh. His kisses were messy. Loud. His tongue licked at you, diving between your folds and lapping up your arousal.

It was easy to sense his eagerness through his actions. Like he longed for you, longed for all of you. Like his only purpose on earth was to take care of you. Every lick and kiss and moan drove the point home — his, his, his.

He didn't tease you. Not that time. He wanted you too badly, and he had waited for so long. He was so patient and good, but he reached his limit.

Once he felt your muscles tense and your back arch off the bed, he didn't stop. He kept going, kept devouring, tongue merciless against your clit until you cried out his name, coming so hard that your vision blurred and you broke out into a light sweat.

"Good," he gasped, pressing a breathless kiss to the inside of your thigh. You trembled like a leaf under him. His eyes closed for a moment as he caught his breath. "Good girl. Did so good f'me. Feel good?"

"God, Joel," you moaned, voice cracking as you raked a hand through your own hair and took a deep breath. He grinned when you said, "You're fucking amazing at that. Holy shit..."

That's all he wanted. He wanted to make you happy, make you feel loved the way you deserved.

He was going to give you a break. You looked spent and loose, all spread out over your bed. He didn't want to rush, but the dark spot in his boxers was spreading, and his stomach ached from how hard he was.

As if you read his mind, your eyes fluttered open with a lazy smile. You reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it with a giggle over your head. Joel laughed, then brought a hand up to cup your bare breast. You bit your bottom lip and arched into his touch, moaning softly when his thumb toyed with your nipple.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whispered, sighing when the warmth of his mouth enveloped your breast. The tip of his tongue flicked teasingly over your nipple before paying the same attention to the other one.

"Yeah? You want it?" he asked, grinning like a fool when your fingers plucked hastily at the band of his boxers.

"Please," you begged. The sound made his knees weak.

"Okay," he breathed, pushing his boxers down his legs. "Okay, darlin'. I'll give you anythin' you want."

As he was dragging the head of his cock through your slit, in the back of his mind he knew he should ask if he should use protection. It would have been the right thing to do.

But he was sick of always doing the right thing.

And he was desperate to feel you. Really feel all of you.

So he pressed inside, parting your walls with a groan. He was still in disbelief that it was actually happening, and you felt so much better than he ever imagined. You were so warm and wet, your cunt fluttered perfectly around him, welcoming every inch of him inside while you babbled a slew of curses and gasps until his hips grew flush with yours.

He felt delirious, like he was losing all semblance of control. All of his wildest dreams suddenly came true and it was overwhelming. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him close so you could pepper kisses along his jaw while he struggled to collect himself.

He was utterly drowning in you. In your scent, in your warmth — he could still taste you on his tongue.

And you were perfect.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

You looked so sweet lying underneath him like that, stuffed full of his cock with your eyes wide and lips parted, looking at him like he was the answer to all your prayers.

"Yeah," he breathed, the corner of his mouth turning up into a little smile. He brushed a piece of hair off your cheek. "Just — can't believe how lucky I am."

You grinned and combed your fingers through his curls. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, the drag of your nails against his scalp sending a shiver down his spine.

"Thought you might be having second thoughts."

His eyes flew open and his smile fell.

"No," he said seriously. "Never. I would —"

Joel pulled back his hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. When he pushed back in, slowly, he watched with pride as your mouth fell open.

"— never have second thoughts. Y'hear me?"

You nodded with a whimper, the stretch of him splitting you open taking your breath away.

Second thoughts. How absurd.

"Now that I know what you feel like," he murmured, soft lips grazing lazily over yours as he began to move, pumping in and out of you just a little faster and finding a rhythm. "I ain't ever gonna let you go, baby. Never gonna get rid of me. Fuck — too fuckin' sweet for your own good, y'know that?"

You clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails in their wake. His cock felt so heavy and full inside of you, every thrust took you apart just to make you whole again a moment later. The way you fit together so perfectly had you thinking crazy thoughts, like maybe, just maybe, Joel would find a way to make this work.

"Feel how good that is? Huh?" he groaned, skin slapping steadily now that he found a pace he liked.

"Yes," you gasped, tilting your head back into the mattress. You hooked your ankles over the backs of his thighs for leverage so you could bring your hips up to match his rhythm. "Oh, god, Joel — just like that. Right there."

His lips suctioned to a spot on your neck, pulling at the skin to leave a bruise. He didn't care if Tony saw and neither did you.

"Can't get enough of you," he panted into your skin. Then he unhooked one of your legs from his waist so he could press it into the mattress, spreading your hips wider. You cried out at the angle — he was impossibly deep, and the way he rolled his hips to make sure he reached the spot that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head had your stomach muscles pulling tight.

"J-Joel, I'm— I'm gonna—"

"Wait," he gasped, pulling out of you with a groan. You whined pathetically at the loss and tears welled up in your eyes. For a second, he thought his heart might break. He never, ever wanted to be the reason for your tears.

"'M sorry," he murmured, leaning back to sit on his knees. His cock twitched angrily when he saw your stretched out pussy clenching around nothing, beckoning him back in. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed a hand through his messy hair.

"Turn around for me?" he asked with a tremble to his voice. Your eyes widened and you nodded, eagerly jumping to your hands and knees. He moaned at the sight of your ass in the air and at the arousal dripping down your inner thigh. He crawled forward and caressed your hip, admiring you for just a moment longer before notching himself at your entrance and easing back inside.

You inhaled sharply and curved your spine, taking him beautifully and giving him exactly what he wanted — what he needed.

"Shit," he growled, "look so good like this." His hips started to snap against your ass, picking up right where he left off. Your whines got more high pitched the faster he moved and it was making him insane. He tilted his chin towards the ceiling and closed his eyes. You felt so fucking good all wrapped around him, so tight and needy. There was nothing in the world that would make him stop loving you.

He hadn't realized how hard he was fucking you until you fell forward onto your elbows, shaking him out of his haze. He peeled his eyes open just to be met with his own reflection: across the bed was a dresser with a mirror, something he hadn't noticed at first.

And what he saw changed something within him.

He looked crazed. His eyes were heavy and dark, hair disheveled, chest and neck flushed. He could see the muscles in his arms twitching every time he slammed into you.

You.

Fuck... you looked — wrecked. Your eyes were squeezed shut, brows pinched and mouth agape as he pounded into you from behind. Your body jolted with each thrust, your hands curled into fists, and it was absolutely beautiful.

Before he had a chance to think, Joel reached down and gently took you by the chin. Your eyes flew open in surprise, instantly finding his in the mirror. He grinned, never slowing down.

"Don't we look good, baby?"

You moaned and nodded, mouth still hanging open to drag in more air. And it was fucking perfect until Joel's gaze dropped to the framed photo of your wedding day sitting on top of your dresser.

He frowned slightly for a moment, then shook it off.

Joel was a good man. Mild mannered. Polite. He always tried to do the right thing. But in that moment, something changed.

"You're mine," he growled, the possessiveness in his own voice giving him the chills. You nodded obediently and he released your jaw. "After this," he panted, "he doesn't get to touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you. Understand?"

"Yes," you gasped, then your head fell to hang between your shoulders. You were holding on by a thread and it filled him with a sick sense of pride. It had the heat rising to his cheeks and his hips stuttering with the need to let go, but you needed to come first.

You would always come first with him, in every way.

His hand slid between your legs, two fingers locating your clit with precision. He began to rub firm, quick circles, making you gasp and buck wildly underneath him.

"Don't stop," you begged, rolling your hips back to match his pace. Between your shaky thighs and ragged breaths, he could tell you were close — right on the edge. You threw your head back and moaned while pleading with him to keep going, keep going.

"I gotcha," he said through clenched teeth. His wrist kept snapping between your legs, playing with your clit while simultaneously slamming into you from behind, splitting you open and carving a spot within you forever.

"Joel..." you whimpered, upper body going lax. "O-Oh fuck— Joel—"

"Let go," he urged, fighting back his own desperation to come. He blinked away the sweat that dripped down from his forehead. "C'mon, baby, I'll catch you."

Finally, with a soft cry, you came. Your pussy clenched around him over and over, each tight squeeze making him see stars. He murmured quiet praises in your ear the whole time. He told you how good you felt, how beautiful you were, how he had been dreaming about that moment for almost a year — he repeated sweet words over and over until he couldn't hold back any longer.

With one final thrust, he grabbed hold of your hips and came with a rough groan ripping from his chest. He knew he should have asked or pulled out, but the rabid urge to mark you, to have a part of him leaking out of you for the next day or so was too strong to ignore.

Fortunately, you didn't seem to mind. In fact, you welcomed it with a lazy smile as he pumped you full of his seed until he collapsed on the bed, pulling you with him. He held you close, your back pressed to his chest, while you quietly caught your breath together. When your skin cooled and you shivered a bit in his arms, he tugged a blanket over you both, all while still plugging you with his cock.

"Joel?"

He hummed and with his eyes closed, pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whispered softly.

"F'what?" he mumbled.

"For... making me feel wanted again."

"Oh, darlin'," he cooed with another kiss, "I more than just want you."

Your silence in return had him cracking open one eye. He lovingly traced a circle into your arm with his thumb when he asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah," you breathed, then shifted a bit against him, pressing yourself deeper into his hold. But it wasn't enough.

"Did you—"

Joel swallowed nervously and took a deep breath before trying again.

"Did you do this just to get back at him?"

"No," you said quickly. You twisted around in his arms and he hissed when his softening cock slipped out of you. Then you cupped his cheek with a sweet smile. "No. I meant what I said."

He grinned with relief as you stifled a yawn.

"Good."

You closed your eyes and pushed your face into his chest, seeking out his warmth.

"How are we gonna make this work, Joel?"

You sounded so sleepy but so hopeful at the same time. He sighed and patted down your hair, then tenderly kissed your forehead.

"I told you," he said, "I'll do whatever I gotta do."

He sensed your curiosity but once again, you didn't ask him to elaborate. It was for the best that way. You shouldn't know what lengths he was willing to go to in order to have you all to himself. It might scare you. Hell, oftentimes it scared him. But as you drifted off to sleep, Joel told himself people do crazy things for love, and this would be no exception.

After all, he was a good man. Nobody would ever suspect a thing.

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that look of DISGUST

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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.