#joel miller smut

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[millersdoll]

look at my papi <3

[hauntedbyjoel]

Show Me How

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: age gap | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | virginity loss | gentle aftercare | no outbreak word count - 5.7k summary - He’s told himself a hundred times it can’t happen. He’s too old, too close to her family, too careful. But now she’s standing in front of him, asking him for the one thing he swore he wouldn’t give.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You’d always told yourself it was harmless.

The crush. The looks. The way your stomach flipped when Joel said your name or glanced your way for a little too long. He was older—older in a way that should’ve been enough to stop this before it started. He’d known your family for years. Helped your uncle redo the kitchen. Fixed your car once when it stalled in your mom’s driveway. Brought over soup when you got sick last winter and couldn’t get out of bed.

He was just… around. Always steady. Always quiet. Always Joel.

And somehow, over time, that steadiness started to feel like gravity.

You learned his habits without meaning to—when he left for work, what time he ran errands, how he always wore that same faded Texas Longhorns shirt to mow the lawn on Saturdays. You pretended not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes, like he wasn’t sure if he should be. Like maybe he wanted to look away but didn’t.

You never let yourself believe he could actually want you. Not really.

Which is why showing up at his house tonight felt like something you weren’t supposed to do. Like stepping out of line in a way you couldn’t walk back from.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About the fact that you were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t done anything—hadn’t been touched, kissed right, wanted for more than a second. And more than that, you were tired of not knowing. Of being afraid you’d do it wrong. Say the wrong thing. Be too soft. Too quiet. Not enough.

And if you were going to ask anyone—

It’d be him.

Joel, who never rushed you. Who always noticed. Who fixed things with careful hands and never made you feel small.

That was what brought you to his door.

And the second he opened it—hair damp, eyes tired, wearing sweatpants and a shirt you’d seen a dozen times before—your throat locked.

He blinked at you. Didn’t speak right away. Then: “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers curled in your hoodie sleeves. “Yeah. I was just… out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Joel studied you for a beat, then stepped aside. “Come in.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, clutching the sleeves of your hoodie like they might anchor you. Joel moved past without a word, walking toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea or somethin’?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle. “Still got the kind you like, I think.”

You nodded, unsure if your voice would even work right now. He filled the kettle. Lit the stove. Moved around the kitchen like this was just another Tuesday night and not the most reckless thing you’d ever done.

The house was warm. Familiar. You’d been here before—birthday barbecues, a couple of holidays, quick visits with your family—but never alone. Never this late. Never when the windows were dark and the only light came from that little flickering candle on the counter.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “You can sit, y’know.”

You did. Quietly, on the edge of the couch like your body didn’t know where to land. Your heart wouldn’t stop stuttering. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but it didn’t feel like much. Not yet.

He brought over a mug. Set it down on the coffee table. Then took the armchair across from you and let out a low sigh.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on?”

You looked down at the mug. Steam rising. Hands still tucked in your sleeves. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound dumb.”

You let the silence hang for a beat too long. Then: “Can I ask you something?”

Joel nodded. “Course.”

Your heart climbed straight into your throat.

You stared at the mug, every nerve in your body buzzing, fingers twitching. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to say—it was that once you said it, everything would change.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you said finally. Quiet. Careful. “Like… any.”

Joel tilted his head. But didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve kissed people. But I’ve never really…” You swallowed hard. “I just feel behind. Everyone I know has—done things. They know what they like. What to do. And I just… don’t.”

Joel leaned back a little. His jaw worked once. Still quiet.

“I’m not saying this right,” you said quickly. “It’s not that I want to rush or that I feel like I have to, I just—” You looked up, finally, and your stomach flipped. “You’re the only person I trust to… to teach me.”

He stared at you.

Not with shock. Not with judgment. Just stillness. Like he was trying to decide if you meant it—if you even understood what you were asking.

“Sweetheart…” he started, then stopped.

“I’m not trying to make things weird,” you rushed. “And I know it’s selfish. And I’m probably not even your type or whatever, and I’ll never bring it up again if it’s weird, I just—��

Joel didn’t say anything right away.

You could hear the second hand ticking on the clock across the room. The silence felt like pressure on your chest. You weren’t sure what you expected when you showed up here—but it wasn’t this. This long, still moment where he just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Careful.

“You’re so young.”

It wasn’t harsh. It didn’t sound like judgment. If anything, it sounded like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

You stared down at your lap, throat tightening.

“I know,” you said softly, barely more than a breath. “You don’t have to say it.”

Joel sat up straighter.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, quickly but still gentle. “I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a small nod, even though you weren’t really sure what to say. Your fingers curled tighter around the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes stayed on the floor.

“I just thought...” Your voice thinned out. You cleared your throat, tried again. “I just thought maybe—never mind.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you mumbled. “You’ve always been nice to me and I... I shouldn’t have ruined that.”

His heart dropped. He saw your hands shaking, saw the way you blinked too fast.

Then he saw it—your lashes catching just slightly, that faint shimmer in your eyes before you ducked your head.

You were trying not to cry.

“Hey,” Joel said, gently. “Hey, no—don’t do that.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t want you to feel bad. Or like I’m putting you in a weird spot. I just—”

Your voice cracked. You turned your face away.

And that was it for him.

“Aww, baby,” Joel said softly, barely more than a breath. “Come here.”

You didn’t move at first, but he was already leaning in, hand reaching out slow, warm, careful. His palm cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye like he could erase the tears before they fell.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded—barely. Joel’s other hand found yours, steady and sure, lacing his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I just didn’t expect it,” he said. “Didn’t let myself think about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I’d take my time with you,” he said. “Make sure you felt safe. Make sure it felt good. I wouldn’t rush anything.”

You leaned into his hand just slightly—barely—but it was enough.

Joel’s eyes dropped to your lips.

“You still want this?” he asked.

You nodded, soft and breathless.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. His thumb still brushed your cheek, your fingers still curled inside his. You were so aware of the space between you—barely anything, and yet everything. You could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It made you ache.

Joel hesitated.

“You sure you want me to kiss you?”

God, he really was trying. Still giving you an out, even now. Even when your whole body was already leaning in.

You nodded again, just as shy. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

Joel leaned in slowly—like he was afraid to startle you—and tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against yours. It was soft at first, barely a kiss at all, more like a question. When you didn’t pull away—when your breath caught and your hand tightened around his—he kissed you again, deeper this time. Warmer.

His other hand slid to your waist, grounding you.

You shifted closer without thinking, your knees brushing his thigh. Joel made a low sound in his throat, something surprised and almost pained. He pulled you gently, letting you settle in his lap with careful hands, like he didn’t want to scare you.

You felt so small like that. Not in a bad way. Just—held. His arms around you, his mouth on yours, the scratch of his stubble against your skin. Every inch of him was solid and steady.

He kissed you like he had time. Like he didn’t need anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on your cheek.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, a little dazed. Your lips tingled, your heart pounding. “I—I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”

Joel smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah? You did real good, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned, but you smiled too. You felt warm. Safe. Wanted.

And you still wanted more.

Joel kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was trying to show you what he couldn’t say out loud. His hands were warm where they held your waist, steady even though you could feel how tense he was—like he was holding back something big. Something sharp.

“Alright,” he murmured against your mouth. “We’re not gonna rush. Just want you to feel good.”

You nodded, breathless. “Okay.”

He leaned back, just enough to look at you. “Tell me somethin’, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped. “What?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “What’ve you done before?”

You blinked, nervous all over again. “Not much. Just… kissing. A little touching.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s good. Just wanna know what you’re comfortable with.”

You bit your lip. “I want this.”

“I know. But I still wanna go slow.” He paused. “Has anyone ever touched you? Down here?”

His hand slid gently along your thigh, stopping just shy of where you were warm and aching.

You shook your head.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his voice low. “And you?”

Your cheeks flushed. You nodded. “Yeah. A few times.”

He smiled—gentle, not mocking. “Good. That’s good, baby.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck. “I’m gonna touch you now. Just with my hand. That alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Joel moved with such care—his fingers easing between your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. When he found you already soft and wet, he groaned low in his throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You feel that?”

You nodded, shivering.

“This all for me?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers moved slow, parting you gently. You gasped, your hips twitching.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No,” you said, breath catching. “Just… new.”

He kissed the side of your face, murmured, “We’ll take it nice and easy. You tell me how everything feels, alright?”

You nodded.

He stroked you carefully—exploring, learning. Finding the spots that made your breath hitch, your thighs tighten, your lashes flutter. His fingers circled your clit, featherlight at first, and you whimpered.

“There it is,” he said, voice husky. “That feel good?”

You nodded frantically, too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, baby. You let me take care of you, yeah?”

Your whole body was warm and buzzing, every nerve alive under his touch. When he slid one finger inside, slow and patient, you gasped.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Feels… full.”

He smiled against your cheek. “That’s what it’s s’posed to feel like. Just one for now. Gonna get you used to it.”

He curled it—just a little—and you whimpered again. Joel groaned.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped. “Look at you. All pretty and sweet, takin’ my hand like it’s the only thing you ever needed.”

You clenched around him, involuntarily. His eyes darkened.

“Shit. You’re squeezin’ me already.”

You whimpered. “I—I don’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, kissing you again, slow and deep. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

Joel kissed you through it, his lips warm and slow while his hand moved between your legs—gentle but focused, like he already knew your body better than you did. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

He paid attention.

Your hips bucked when his thumb brushed over your clit again, light and teasing. You gasped into his mouth.

“That feel good?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark, focused. “Yeah? You like when I touch you there?”

Your face went hot, but you nodded again, biting your bottom lip.

He smiled—soft, proud, dangerously patient. “Good girl.”

Then he went back to it. Circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes while that one finger inside you pressed deeper, exploring every new reaction you gave him. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but your body betrayed you. Your thighs trembled. Your stomach fluttered. Your breath hitched and broke.

Joel noticed everything.

“Y’ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Not… like this.”

He raised a brow. “Not like what?”

You swallowed. “Not this slow.”

Joel chuckled—quiet and warm against your skin. “That’s ‘cause you’ve never been taught right.”

His words hit low in your belly. You whimpered as he curled his finger again, hitting something deeper this time. Your legs jerked.

“There?” he asked, voice roughening.

You nodded, breath caught. “Y-Yeah—oh—there.”

Joel groaned softly. “Fuck, baby. You’re already close, ain’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Think you can come for me? Just from my fingers?”

You whined. He took it as a yes.

His movements stayed slow, but more rhythmic now—his thumb drawing tight little circles, his finger pumping deeper, coaxing something out of you so carefully, so sweetly. You clutched at his shirt, fingers trembling.

“Joel,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—I think I’m—”

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it happen. Let me feel it.”

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave—sharp and hot and overwhelming. Your body seized around him, legs clamping tight as the pleasure surged up and through you. You cried out, loud and wrecked, and Joel caught it with his mouth, kissing you hard while his hand worked you through every second of it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”

You were shaking when he finally pulled his hand away—slow and careful. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?”

You nodded, dazed, still trembling in his lap. “Mhm. Just… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Joel smiled. “You’ve got a lot more to feel, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again—longer this time. Slower. But now there was something heavier beneath it, something hungrier.

When he pulled back, his voice was deeper. Rough.

“Can I show you more?”

You looked up at him. Your limbs were still jelly, your heart still racing, but all you could think was yes. You trusted him. Even like this. Maybe especially like this.

You nodded.

“Yeah. Show me.”

Joel smiled when you said it. Not cocky—just warm. Soft around the edges, like the tension in him had finally given way to something sweeter. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentle hand, his other still cradling your bare thigh.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Then lie back for me.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. Your skin was buzzing—still oversensitive, still warm, but already aching for more.

You obeyed without a word, heart thudding as your spine met the mattress again. The air felt cooler now against your flushed skin, your body still buzzing from the first time he touched you like that.

Joel moved with you, settling between your legs without urgency. He leaned down and pressed a kiss just above your knee—then another, higher up. It was careful. Unrushed. Like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“I want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured against your skin. “You just say the word, alright?”

You nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I will.”

“Good girl.”

His hands spread your thighs, slow and sure. Not to expose you—at least, not just that. More like reverence. Like unfolding something precious.

And then his mouth was on you.

Not forceful. Not greedy. Just… exploring. His tongue traced slow, soft circles, tasting you like he was learning something new and didn’t want to miss a detail. Every shift in your breath made him hum a little deeper, adjust, draw it out.

“Doing so good,” he murmured, pausing only to kiss the inside of your thigh again. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

It wasn’t.

It was everything.

You tried to be quiet, but your body had other plans.

Joel’s mouth moved with slow, deliberate rhythm—tongue tracing lazy circles that built heat like kindling. He didn’t rush you. Just stayed right there, steady and patient, until your hips started to lift, chasing every pass of his tongue like it might save you.

And he noticed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely a rumble. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have it.”

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you just a little closer, anchoring you in place like he was afraid you might float off. And maybe you would’ve. Your hands gripped the sheets, searching for something solid as your breathing turned erratic.

“Joel—” you whispered, and it cracked.

He groaned low in his throat—like hearing you say his name like that did something to him.

“Feels good?” he asked, and when you nodded too fast, too desperate, he just hummed against you. “Thought so. You’re so fuckin’ sweet down here.”

The tension coiled again—hotter this time, faster. Your legs started to tremble, and Joel didn’t let up. Just flattened his tongue, applied more pressure, and listened to you fall apart.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”

You came with a sound that barely made it out—a soft, broken cry, thighs clamping around his head as you shook through it. Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about it. He kept licking you through every wave, gentle and relentless, holding your hips like you might slip away otherwise.

Only when your body finally gave out—hips twitching, breath coming in shallow little gasps—did he pull back. His mouth was shiny, lips wet, beard damp. And his eyes…

Like he’d just seen something holy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up slowly, palm cupping your cheek.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice like honey and gravel. “That’s my girl.”

Your lashes fluttered. You felt soft all over, unraveled, held together only by the weight of his gaze.

Joel smiled, just a little.

“You did so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

He leaned in before you could even catch your breath.

One hand still cradled the back of your head, the other brushing your thigh, grounding you. His mouth met yours in a way that felt earned—soft at first, just lips to lips, letting you settle into it.

You tasted yourself on him immediately.

Warm. Humid. Faintly salty. It made your whole body shiver.

You pulled back, eyes fluttering open like it surprised you. Joel didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours.

“Sorry,” he said, voice a little rough.

You shook your head. “No. I just… I’ve never…”

His thumb stroked your cheek. “It’s alright.”

You blinked up at him, still a little dazed. “That was… nice.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that word. “Nice?”

You nodded, suddenly shy again. “I liked it.”

His smile turned quieter—almost reverent.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s all I wanted.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slowly, and he let you. Let you explore his skin, the soft stretch of his stomach, the trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans.

And still, he didn’t rush.

Just kept kissing you—until your body relaxed fully beneath his, until the last of your nerves melted into heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing under your eye.

“You alright?” he asked, quiet.

You nodded. “I want to… I want to do something for you.”

His brow creased, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Your voice didn’t shake that time.

Joel hesitated like he was going to argue again, but then his gaze softened, and he gave the smallest nod. He leaned back against the pillows, watching you carefully—curious, cautious, but clearly affected.

You sat up slowly, heart pounding. Reached for his waistband with trembling fingers, giving him one last glance for permission. He lifted his hips, helping you ease his jeans down until he was bare to you.

Joel’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You ever seen a man before? Like this?”

You shook your head, heart thudding. “Just… in pictures.”

He chuckled, more breath than sound. “Yeah?”

Your cheeks burned. “Not those kinds of pictures.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “Didn’t say they were.”

You swallowed. Then curled your fingers around him.

God—he was warm. Heavy. Hard already. You inhaled sharply as your hand moved, just a little, feeling the weight of him against your palm.

Joel groaned. Quiet. Barely restrained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You looked up, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head fast, eyes pinched. “No. Fuck, no. Just—been holdin’ back too long.”

You smiled, nervous but proud. Then you started to stroke him—tentative at first, just trying to feel out the rhythm.

Joel let out a soft, broken sound and tipped his head back.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You’re doin’ so good.”

Your confidence grew with every soft grunt he made. Every time his hips twitched or his hand gripped the edge of the couch harder.

“You wanna try your mouth?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You blinked. “I… yeah. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours—hungry and warm all at once. He cupped your cheek. “That’s okay, baby. I’ll teach you.”

You shifted down between his legs slowly, your knees pressing into the couch cushions as your hands settled on his thighs. He was already breathing heavier, watching you with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Start with your hand,” Joel murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Get comfortable first.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around him again. The weight of it still shocked you. How hard he felt. How hot.

You gave him a slow stroke. Then another.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. You’re doin’ perfect.”

The praise made your cheeks burn.

You looked up at him, a little shy. “Tell me what to do.”

Joel groaned. “Jesus, baby.”

His hand moved gently to your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just resting there. Steady.

“Kiss the tip,” he said softly. “Start there.”

You leaned in and pressed a hesitant kiss to the flushed head of his cock. His breath hitched. You did it again, slower, then let your tongue flick out to taste him.

“That’s it,” Joel said. His voice had gone hoarse. “Just your tongue, nice and easy.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, watching his stomach tense. He was biting back a sound, jaw locked tight.

“You can put it in your mouth now,” he said, rasping. “Only as much as you want.”

You parted your lips and wrapped them around him—just the tip at first. He exhaled sharply, hips twitching. You stilled, looking up at him in alarm, but Joel shook his head fast.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You sank a little deeper, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, one hand tightening slightly in your hair, still not pushing.

“Use your hand too, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your hand stroked the base while your mouth worked the rest. You tried to keep a rhythm, breathing through your nose just like he told you.

When he swore under his breath, you felt it in your chest.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. Eyes wide, lips stretched around him, cheeks flushed.

He groaned—deep and wrecked. “Fuck, that’s it.”

You took him deeper, feeling your throat tighten, your eyes sting. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t—not with the way he was looking at you.

“You okay?” he managed to ask, even through the haze.

You nodded around him, and he growled.

“Goddamn. You were made for this.”

You pulled off slowly, a little breathless, a string of spit catching between your lips and the tip of his cock. He was flushed, panting, hands clenched into fists beside him.

“Holy fuck,” he said, voice blown out. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

You laughed quietly. “I told you I’d be a fast learner.”

Joel leaned forward and pulled you into his lap again. His hands were everywhere—your back, your thighs, the side of your neck.

“You still sure about all this?” he whispered.

You nodded. Quiet. A little nervous. But you didn’t look away.

His hand brushed down your thigh, then between your legs—stroking over you slowly, making sure you were ready. “Feels like you are,” he whispered. “But I need you to tell me.”

“I want you to,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

He exhaled like that did something to him. Something deep.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go slow, alright? Real slow. You just hold on to me.”

You nodded again.

Then he lined himself up, hand guiding, the heat of him settling right where you were softest. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

The pressure started before you could prepare for it—warm and wide and stretching you in a way you didn’t expect. You gasped, instinctively grabbing his arm, nails digging in.

Joel stopped instantly. “Too much?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered. “It just—hurts a little.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together. Then he kissed you again—slow and deep, distracting, stealing your focus from the tight pull of your body adjusting to him.

Bit by bit, he eased in further, pausing when your breath hitched, pressing kisses to your mouth until the discomfort dulled to something else. Something warmer.

When he was fully inside you, Joel didn’t move. He just held himself there, breathing hard against your skin. “You okay?”

You nodded, stunned by how full you felt. “I think so.”

“God, you’re tight,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hand brushed your hair back, and he kissed you again—gentler this time, slower. “Tell me when I can move.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, breathless. “Okay… now.”

Joel started to move, just barely. A gentle pull back, then a slow press in, rocking his hips with an almost reverent kind of care. He didn’t take his eyes off your face—not for a second.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Feelin’ okay?”

You nodded, still a little overwhelmed. The stretch still lingered, but there was something else starting to build beneath it—heat, pressure, something that made your toes curl when he pushed a little deeper.

He felt it.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “There she is.”

He moved again, a little more confident this time, keeping his pace slow and steady. One hand stayed laced with yours. The other braced at your waist, thumb stroking gently over your skin.

Every inch of him felt impossibly warm. Full. You couldn’t believe how close he was—how real it was. And yet he still treated you like you might break.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You bit your lip. “It… feels weird. Good. But—intense.”

His eyes darkened a little, smile soft at the corners. “Yeah? Gonna get better, sweetheart. Promise.”

He leaned down, kissed the side of your neck, murmuring something you barely caught—so tight, so sweet, can’t believe I’m inside you. The praise made your cheeks burn, made your hips tilt up without thinking.

He groaned. "Fuck, baby. Careful—you keep doin’ that, I won’t last long."

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, heat buzzing through your chest and down your spine.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just want to feel you.”

Something about that must’ve broken the last of his resolve, because Joel kissed you again—messy this time, like he needed to feel your mouth while he kept moving inside you, slow but deep.

You gasped into the kiss when he hit a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“There?” he asked, voice low and strained.

You nodded fast. “Yes—God, Joel—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He kept hitting that spot, rhythm just right, hand tightening around yours like he could feel every wave of heat building inside you. You were shaking, thighs trembling, nails digging into his shoulder—

And then it happened.

You came with a breathless cry, body locking up around him, vision going hazy at the edges. Joel groaned, burying his face in your neck as he lost it too, hips stuttering, voice rough against your skin.

You must’ve dozed off at some point, warm and aching and curled into Joel’s side, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He didn’t fall asleep.

You stirred when you felt his hand brush your thigh—gentle, coaxing. Not trying to start something again. Just checking. Making sure you were okay.

“Hey,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, disoriented, but nodded. He helped you sit up slowly, one hand steady at your back. You winced just a little, hips sore, thighs still trembling—and he saw it.

“Easy,” he said, voice softer now. “I got you.”

Joel guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the dim light. He grabbed a towel, ran the tap until it was warm, and knelt in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You watched him in the mirror—his face focused, his touch careful as he cleaned you up with slow, steady hands.

“Still okay?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. Just… sore.”

“That’s normal,” he murmured. “First time’s not easy. But you did real good.”

You looked down, cheeks burning.

He noticed that too. Stood up. Pressed a kiss to your forehead.

When he walked you back to bed, he helped you lie down, then disappeared for a second. You heard the fridge open, the sound of water filling a glass.

Joel came back with a bottle of ibuprofen and handed you the water. “Take a couple. You’ll be stiff in the morning.”

You gave him a sleepy smile. “What, no post-sex pancakes?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow.”

He climbed into bed beside you again, tugged you into his arms like he needed you close to sleep. You let your body settle into his chest, warm and safe and still humming from everything that happened.

His fingers traced your spine, slow and rhythmic.

“Get some rest,” he said. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You believed him.

And for once, that was enough.

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

── Girls night out.

Pairing: oldman!joel x fem!Reader

Summary: you're getting ready for a girl's night out but Joel has other plans on mind.

Content warnings: Smutt, oral (m!receiving) big girthy age gap(early 20s/late 50s), established relationship, perv joel, oldman joel, sweet girl, babygirl pet name used, blowjob, cum eating, jerking off, somnophilia

Note: This fic was inspired by @eightestmonth so thank you so much for letting me use your idea. 🥰 💕💕💕

Word count: 1.070

Joel couldn't get enough of you, he always seemed to want more. Even after he had you bent over the kitchen counter, or against the shower wall, he was always ready for round two. Sometimes three. He would wake up in the middle of the night, hard and aching for you again. Fuck..."

His large hands would grip your hips and pulling you back onto his throbbing erection. He would fuck you slow and deep, his lips pressed against your neck as he whispered your name over and over.

He would fill you completely with his hot, sticky cum, making sure every single drop was inside of you before pulling out slowly all whislt you would be peacefuly sound asleep and whimpering softly, "Fucking perfect..." He'd murmur to himself.

Currently, he was sitting in a couch, watching as you step out of the bathroom. The tight, black dress you're wearing leaves little to the imagination. It cups your full breasts perfectly, and the short hem rides up dangerously high, showing off most of your thick thighs. He swallows hard, his pants suddenly feeling much tighter.

You approach the mirror as you spin around slowly to show off the dress. "How do I look, Joel?" You ask, your voice sweet and innocent. He clears his throat, his eyes fixed on your bouncing rear as you turn. "You look... fucking gorgeous babygirl."

He can't take his eyes off you as you walk over to the mirror, your ass bouncing slightly with each step. He watches as you start brushing your hair, his mind filling with dirty thoughts of wrapping that hair around his fist while he fucks you from behind. But he knows he can't do anything about it because it's your girl's night after all...

He swallows hard, his eyes tracing the line of your thighs up to your ass.

He leans forward slightly in his chair, the sound of leather creaking under his weight. His right hand moves towards his pants, opening his belt and zipper. He pulls out his already hard red cock, giving it slow strokes as he watches you from behind "Fuck..."

You catch his reflection in the mirror, noticing his hand moving up and down his thick shaft. You smirk slightly, applying your mascara. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be behaving tonight, you're being quite the perv."

Joel chuckles softly, "It ain't my fault you turned me into a horny teenager all over again sweet girl..." He watches your reflection, his eyes dark with desire.

He starts stroking himself faster, his hand moving up and down his hard length as he watches you apply your makeup. He bites his lip to keep quiet, but soft grunts escape his throat as he imagines bending you over the mirror right then and there "Fuck... baby..." He mutters softly.

"Those fucking legs... that ass... those tits..." He shakes his head, his voice low and husky. "How am I supposed to behave with you looking like that?" He resumes stroking himself quickly. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror. "You're gonna make me fucking blow my load right here in this chair just from looking at you..." He groans, his hand moving faster and faster along his length. "Fuck... Babygirl..." He whispers.

Watching you apply your red lipstick has him close to the edge. The way your lips part slightly, the way you press them together to even out the color... it's too much. He lets out a soft growl, his hand moving furiously as he feels his release approaching. "Shit..."

His voice is strained and desperate as he says, "C'mere baby..." He leans back slightly in the chair, spreading his legs wider to give you room as you approach. You kneel down between his thighs, your eyes locked onto his throbbing cock.

His voice is thick with lust as he looks down at you, his cock throbbing. "Open up." He guides the head of his cock to your lips, his hips lifting slightly off the chair.

Joel watches as your lips part, revealing your red, glossy mouth. "Fuck... those lips..." He groans as he pushes the head of his dick past your lips, his hand gripping the back of your head to hold you in place. "Take it, baby..."

You wrap your lips around his shaft, taking him deeper into your mouth with a soft moan. Your hands reach up to grip his thighs for balance as you start to bob your head, sucking him eagerly. The vibration of your moan sends shocks of pleasure through his cock. "Oh fuck yes..."

Joel's head falls back against the chair, his eyes closing briefly as he savors the feeling of your mouth on him. "That's it baby... fuck... just like that..." He starts to move his hips slightly, fucking your mouth gently as he watches himself disappear between those red lips.

Watching you suck just the tip of his cock, looking up at him with those bedroom eyes, nearly makes him lose control. "Jesus..." He runs his fingers through your hair, guiding your head gently as he feels the pleasure build. "You're so goddamn beautiful..."

With a loud groan, Joel's body tenses as he reaches his peak. He pulls you closer, holding your head steady as he pumps his thick load directly into your mouth. "Swallow it all, baby... every fucking drop..." He continues to cum, filling your mouth with his hot seed.

You moan softly, your throat working as you swallow every last drop of his cum. The sight of it is almost too much for him, sending aftershocks of pleasure through his body. He gently pulls out of your mouth, his cock still twitching with sensitivity. "Fucking hell..."

You looked up at Joel with your doe eyes and the sweetest smile and you asked, "better...?" You asked as you caught your breath, joel runs his thumb gently across your swollen, red lips, still wet from your blowjob. His heart races at the sight of your sweet, innocent smile. "Yeah.. babygirl" he breathes out, "That was fucking perfect, baby..."

He watches as you look up at him with that adorable smile, loving how cute and sweet you look even after sucking his dick like a pro. He knows he's fucked, falling harder for you with every passing moment. "Now get your little ass outta here before I change my mind..."

[fayesia]

Dilf!Joel + Gilf!Joel

Twitter Links 18+ MDNI

⤷ you both still got it after having a baby

⤷ giving his limp dick a thighjob

⤷ he's almost bigger when banging his bsf daughter

⤷ teasing your tight hole

⤷ rough awakenings from your stepdad

⤷ one night stand

⤷ his favourite nurse at the care home

⤷ makes you work for it

⤷ taking the blue pill made him cum everywhere

⤷ you love his softer body

⤷ hotel hookups

⤷ finally seeing you after college

⤷ you loved your old man

⤷ he's so much bigger than you

[lowrisemiller]

me and my old man bf <333

[tagged-by-trauma]

Stay quiet, darlin'

He was your father's best friend, but that didn't stop you from sneaking into your bedroom while your father was downstairs. Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!reader Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), age gap, softdom!joel/subby!reader, teasing, dirty talk, protected sex (sorry not sorry), p in v sex, pussy slapping (one time), slight aftercare, cuddling Word count: 3.6k

You knew it was wrong for a number of reasons. He was a lot older than you, grumpy and he almost never looked at you when you passed by. But most of all, he was your father’s best friend since they were in elementary school. They were always hanging around each other, sometimes they were like brothers. When something happened, they were there and you always saw them in a different light. Your father, who raised you up to the woman you are today, and his friend, who saw this whole journey.

He saw when you were learning how to ride a bike for the very first time. He was looking after you when your father had to go on a work-trip, helping you with your geography homework and he was always like a second father to you. Until this small connection between you took a whole turn.

You started going to college and started to change. Your appearance became similar to the other girls, your curves developing every year. The girly clothes in your wardrobe were changed to more elegant and minimalist ones, and you were a lot more confident in some situations, and shyer in others.

But every summer when you went home you could see Joel’s gaze shift. His eyes raked over your body like he was seeing you for the first time, but you could feel them burning your skin where they tracked a path. He saw that you weren’t that little girl anymore, and that fact made you feel something deep down in your heart.

But everything changed forever between you on a warm summer night.

It was your father’s idea. Watching a basketball match like in the good old days. And you agreed. Of course you agreed. But he didn’t tell you that he also invited Joel.

“I thought it would be amazing if we could spend some time together. And he said he didn’t have anything to do tonight,” your father’s words still echoed in your ears as you were getting ready. You pulled out your favourite summer dress with small flowers on it, and let your hair down, it’s waves cascading down your shoulders.

You were sitting on the couch when you heard three firm knocks on the door. You looked to your left, gaze falling on the clock hanging from the wall. 6:47 pm.

“Can you get it?” your father yelled from the kitchen while he was preparing the snacks and the beers. You slowly stood up, adjusted the hem of your dress, and walked slowly to the door. When you opened it, Joel was standing there, his hand raised to knock again, when his eyes locked with yours. He had a checked shirt on with old jeans on, a six pack of beers in his left hand. His hair was longer than you’d remembered, and gray hairs could be seen scattered around. His expression was unreadable, but you saw his eyes flicker down to your body for just a mere second.

“Hey,” he said with a low voice and a shiver ran down your body. His voice seemed lower than the last time you’ve seen him.

“Hey, come in,” you steeped to the side so he could come in, and as he took a step inside he brushed against you, the smell of him hitting your nose. It was something like wood, leather and something else that you couldn’t really name but your brain has strongly associated it with him.

“I brought some beer. Didn’t know if there would be enough,” he held up the pack in his hands and you nodded. You looked back up and your gaze met his, eyes so dark that it made a blush creep to your cheeks. As you opened your mouth to answer him, you heard footsteps behind you from the hallway, and you both broke the eye contact, glancing in the direction of your father as he emerged.

“Joel, finally,” your father took his hand and gave it a hard and firm shake. You watched the interaction from the side, catching the faint smile in the corner of Joel’s lips. “You bought extra beer?”

“Didn’t know if we needed more. Though I think ahead,” he held out the six pack to him, and your father took it. You crossed your arms in front of you and when you saw Joel look down for just a moment, you smirked and gave him a subtle wink—one that your father didn’t notice. He quickly averted his gaze, his posture going rigid as he followed your dad inside the living room.

You were still standing there in front of the door, thinking about the gaze he just gave you, and how he just basically checked you out in front of your father. Subtle. Very subtle. Yeah, things definitely changed between you with the years. And you couldn’t help but anticipate what this night will hold for both of you.

—-—

The match was blasting on the TV, the light from it illuminating the otherwise dark room, coffee table full of snacks and beer. You were sitting on the single armchair, legs under you, hand propping your face up, the other wrapped around a cold beer in your lap. Your father was sitting on the couch; eyes fully focused on the screen and the player who just threw a basket. And Joel. Joel was sitting to his right, closer to you, slightly slouched down the soft material of the furniture. His left hand was wrapped around the head of his beer, his right behind his head.

Your eyes averted from the TV to his form and you couldn’t help but basically drool at the sight of him. Here in the light the gray hairs were more prominent in his hair and beard, the shirt now unbuttoned at the top—showing the white t-shirt underneath. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a big gulp, your eyes travelling down to his neck—the bob of his Adam’s apple.

He was completely engrossed in the match but when he felt something like a burning sensation he looked to his right. He caught the way you looked at him and smirked at you. When you pulled back your gaze to his face, you noticed that he was already staring at you. But now, instead of turning away embarrassed, you held the eye contact, holding your head up high. His smirk turned even smugger. The sudden movements of your father broke the little trance, and you finally turned your head back to the TV.

When the match came to the half-time you stood up and placed your empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. Your father and Joel looked at you with a questioning gaze but you just shrugged.

“I’m feeling a little sleepy so, I think I’ll go and get some sleep,” you lied, stretching towards the ceiling, dress riding up your thigh, exposing even more skin. You saw Joel’s jaw flex, eyes trying to stay on your face.

“Are you alright?” your father asked, completely oblivious to the little connection between you and Joel.

“Yes, just a bit tired,” your father nodded at your response, and reached for his phone, settling further into the couch. You winked at Joel and went to the kitchen to fill a cup with water. Halfway through you heard heavy footsteps behind you but didn’t look back. But then a heavy presence loomed behind you, and you stopped in your tracks. You felt his hot breath against the back of your neck, his arms caging you between his body and the counter.

“If you woulda kept lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, I don’t think I would have lasted through the whole night,” he growled in your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You placed the water on the counter and slowly turned around to face him. First his broad chest came into the level of your eyes, but when his hand came up and cupped your jaw gently, forcing you to look up, you were met with a dark pair of eyes burning low with desire.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you whispered innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Oh, darlin’. Don’t play the innocent to me. You know exactly what I’m talking ‘bout,” he leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. “And doin’ it while your daddy’s sittin’ next to me?” he chuckled, and you grew redder and redder with every word that was leaving his lips. His hand came to your waist, squeezing down softly.

“And what will you do about it?” you smirked up at him, your hands coming to rest on his chest. His eyes flicked down for a second, and you could see the shift in them.

“Oh, trust me, darlin’, you don’t wanna know.”

“And what if I do?” as soon as you finished your sentence his mouth found yours with a slow tenderness that you didn’t expect from him. His body moved even closer to you, lips fighting each other for dominance. He leaned forward, and with a simple move he picked you up and placed you on the counter. Your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, while his found your cheek. You could feel his hardening length pressing against your thigh, and you smiled into the kiss. In this moment you completely forgot about your father in the next room, but when you heard footsteps you quickly moved away and jumped off the counter trying to fix your appearance.

“Oh, I thought you said you were going to sleep,” your father appeared in the doorway, his look moving back and forth between you and Joel.

“Uhm, yes, just needed some water.”

“Right. And you?” your father now dedicated his question to Joel, moving to one of the cupboards.

“Just came for another beer,” his voice was a bit gravelly, but his stance went back to his normal state.

“I might take another one too,” he smiled at both of you, and you picked up your water from the counter and looked at your father.

“Then I just go. Enjoy the rest of the match, guys,” you walked past your dad, sparing a final glance at Joel, who looked after you with hunger in his eyes. Your father was too busy with whatever he was searching in the cupboard, so you took the chance and winked at Joel.

“Later. My room,” you mouthed to him, and smiled as he subtly lowered his hand and adjusted himself in his pants.

—-—

It took him a whole hour.

You were laying in bed when you heard the unmistakable sound of his boots on the hardwood, and you smirked at the ceiling. Next three firm but quiet knocks came down on your door. You got up, walked to it, and opened it. Joel was standing there, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the stairs. When he heard the soft creak of the door he looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.

You already took off your sundress and dressed into soft black shorts and a white tank top. You didn’t bother to put on any bra, you knew it would have been unnecessary. Especially with him. When you saw the expression on his face, clear satisfaction creeped into your mind.

“Like something you see?” you asked with a cheeky tone, and he looked at you in disbelief.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him without a noise, and the next thing you know, you were caged between his arms. “You don’t even know how much. That little sundress of yours tonight? Drove me fuckin’ crazy,” he captured your lips with his, and you let out a quiet gasp at the sudden contact. You melted into his arms, and you let him carry you to the bed.

One of your hands found the back of his neck while the other grasped the shirt on his chest. His were roaming all across your body, caressing your hair, cheeks, waist, hands tightening when he reached your hips. You moaned into his mouth, and he used this little moment to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He let out a growl, and unconsciously moved his hips forward, making you throw your head back. His lips left yours and traced gentle kisses along your jaw and the curve of your neck. You were holding on tightly to his shoulder. When his hand reached for the hem of your shirt he pulled back and looked at you, asking for permission. And that’s when it all hit you. Your father was just downstairs, watching the TV.

“Joel. My father—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, darlin’,” he continued to pepper your throat with kisses, occasionally nipping at the skin.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s so drunk that he decided to bake cookies,” he looked into your eyes, caressing your hair.

“Cookies? At—” you looked to the clock on your bedside table. “At 9:24 pm?”

“As I said, darlin’, he’s really drunk. I’m pretty sure, he’ll fall asleep in the first five minutes, although…” he searched your eyes again, and when you nodded, he pulled off the tank top. “Although that doesn’t mean you won’t have to stay quiet,” he threw away the top, not bothering to look where it lands. “Fuck, look at you, darlin’,” his gaze dropped to your breasts and lingered there.

His mouth connected with your throat again, moving lover and lover with every kiss. He traced a path between your breasts, and when he took one nipple in his mouth you threw your head back against your pillow, stifling a moan. His tongue was dancing around the hardened peak, his hand coming up and playing with your other one. You arched your back when he started sucking. When he felt satisfied, he moved to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

He moved lower on your body, but you pulled him back up by his shoulder. He looked at you confused, parted his lips to say something but you drowned the words into him by reaching for his belt buckle.

“We don’t have time, Joel,” as soon as the words left your lips he reached for your shorts and pulled them down with a rough tug, leaving you only in your panties laying under him. Your hands moved with a quiet determination, shaking softly by the weight of the moment. He took them and squeezed down softly.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’,” he reached down to unbuckle his belt himself, and you leaned up on your elbows to watch him. You could see the prominent bulge through the fabric of his jeans. He tucked his hand in his back pocket and took out a condom. You looked at him in disbelief and surprise.

“You kept a condom in your back pocket while my father was sitting next to you?”

“Gotta be prepared, darlin’,” he tugged down his briefs, and his cock sprang free. You looked at it with a quiet awe and a bit intimidated by the size of him. As he opened the small packet, and rolled the condom on, he noticed your expression.

“Don’t worry. We’ll gotta make it fit,” you nodded at him. He let out a quiet chuckle, and tugged your panties to the side, his fingers tracing the completely soaked fabric. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re so wet already,” he ran his fingers up and down, his fingers drawing slow circles over your clit. You couldn’t hold back anymore and let out a moan.

“Joel—” he stopped in his tracks, his hand coming down on your thigh with a soft strike. You gasped, and looked at him, whimpering.

“What did I say ‘bout keepin’ quiet, baby?” he soothed over the slightly reddened skin while you reached for his cock. He took your hand and brought it up over your head, pinning it to the mattress. His other reached for his length, tip leaking with precum and almost purple under the low light. He lined himself up with your entrance and looked at you for a final confirmation. When you nodded, he smiled at you and gave you a quick kiss. “Stay quiet, darlin’.”

He slowly eased himself inside you. The stretch at first was making you wince, and after he released you hand you dig your nails into his clothed back. He leaned next to your ear, and he groaned by the sudden warmness and tightness. When he fully bottomed out, the stretch turned into pleasure, and he looked at your face.

“You alright, darlin’?”

“Yes, just… Please move, Joel,” to emphasize your words, you slowly circled your hips. He pulled out and with one quick move he thrusted into you. He set the pace and moved in and out of you like his life depended on it. You were trying to stay quiet, but it was almost impossible. And that’s how it happened that you let out a strangled cry of his name. And Joel? Joel suddenly stopped, pulled out of you. You whined at the sudden loss of contact, but when the tip of his cock came down on your clit, you arched your back off the bed.

“What did I say, darlin’? Do you want your daddy to hear us?” you shook your head, and he contently nodded. Then he lined himself up again and buried in you in one thrust. Now he didn’t stop his pace, didn’t pull away, but his hand came over your mouth to stifle your moans and cries.

“Fuck, darlin’. You’re so fuckin’ tight. Your lil’ pussy’s squeezin’ me so deliciously,” you were a writhing mess under him, and he was relentless. You felt the muscles in his shoulder and back tense with every move, his voice in your ear intensified by the moment. When he saw you were close to the edge, he moved his hand down between your bodies and found your clit. His thumb circled the little bundle of nerves, his pace quickening if that was possible.

“Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel you clench around my cock,” as soon as his words reached your brain, you were gone. Your orgasm shattered like an old vase on the ground, and with a last cry you clenched down around him. He talked you through it, whispering and groaning into your ear. Just a few seconds after you his rhythm faltered, thrusts getting messy and sloppy, and with a final move he buried himself to the hilt and came with a quiet growl. His body was tensed up, and he collapsed on you, careful not to put too much pressure. Your hand came up to comb through his salt and pepper hair, and you let out a content little sigh.

“Jesus, girl,” he murmured into your bare chest. “I think I just threw my back out,” you laughed at his comment, and he squeezed your waist.

“Old man,” you murmured under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you breathed too quickly, and he looked at you suspiciously but left it at that.

When you both felt like you could move again, he climbed off of you, his now limp cock sliding out of you, and a whimper leaving your lips at the emptiness you felt in that moment. You leaned up on your elbow, watching as he pulled off the condom and tied it with a firm knot. He threw it into the bin next to your bed and pulled back up his briefs and jeans.

“I should go down and check on your father. Hopefully he didn’t burn down the kitchen,” you chuckled and looked at his disheveled form.

“Wait,” he looked at you confused when you reached for the little mirror in your bedside drawer. You held it out for him.

“For your hair,” he nodded and took it, looking at himself and the soft curls that were now completely messy. “I have to say I wasn’t very careful with my hands.”

“It’s alright, darlin’,” he combed through his hair, flattening down the waves at the back of his neck and the top of his head. You were looking at him still sprawled out on your bed, still half-naked. He handed back the mirror and gave you a small smile. With a final kiss, he went out your door, and minutes later you could hear him helping your father into his own bedroom. You laid back, and looked at the ceiling, replaying everything that just happened.

Yeah, it was definitely not a one-time thing.

—-—

Later that night, close to midnight you heard your phone hum with a new text, and you immediately picked it up. When you saw it was Joel your stomach did a little flip, and you blushed at his message.

Joel: Thank you for tonight, darling! You: Are you really thanking me? Joel: Why? Is that a bad thing? You: No, just unusual.

For a few moments the three little points were popping up on your screen then disappearing. You thought that maybe he won’t text back, but the phone lit up in your hand again.

Joel: Are you free on Friday? Maybe like 7:00 pm? You: It depends. What are you planning to do? Joel: It’s a secret. But you can trust me, darling! You: Then I’m free. Oh, and my father won’t be home, he is going on a work trip again. Joel: Amazing! Then I’ll pick you up! Good night, darling! You: Good night, Joel!

Safe to say, you fell asleep that night quiet easily. The happenings of the day and the exhaustion was catching up to you, but surely the last thing you saw before the darkness consumed you was Joel’s face and those beautiful dark brown orbs.

[layaispunk]

by the hour

female escort!reader x joel miller

a/n: i imagined freaky tales!pedro while writing this.

summary: you're joel's favourite escort.

warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ P IN V SMUT. unprotected sex, dirty talk, reader is a female escort, established relationship kinda, joel has a filthy mouth, pull-out method, mentions of female masturbation, tongue + finger combo, lmk if i missed anything....

wc: 1.1k

joel stepped into the quiet lounge fifteen minutes before 10pm. 

the receptionist looked up from her laptop and gave him a polite smile. “do you have an appointment, miller?”

“yeah” he said, voice low. “booked for ten.”

“with her again?”

joel nodded.

“room 5. you know the way.”

he did. his boots were silent on the carpet, and his heart beat a little faster from the anticipation. 

when he arrived infront of room 5, he knocked, once. 

you opened the door like you had been waiting for him all evening. 

“joel.”

you felt comfortable with him, safe. “you’re early,” you said. 

“couldn’t help it.”

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. his hand found your waist the second it shut. 

“you miss me?” you asked, teasingly.

joel leaned in, lips brushing your jaw. “maybe.”

“you want anything to drink? i’ve got cherry coke.”

“uh… yeah, that’ll do.”

“alright,” you said, stepping infront of the fridge. “and what set do you want me to wear today?”

joel gave a small shrug. “don’t really care, darlin’.”

you arch a brow, stepping closer. “c’mon, miller. it’s in the package. might as well pick something.”

he lets out a breath. “red one, then.”

you smirk. “good choice.” you grab a bottle from the fridge, twist the cap, and pour it into his glass. then, you pluck one of the cherries beside the ice tray, and drop it in there. it bobbed gently with the fizz. 

joel just sits there and watches you, jaw ticked.

you lift the glass, swirl it once, and fish the cherry out with your fingers. then, you suck it between your lips, eyes never leaving his. a little show just for him. 

you lean in, and joel opens his mouth without being asked to. his tongue brushes yours as you slip the cherry between his lips. he bites it gently, the red juice spilling into his mouth, and groans low in his throat. 

“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, licking the taste off his bottom lip.

joel watches you disappear behind the curtain, his hands resting on his thighs and his fingers twitching like he’s already thinking about how he is going to touch you. 

you slip out of your robe, smooth the delicate red lingerie into place, fix your hair and step back out.

when he sees you, he whistles low, his eyes dragging over every inch of you. 

“woah, baby. you look incredible.” he crooks a finger at you in a “come here” motion and pulls you straight into his lap with a smirk. his hands grip your thighs, spreading them over his own, like you belong there. 

“you remember the safe word?” you whisper, one hand resting on his chest and the other playing with his hair. 

he groans. “yeah,”

“say it for me.”

he rolls his eyes. “….yeehaw.”

you snort. “still the dumbest word ever.”

“you picked it, missy.”

you laughed. 

he kissed you at that, deep and slow, and a little rough. his hand slid on your breasts, cupping them lightly. 

you tugged his shirt up, palms skimming his stomach. 

“you been thinkin’ about me?” he whispered against your skin. “while you saw all those other clients?”

“you jealous, miller?”

his mouth dragged along your throat, hand sliding beneath the strap of your red bra. “i booked you again, didn’t i?”

 “that you did.” you whispered, rocking your hips slightly against him, letting him feel how warm and wet you already are. “but… yeah, i thought about you. last week, after you left … i came thinking about how you touched me.”

that got a low groan out of him. his hands tightened on your hips. “fuck,” he muttered. “don’t say shit like that unless you want me to ruin this pretty little set.”

you lean in, brushing your lips over his jaw. “go ahead, cowboy. you paid for it.”

that’s all it took.  he lifts you effortlessly, standing with you still clinging to him, and lays you down on the velvet couch, then he sinks to his knees. he presses a kiss to your inner thighs. 

you open your mouth to say something, but then his tongue is on you, and your words melt away. he eats you out like a starving man. messy and slow at first.

when your hips start to rise, he goes faster. one hand hooked under your thigh, pinning you down, and the other comes up to press on your belly, holding you there exactly where he wants you. 

“fuck,” you breathe, fingers curling into the cushions. “joel-"

he groans at the sound of his name on your tongue. he adds two fingers, fucking you slow and deep while he sucks your clit. 

your legs tremble and your orgasm strucks you like lightning. you gasp, your back arching, and he just holds you through it- mouth never leaving you until your thighs twitch and you’re shoving at his shoulder, overstimulated. 

he pulls back with his mouth glistening and eyes dark.

“you taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he whispered. before you can catch your breath, he’s already flipping you over on all fours. 

you barely have time to adjust before he’s pushing inside, bottoming out with one slow thrust. you gasp at his hands gripping your hips from behind. 

“shit, sweetheart you’re so wet,” he grits. “you been savin’ this for me, baby?”

all you can do is moan his name. 

he starts to move, his pelvis slapping against you from behind with every thrust. one hand fists in your hair and pulls, just enough to make your back arch further. he leans in, kisses the slope of your shoulder, then pulls you upright against him. 

your back is flush to his chest, his huge biceps wrapped tight around your waist, holding you there while he fucks into you. 

“wanna feel you deep,” he moaned. “come on, baby, let me feel you.”

you’re close. every thrust hits right where you need it, his thick cock pulsing inside you, his hands circling your clit, the other buried in your hair, his lips on your neck and shoulder … its all too much. 

“joel…” you gasp, hips twitching as he continues to circle your clit as your orgasm builds like a wave crashing over you. 

“yeah, that’s it.” he groans, breath hot against your neck. “that pretty little pussy’s squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” 

your moan turns into a cry, your hands flying back to grip his thighs behind you as your whole body tightens. “joel, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,”

you break with a loud, desperate moan, trembling in his hold as you come hard around him, pulsing and soaking his cock. his rhythm stutters at the way you clench around him. 

“oh, baby,” he groans, “gonna- fuck,”

he pulls out fast, grunting as he fists his cock, just a few strokes before he’s spilling over your lower back. 

“jesus,” he pants, kissing your shoulders and resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. “i’m addicted to you.” 

thankyou for reading, likes, comments & reblogs are always appreciated lovelies 🍒⋆♡ ˚｡⋆ ౨ৎ

[paulyenvol6]

One Good Reason

Based on this lovely request! I'm sorry it took me so long and I'm sorry in advance because the next two requests might take me a while too, but I'm on vacation in London right now and don't find so much time to write. Anyways, enjoy :)

Contains: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m receiving), deepthroat, edging, fingering, orgasm denial, creampie, punshiment, dirty talk, dumbification, clueless and subby reader, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, crying, dom!Joel, nicknames like slut, little aftercare, gagging

Wordcount: 5,365

Masterlist

Joel's jaw was tense. Too tense.

"Sit," he said, his tone commanding and cold, making you shudder. With big eyes you sat down on the couch and god these eyes were driving Joel insane.

"Joel. You said we – "

"Quiet," he hushed you and now you were officially confused.

"Joel," you tried again, your voice much more quiet and careful, but your thoughts loudly racing in your head.

Was he angry with you? Had you upset him?

"I said. Quiet."

With pouty and slightly trembling lips, you watched him, your palms resting on the couch to your left and right and your legs dangling off the edge. You found that you had no choice, but to wait for him to tell you what was going on, so you patiently watched him, but couldn't hide the light fear your face was drawn with.

Joel briefly clenched his hands into fists, rubbing over his palms before slightly spreading his legs and eyeing the way you played with your hair – looking all innocent and sweet although you were a naughty thing. A naughty thing who couldn't stop herself from getting into trouble all the time.

"A-Are you mad at me, Joel?" you eventually asked, thoughtfully furrowing your brow and chewing on your bottom lip.

"Jesus…," he groaned, closing his eyes only to straighten up and massage his temple.

"Can't get that dumb 'lil brain of yours to think for a second?"

"I – I don't know what you mean. Are you – is it 'cause I forgot the limes when I went grocery shopping? Because I already apologised and I thought – "

Joel raised his hand, glaring at you with piercing eyes, which was enough for you to shut up.

"No. You seriously have no idea? You got no fuckin' clue why I could be angry with you?"

Your eyes rounded up even more if that was possible, your lips so pouty and soft as you bit down on the inside of your cheeks.

"No… I don't think so," you stammered, helplessly searching his face as though the answer could be found in his small eyes.

"Oh you stupid 'lil thing… You can be fuckin' glad you got me 'cause I don't know how you would make it without me. Now get the fuck over 'ere."

You hesitated. Not because you didn't want to approach him or you were avoiding physical closeness, but because your brain was working so hard, your head began to throb. Images from the past days appeared before your eyes, the town meeting on Saturday, your dinner on Sunday, the game night with Maria and Tommy on Monday and the breakfast at Joey's diner as well as the stroll through the park today. You couldn't find anything suspicious and seriously wondered whether Joel was making fun of you right now. But his eyes seemed sincere, his eyes still narrowed and hard when you approached him and awkwardly stood in front of him, waiting for further instructions.

"Kneel," he barked, and you shivered. Okay, so this was definitely not him making fun of you.

"Joel, I really don't – "

He interrupted you, grabbing your hand and pulling you down on the ground himself, causing you to gasp as your knees hit the carpet.

"I recall tellin' you to shut up. You don't want this to become worse that it already is."

You were alarmed now, tears swimming in your eyes, but based on the things Joel had said so far, he wasn't in the kind of mood to let you wrap him around your little finger with a few tears and sweet words so you swallowed them. Instead, you placed your hands on your thighs, doe-eyedly glancing up to him and trying to keep as still as possible as Joel parted his legs wider to make room for you to settle in between.

"You really don't know… God, aren't you a dumb 'lil thing… If only you weren't so sweet while being all empty-headed. Useless fuckin' slut."

You swallowed hard, moving closer to his center while being so unaware of what your tiny gestures were doing to him. His throat was dry, his dick pressing up hard against his jeans and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over the counter, rip your panties and fuck you dumb. As if you weren't already.

"I don't know," you repeated, staring into space through hazy eyes. "I really don't, Joel."

"You said that already," he pressed through gritted teeth, unbuckling his belt and slowly shoving down his jeans and boxers just a little bit to take out his erect dick.

"But maybe you'll remember when you really have to. Why don't we try, babygirl? Why don't we try 'n' give your mouth somethin' to work on an' maybe it'll be enough for you pretty, dumb head to figure it out. Maybe you're just a little too calm right now. Or maybe you don't really want to make an effort."

You lifted your chin at once, almost indignantly furrowing your brow and pinching your eyebrows together.

"No. I did try. Please, Joel, just tell me. I really don't know and I – I don't know what to do to remember."

He hushed you, cupping your chin for a second or two and then taking a fistful of your hair.

"Yeah… But maybe you do in a second. Maybe you just need somethin' to remind you. Open your mouth."

You obeyed immediately, dropping your jaw and only just inhaling deeply before Joel fed you his dick, slowly sliding past your lips until he arrived in the warmth of your mouth, humming to himself in pleasure, but collecting himself quickly.

"You know what we're gonna do, little one? I'll shove that dick down your throat until I'm aaaaall the way in inside you. Then we're gonna keep it there for a moment to give you time to think and really work that brain of yours. And when I think you're ready, I'll pull out and you're gonna talk. You're gonna tell me what you did wrong and what you're gonna do different next time. And then we're gonna think about what you can do to make it up to me and please me. If you don't talk – Well, we're gonna do it over and over again until you do. Until you tell me exactly why you angered me. I mean, I want to know that you put in an effort and try to be a good girl. Not knowing why you're gettin' punished is not a good start, pumpkin."

Joel hesitated, sighing as he watched you with his head tilted. He could literally see the words fighting through your clouded mind one by one, a muscle around your eyes twitching when the content of his words really crept up on you. And god did you look pretty with your mouth full with his dick. You couldn't reply anyway, so a nod of your head was what he had to settle with, your eyes round as coins and your cheeks already flush.

Thus far, Joel had been halfway inside you, but once he had the confirmation that you had understood the rules, he jerked forward with his hips, driving his dick into your mouth until he was inside of you to the hilt. You almost instantly retched, spit leaking from the corner of your mouth and your head flinching away.

"Shhh…," Joel made, keeping his grip around your head steady to keep you from pulling away and potentially making everything worse for you. Because it was the first round, Joel relatively spared you, staying inside your throat for merely 10 seconds and then dragging himself out of your welcoming mouth.

"And?" he fizzled once his tip was brushing over your plump lips, his insides clenching at the wetness glistening on your chin, which suggested that he had fucked your face for half an hour rather than half a minute.

"I don't know," you whimpered, tangling your fingers and pleadingly staring up to him.

If only you knew what you were doing to him, Joel thought with a wry grin, trailing along your jaw line and pursing his lips at the way your eyes brightened up. But of course this wasn't to his satisfactory, which was why Joel slammed his dick back into your paradisiacal heat without even commenting your words. This time he made you suffer longer, keeping his balls pressed to your face for almost 30 seconds while giving you almost no space at all to adjust to his length stuffing your throat. His tip tingled at the back of your throat and simultaneously caused you to gag, your view blurry as your face was forced to be in this unnatural position.

When he finally released you, he rapidly slipped out of your mouth with a plop sound, a thread of spit hanging between your upper lip and his shaft. You inhaled greedily, almost choking on the fresh wave of air you forced down on your throat, but could get a grip on yourself in the last minute. Although Joel had let go of you, he instantly cradled your head again once you had caught your breath with the purpose of maintaining control and dominance over the situation and show you your place.

"I'm listenin'," he barked and blared his teeth. Your wrinkled nose almost made him melt on the spot, his heart fluttering as you thoughtfully averted your gaze and carefully shook it.

"I'm sorry. I don't – Please, just – "

You were caught off once more and could only yelp as Joel forced his shaft down your throat again.

"That's disappointing, babygirl… I honestly thought you'd do better. You wanna keep goin' like this now? Until your throat's fuckin' red and bruised? Or you're gonna put this brain to work now and really make an effort?"

You were unable to answer, hot tears coating your view and his dick muffling any noises or complains threatening to spill out of your mouth. You were trying so hard, reliving every moment from the past days, but you couldn't find anything unusual. It couldn't be too long ago, right? He wouldn't punish you now for something that had been more than a week ago, right? Joel had been much too nice for that and if you had really done something to seriously upset him a longer time ago, he wouldn't have waited until now to make you feel the consequences. You were sure he wouldn't even have been able to hide his anger.

Your hands grasped his thighs, nails scraping his skin as if it was a way to release the pain, but you only halfly succeeded. It simply was too much, his dick so deep inside your mouth that it seemed like all you felt was him. That all you could think about, perceive, smell and taste was him and his indistinct scent. This time Joel kept you flush against his center for almost a minute, but to you it felt like ten times the amount of time. You could breathe through your nose, your nostrils flared to force more air down your lungs, but you had to cough every few seconds and felt your stomach thrum with the need to throw up. When he pulled back, you blinked, teary eyes fluttering and your lips swollen from the assault. Joel didn't even have to ask you. He just lifted an eyebrow, cupping your chin and tightening his hand at your attempt to escape him.

"You ain't done here yet, babygirl. You're goin' right back to work unless you have something to say."

He lightly squeezed your cheeks. "Do you?"

"P-Please," you whined, simply ignoring the mess of a combination of liquids that made your cheeks sticky and glitty and only seemed to increase as time passed.

"I don't know. Please, tell me, Joel, I'm sorry. I tried, I tried to remember b-but I – I don't. I just wanna be good for you a-and I love you and I don't wanna make you mad."

Joel had to supress a genuine smile. Not because he was anywhere close to being done with you, but because you sincerely were the most stunning, adorable and sweet creature he had ever seen. The big deer eyes, the way you couldn't keep them open at times, the trembling bottom lip you tried to get under control by biting down on it, the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. You were a mess, but a beautiful, pretty mess that Joel couldn't get enough of. That made a part of him want to lift you in the air, push you up against his chest and hold you until your crying had stopped. Just run a hand up and down your back and get lost in your sweet, adorable nature. But of course he wouldn't because you had something to apologise for and as long as he didn't hear those words out of your mouth he wouldn't stop.

That was why he shook his head in disapproval, tracing your jawline and then pulling at your lower lip to make it snap back.

"It's too late for that, hon. Open your mouth."

You sniffed and gulped in order to fight the soreness in your throat, but once his tip went past your lips you immediately felt the same stinging ache in the back of your throat again.

"Shhh…," he purred, gripping your hair tightly and tugging when you squirmed too hard.

"Take it. Take it or tell me what I wanna hear."

Tears were clouding your view, making your eyes feel swollen and puffy. Your whole body was on fire, arousal pooling between your legs just like sweat was covering your thighs and back. It was a strange and odd mixture of discomfort that was borderning on pain from time to time and sheer and intense pleasure. Please that made you want to be good for him so badly, so he would finally make love to you in a way you knew you didn't deserve right now. If only you knew why.

You gulped and retched, grabbing his legs to ground yourself and Joel didn't seem to have a problem with it as of now.

"C'mon…," he growled, head thrown back and lips red from the way he chewed on them.

"10 more seconds."

You didn't know how, but you managed to push through it. By the time Joel withdrew, you felt the need to cough and fortunately he let go of you for a moment so you could turn away from him, clear your throat and wipe over your eyes with the back of your hand.

"C'mere," he snarled after a minute, taking hold of a fistful of your hair and pushing your head against his inner thigh.

"Nothin'?" he simply whispered, raising his eyebrows and giving you this look of disgust and pity and somehow it was hurting more than anything he had done before.

"Alright. Gonna try somethin' different," Joel suddenly sighed. Your eyes shot up, widening in hope as he twisted his lips and rose to his feet while still keeping your head still by your hair.

"Get up. An' then take your clothes off and sit down on the couch."

These were rather promising prospects, so you weren't hesistant when you quickly stumbled to your feet, legs wobbly and weak under your weight and your sore knees hurting at the new posture. You cursed your slightly shivering hands as you pulled down your shorts, your clumsy fingers struggling with the zipper, but after you had tossed your clothes on a chair you felt the most confident and strong you had tonight. You sat down with a bubbling coiling heat in your stomach, thighs pressing together and your palms hurting from the way you buried your nails into your skin.

"Sit against the armrest. Legs spread," were his next instructions and just as you had obeyed him, getting comfortable on your bare ass, Joel appeared before your eyes. You desperately searched his face for any sign that he had softened up, that his punishment might perhaps even be over now, but there was nothing. His jaw was flexed, a vein prominent on his neck and a crease between his eyebrows.

"I swear, Joel, I really don't know what I did wrong," you assured him once again, blinking to prevent yourself from crying.

"Shut up. You're not enhancing your chances by talkin' all the fuckin' time. Givin' me those sweet doll eyes is your best shot, babygirl. So look at me. C'mon."

You wrinkled your nose which elicited a heavy exhalation from him and then gasped as Joel took hold of your ankles, adjusting your sprawled out body on the couch. Then he climbed on top of you, settling between your legs and letting his eyes wander from your legs up to your face until his gaze lingered on your bare pussy. You shouldn't feel embarrassed considering that Joel had seen you naked a million times already, but under these circumstances, you feeling so vulnerable in comparison to his dominant and intimidating appearance, you couldn't help but blush under his flashing pupils.

"Pretty," he whispered, vaguely cupping your pussy, but his words had taken you out so much, that you merely noticed it.

"Too pretty for such a dumb thing. Too sweet 'n' adorable for such a stupid 'lil head. What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

Joel didn't look like he was expecting an answer, which was why you simply kept eye contact although your eyes were watering again, pursing your lips and audibly swallowing.

"I feel like I should tie ya to the bed, stuff you with a toy 'n' then leave you there until you've learned your lesson. Or until you work that pretty brain and remember what you done wrong." He leaned in so his breath was brushing over your temple.

"But call me weak or – or frail, but I won't be able to leave this fuckin' pussy alone."

You whined out as he began rocking his palm against your clit, the corner of his mouth twitching at your facial reactions.

"Yeah. Gimme those sweet eyes. Show me how sweet you can be for me."

Joel gently parted your legs wider, lowly growling as your breathing became heavier. Two fingertips prodded your hole, circling it at a pace that you would consider cruel and sliding his palm back and forth. In less than a minute the two fingers made their way inside your cunt, slowly and carefully as if Joel was scared to hurt you, entering you.

"Joel," you whimpered, close to tears again, although you couldn't quite grasp the source of it. "I'm sorry, I – I wanna be good. I just… I just don't know what…"

He hushed you with a single finger pressing down on your upper lip and then applied more pressure on your throbbing clit.

"I said shut up. Or do you wanna make me angrier? You're not in a good position here right now if you haven't notice already. You made me mad, couldn't remember why and didn't even figure it out while I punished you. I coulda made you suck my dick all night, but I didn't 'cause I had pity with you and now there's one fuckin' thing I expect from you, you dirty slut. And you can't even do that."

A sob went through your body, your hands clenching and your brows pinching as the effects of his words took over. You just wanted to cry. You had disappointed him so badly and felt so helpless here, your head throbbing from the way you so strenuously concentrated on the events of the past days, but no matter how hard you tried, there was no progress. No idea, no suspicion and although part of you definitely couldn't think straight from the way Joel rubbed his hand against your core, you still couldn't believe that Joel was so angry while you had no hunch at all.

A little later, you wouldn't have been able to say if it was 5 minutes or 50 minutes, the first signs of an orgasm approached you, drops of sweat rolling down the inside of your thighs a warm, stouthearted pressure pulsing in your lower belly. By now his two digits were buried inside of you to the hilt, curled and determined as they repeatedly hit the soft, spongy spot hidden deep inside you. It felt so good, you wanted to scream and shout for him to go harder and stop him at the same time because something about his mood made you fear what was going to happen. He still seemed much too angry to just drop the whole thing so he surely wouldn't just let you cum like this and then send you to bed…?

Your suspicion was soon to be confirmed. A slight clench of your pussy and the way your eyes squeezed shut were all it took for Joel to stop. His hand was still resting on your center, but it didn't move any longer and his reaction to the rolling of your hips to create the much needed friction was a firm hand holding you down.

"Joel, please. Please, don't. I just – " He slightly withdrew, your hips frustratingly grinding against nothing.

"Say what you did wrong, babygirl," he whispered, sounding almost… amused? At least there was a light tinkle in his tone while he darted down at you, thoughtfully curling his lips.

"I can't, Joel, you know that I can't. I'm sorry. Please."

"And I don't think you've tried hard enough."

What were you supposed to do?

You believed that you couldn't go any further, that there was nothing left for you to try to satisfy him. He was so determined in his actions, so convinced of the fact that all he had to do for you to speak the truth was push you further, but what if you couldn't? What if Joel would never be satisfied and be mad about you forever? Okay, that might be an exaggeration, you had to admit, yet new tears welled in your eyes at the mere thought of it.

Before you could finish the thought, Joel continued rocking his palm against your clit, your legs involuntarily pressing together and your pussy eagerly throbbing for the return of his fingers.

"S'a bit disappoin', isn't it? I knew you tend to get all cock-drunk on me whenever I just take a look at that pussy but this really is a new level, hon. An' your sweet eyes and that pout don't change anythin', baby. They might be nice for me to look at, but don't think for a second that they're gonna help you get out of your punishment."

In a record breakingly short amount of time, you were dangling dangerously close to the edge of a orgasm you were yearning for so badly again. Joel's two fingers were penetrating you, his lips occasionally leaning in to kiss you on your cheek or neck and his palm rough and fast as it stimulated your clit. You were a trembling mess underneath him, sweat sticky on top of your thighs and your nipples stiff.

"Please," you soon whispered, equally scared that Joel was going to stop and that he would be mad if you didn't tell him that you were close.

"What. Give me one good reason why you deserve to cum."

Suddenly something shifted in his face. His eyes were briefly flashing, pervaded by a dark glimmering light and his jaw was clenched, his mouth nothing more than a thin line. Before you were able to reply, you were suddenly flipped onto your stomach, your hands reaching for the armrest to hold on to something as Joel parted your ass cheeks.

"Maybe this'll work on you… Maybe you just need a dick to destroy that 'lil cunt o'yours in order for you to remember how to use that mouth to talk."

Your fingers grasped a pillow, squeezing tightly as you prepared yourself for the slight inevitable stretch, but when he slid in, there was no trace of discomfort. Joel was thick and he certainly didn't go slow, but you were so drenched that there was no restriction at all.

"Next time it'll be your fuckin' ass. I'll fuck that tight hole of yours and maybe through your cryin' you'll tell me your apologies in a way that's gonna make me content. And now you're 'lil cunt better squeeze me tightly or I'll have to put my attention elsewhere. And there's no fuckin' way you'll cum tonight, so you better not even try. I don't care about your sweet whines 'n' pleas. I'm fuckin' serious."

He grunted and bottomed out, filling you to the hilt and starting to pound you at a steady pace. He wasn't even able to hide his fury in the way he was fucking you, his balls slapping against your cunt and producing obscene smacking noises and his tip hitting your cervix whereas he usually was so careful with not going too deep and possible hurting you.

"J-Joel," you whimpered, reaching behind you not because he was seriously causing you pain, but because you craved his presence so much. You just wanted him to hold your hand and brush over your knuckles and the fact that you wouldn't be getting it until you remembered this damn thing you had done wrong made you want to cry out.

"Shut up. M'gonna cum inside of you now 'cause I don't know what else to do with ya so you stop actin' like a dumb 'lil puppy an' then we'll go to bed and you rest that head of yours. Now look at me and keep those eyes open. I know you can be such a pretty puppy for me if you try hard enough. So get over it 'n' at least try to be good."

Joel spanked your butt once, his nostrils wide and his breath hitching as you looked over your shoulder and initiated eye contact.

"I wanna be good," you whispered, gasping at his forceful thrusts.

"Yeah you do?" he asked and grabbed a thick strand of your hair.

"Show me then. You're gonna keep still 'n' stop complainin' and lemme fill that pussy 'til my cum runs down your thighs. C'mon, babygirl. Lemme feel how bad she needs me," he growled and groaned as he stopped inside of you for a moment, pushing you up the couch and changing the angle so he could go as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum, Joel. Please. I really need to," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes close and praying for him to be mercyful. You had suffered for long enough and if only Joel saw it the same way…

"No. You're not gonna cum. You messed that up earlier in the fuckin' park and then you did it over and over again. Not bein' able to tell me what you did wrong, cryin' and moanin' 'cause you didn't get what you wanted but you didn't make an effort either."

Your thoughts were racing, your mind so absent that you even forgot about his punishing pace for a moment. The park…? Joel must have sensed the way it worked behind your forehead because he tightened his grip in your hair and pushed you into the cushion.

"Yeah, that's right. The fuckin' park… If you had used your brains for a second you wouldn't have talked to the guy like that."

"What guy?" it broke out of you, your eyebrows tense as you peeked over your shoulder.

"The guy that clearly wanted to fuck you. An' you acted like you didn't want anything more in your life."

Slowly the puzzle pieces assembled in your head and a picture started to form. Yet, once started, Joel didn't stop.

"The guy that fuckin' dropped his book just so you would bend over 'n' pick it up and he could get a good look at your ass. And you? You were playin' alone and gave him these stupid fuck-me eyes that only I am supposed to see. You behaved like you were just waitin' for him to rip your clothes off and it was goddamn disgusting babygirl."

You gulped and suddenly felt more than bad. Yes, it made so much sense now. How quiet Joel had been on the way back to the house and if you thought about it now, yes, the guy in the park had been very friendly. Too friendly, perhaps.

"Joel, I – " you started, but were interrupted soon.

"No. It wasn't that hard to come up with this, was it? An' you're tellin' me you couldn't think of this yourself?"

"I'm sorry. I really am, I didn't – I didn't think he was interested in me like that, I swear," you choked between his thrusts, your mouth struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"I thought he was just trying to be nice. He was. He was kind and – and I didn't question it."

"I know you didn't," Joel replied and rolled his hips a few times as he was inside of you, making you really feel him with every fibre of your body.

"That's why you're in this position right now. Arch your back," he added and pressed down on the small of your back.

"I'm gonna cum, babygirl. Deep inside of your pussy the way only I can. Not some guy in a park who probably has never seen a naked woman before. I'm the only one who gets to fuck this useless hole and fill you up with my cum. Understood?"

As quickly as possible, you nodded and stretched yourself toward him ever more.

"Yes, Joel. I only want you. No one else."

Apparently, this was all it took for Joel to release with a deep growl and despite not reaching your high yourself, you felt your view get cloudy at the feeling of his sticky, warm seed coating your walls.

"Oh jesus… Oh fuck, yeah, that's it… Oh fuck… Take it all, c'mon. Don't wanna see anythin' drippin' down your legs."

He pushed into you a few more times before gently stroking up the side of your body, briefly tracing the side of your breasts.

"Good girl. Good fuckin' girl, m'proud of you."

You almost flinched at his words, your eyes frantically dancing as you stared into space and wondered whether he was genuine. Your eventual response was a muffled and broken whine that made Joel sigh.

"Lemme take a look at ya," he whispered, his tone low and soft and slipped his flaccid dick out of you only to grab you by your hips and turn you on your back.

"S'okay, babygirl…," he purred, hushing you as you sniffled a couple of times and brought a finger to your lips.

"It's okay. You took your punishment well. An' I think you got my point, didn't you?"

"Yes. I did, I'm sorry. I understand why – why you had to do it."

Joel smiled in satisfaction, lazily caressing the skin of your hips and bicep and smirking at the way you were barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Think you need some rest now, hon. Sleep if you want to. And I will make you feel good in the mornin'. Everythin' will be alright… I'll take care of ya 'cause you were good and behaved and now you deserve to cum too. Just wait until the mornin', we both need some sleep, okay? Is that okay for my princess?"

Princess.

Your heart fluttered and clenched at the nickname, your eyes big as you pleadingly stared up to him.

"Yes. I'm really tired," you confirmed and then grinned as Joel rolled off you to lay right next to you on the couch.

"Then sleep. I'll be right there next to you and if it's gonna be uncomfortable later, I'll carry you to bed. Just relax, sweetheart."

You exhaled, your breathing becoming steadily louder and more audible as you drifted off to sleep.

A quiet 'I love you' was the last thing you perceived before you felt yourself slipping away, body and mind finally utterly at peace again.

[dindjarinsslut]

i love them your honor

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[thechaoticcherub]

Some mean qz!joel pleasee

Rents Due

pairing: qz!Joelxreader

warning: dubcon/noncon, mean!Joel, virginity loss, blowjobs, one instance of mouth spitting, size kink, pussy/dick pronouns, no use of y/n, lack of aftercare, seriously joels pretty mean

word count: 2,078 (I got carried away with this one)

Song I was listening to: Blue Hour - Anna Graves

The springs on the old bed you were asleep on creaked as Joel eased himself down next to you. It was early in the morning, predawn when the light was cold and blue, seeping in through the grimy window. Your stomach clenched in fear the second you became conscious. You knew exactly what this was. It had been the same since the first month you had started living in this apartment in the Boston QZ. 

“Rents due,” Joel gave your cheek a pat and you looked up at him, silently pleading that this wouldn’t happen. Every month he would come into your room, extract his “rent”, and leave you reeling, feeling broken and burdened. It was all bullshit. It wasn’t like he paid for this fucking apartment, that wasn’t how it worked in the QZ and yet, letting you live here meant he could do what he wanted. 

“No…no, no, no,” Your voice was groggy and your eyes were still crusted with sleep but Joel reached down, to the hair on top of your head, curling his fingers around it and tightening his grip. 

“You ain’t got a choice, kid,” he growled. Pain woke you up even more as he pulled on your hair, dragging you off of the bed, your knees hit the cold ground and he adjusted you so you were right in front of him. Joel had been a scary figure in your life for a few months now, barely around but foreboding when he was but you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave the relative safety of this worn down apartment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave him either. No matter what the “rent” was and how much you hated it. Joel tilted your head back to look up at him as he methodically began to undo his belt. You let out a little frustrated whine, 

“I don’t…I don’t want-” “We goin’ to have this argument every fuckin’ month?” he asked as his belt came undone and then the button of his jeans and the now familiar sound of his zipper sliding down. You shut your mouth and tears started to burn at the corners of your eyes. You knew he’d just plug your nose if he really had to but you felt like you needed to put up a fight, you just had to. Despite how you felt after it was all over, despite the sticky mess in your underwear when he was through with you, you needed him to know you were disgusted by it. Joel watched as you obstinately shut your mouth so he reached out with his other hand and held your face in his hand, pitching your cheeks together. Joel leaned down, his face getting close to you, you could smell him. Sweat. Burning. Tang from alcohol maybe. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it should have been. 

“You open up for me, I’ll go easy on ya,” He said. Maybe that was a promise that was worth it. It was always the same with Joel, on your knees in front of him, mouth open and taking his come either in your mouth or on your face. Nothing more. Nothing less. The promise of it going easily was enticing so you parted your lips, he let go of your cheeks, his other hand still locked in your hair. He was still directly in front of you looking at your willingly open lips. You could see him smirking. Joel leaned in close and for a second you thought he was going to try and kiss you, which was completely unheard of, instead he spit directly into your mouth. 

You were so shocked, the spit nearly dripped out of your open mouth, 

“I had to reward ya for bein’ a good girl, didn’t i?” he asked and before you could answer he had pulled his cock out and forced the blunt head into your mouth. You let him slide it along your tongue, into the back of your throat, using your hair as a anchor he rocked his hips forward. You gagged, your own saliva mixing with what he had spit into your mouth and dripping down his cock. 

Joel was your first experience with a cock, you had absolutely zero to compare it to but you knew it was large. Your lips felt tight around it and you gagged easily on it. Joel groaned as you tried to swirl your tongue around the tip. You wanted to make this fast, you wanted to get it done with. Looking up at him from your knees, he looked all dark, blue in the fuzzy predawn light. Maybe your eyesight was just still bleary from sleeping. He seemed unreal, even as his cock tickled the back of your throat, making you gag again but he held you down, forcing you to keep it in your mouth. Joel pulled your head back off of him excruciatingly slowly, 

“Lick it like ya love it, darlin’” He instructed. You licked around the fat head of his cock, paying attention to the underside of it, feeling the foreskin move under your tongue. “Atta girl,” Joel said. “You do love it, don’t ya?” He laughed. “You love my cock,” His hand held himself at the base while he forced you to lick and suckle at the tip. You whined and didn’t reply, his hand tightened in your hair and he pulled you off of his cock completely,

“Say you love it an’ I’ll keep bein’ nice,” he growled. Nice? He had practically choked you with his cock not five seconds ago! 

“I love it,” You sounded defeated. Joel snorted,

“yeah right.” he said. “get on the bed,” You stared at him, confused. This was new, he had never changed positions, never wanted something other than you on your knees sucking his cock and now…

“What?” you asked dumbly. Joel’s free hand came out and gave you a sharp smack on the cheek, not so hard that it left a mark, but hard enough to wake you up to the situation,

“You fuckin’ deaf? Get on the bed.” he let go of your hair and you hesitantly got up and sat down on your bed. Joel stood up and shoved you back so you were laying down before reaching down and grabbing your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your undies. You squirmed away from him, crossing your legs, 

“What are you-”

“I’m playin’ yahtzee, what the fuck do you think i’m doin? I’m goin’ to fuck you. I said I’d be nice,” He grabbed your legs to try and pry them apart but you struggled. 

“N-no! I’m…no! I’ve never…I haven’t done-” There was a brief moment where Joel stared at you and you thought maybe he wouldn’t do what he had always done which was take what he wanted. But then he smiled this sick, sinister sort of smile, 

“Nobodies ever buttered this pretty lil’ biscuit?” he asked as he tried to ease your legs open. His stupid, country saying just pissed you off and you pressed your knees together tight. 

“Please don’t,” you whined. 

“Aw honey, you ain’t gettin’ away that easy. Spread ‘em,” He started to force your knees apart now and you tried to struggle back. He finally got your knees open and he pressed his elbow hard into your thigh to keep your legs open. “Oh she’s real pretty, can’t wait to get to know her better,” He said. you let out a choked whine. The thought of the cock that usually choked you being shoved inside of you made your stomach clench up with fear and maybe a little of something else but you didn’t want to admit that. Joel moved up so he was kneeling between your legs, one hand still holding your leg open. He grabbed his cock, palming it up and down as he looked down at you, spread out for him on your bed. 

“Now, he’s kind of a big guy,” Joel said, replacing his hand with his knee, pinning it against the bed to keep your legs open. You stared down between your bodies at the languid way he rubbed himself. He was just looking at you, no one had ever looked at that part of your body and his eyes were just drinking you up. It disgusted you. It infuriated you and it made your tummy boil with need. He settled down between your legs, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. “So we can do this one of two ways,” he continued. “We can go easy does it and take our time letting him open her up. Or we can get the worst part out of the way and do it all at once,” You struggled a little as you felt the head of his cock start slowly burying itself inside of you. You let out a cry and shook your head. 

“Ohh you don’t wanna decide?” he asked, his breath caught in his chest as he pressed himself into you, just barely starting to stretch you open. You shook your head, ‘No! I don’t…I don’t…” You whined, clenching up. 

“Yes you do want him, that’s why she’s gettin’ all leaky all over me,” Joel laughed. “But fine, you don’t wanna decide-Jesus, girl, you’re tight- I can decide,” Without warning he plunged himself into you, filling you up, stretching you open. You screamed. He was so big it felt like you had ripped open for him, pried apart to accept him inside of you. Tears filled your eyes and with each blink they dripped out of your eyes, sliding down your temples. 

“Shh,” Joel whispered, “Probably better to do it all at once, you’re a tight lil thing,” he said, “i’ll let you get used to him a second,” He was still and actually reached out and stroked your hair back. It was strange to feel his hands be gentle. He slowly started to rock back and forth, making a little room for himself inside of you. There was a spark in your belly, the pain had burned through you and left a tingle. The tingle was pain and pleasure meshing together. You breath caught in your chest as he started to draw himself out of you. Involuntarily, you lifted your hips towards him, wanting him back inside of you.

“Aw, you missin’ him?” Joel asked with a strained laugh. You felt yourself nod but it felt almost out of body. Joel pushed himself back into you and that pain, pleasure was inescapable. You wanted more, more of his cock, or…just more of somethign you didn’t know what. Joel was chasing his own pleasure more than anything, practically ignoring your need but loving that you were needy. 

“Shoulda done this sooner, kid.” He groaned, as his hips pumped back and forth, repeatedly opening you up to him. Your pussy felt like it was on fire in all the best ways and you just needed a little more but Joel was edging closer and closer to his finish and his thrusts became erratic. You tried to grind yourself down on him, wishing you could make yourself beg but you couldn’t force the words out of your mouth. 

“J-Joel,” you moaned. 

“You want my come?” Joel asked, “That what you about to ask?” He knew it wasn’t but it was too fun to mock you a little. You whined in frustration,

“Joeeel,” You whined again, still not able to say anything else, unable to come up with the words. 

“Go ahead, darlin’, beg for my come and I promise I’ll be nice.” He growled, his voice rough, right on the edge of his orgasm. You were silent. Joel grabbed your jaw again, giving you a rough shake, “Beg.” He instructed.

“Please! Please, I want your come!” you cried, brow furrowing. 

“You shoulda just said so,” Joel mocked, he pumped himself in and out of you as deep as he could go a few times, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix before he ripped it out of you. Ropes of his spend landed against your lower tummy, dripping down onto your pubic hair. “Did ya think ya were gettin’ it in your cunt?” Joel asked as you stared down at the mess. 

“I-” 

“Gotta be a real good girl for that,” he said. “Maybe next time.” He added before leaving a quick kiss on your forehead and getting up off the bed.

Thanks for reading! I love all the likes but remember the writers put their stuff out for free and the only thing we get is comments and reblogs. So please consider reblogging so more people see my work! Love you!

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

Baked and filled

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel comes back home from work.

Warnings: 18+. BREEDING KINK, unprotected sex, Oral (f!receiving). Age gap (50s,20s), eaten from behind, bent over to the counter, breeding kink, praise, pet names, talking about pregnancy, soft!joel, dom!joel, pinv.

words: 2.391

You carefully slide the tray of cookie dough balls into the warm oven, you lean in to close the door, You smile to yourself, feeling proud of the delicious treats you're about to make.

The comforting sound of the crackling fireplace fills the living room as the cold winter wind howls outside.

You move to the sink, humming softly to yourself as you begin cleaning the mess you left behind.

The warm water feels nice against your hands as you scrub the bowl and utensils clean.

The gruff sound of your husband's voice snaps you out of your thoughts as the front door clicks shut.

You hear the soft thud of his boots being scraped against the doormat, "Babe, I'm home," he calls out, his deep voice carrying through the house. He steps into the kitchen, his eyes immediately drawn to the sight of you in his old, well-worn t shirt.

The faded letters of his business name across your back make him smile, "What's cookin' sweetheart?" A warm smile spreading across his face at the mention of cookies. "You remembered how much I love 'em, huh?"

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. "You're too good to me, you know that?" You lean back into his embrace, the sponge pausing mid-scrub as you turn your head to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Someone's gotta take care of my big bad cookie monster," you tease lightly, your voice warm and affectionate.

He smirks down at you, watching as you continue washing the dishes. His calloused hands, still cold from being outside, slide slowly under the oversized shirt you're wearing - his shirt - feeling your warm, smooth skin.

"Damn," he mutters softly, enjoying your body's warmer h. His rough, calloused hands slowly move up, cupping your breasts possessively. He starts kneading the soft mounds.

A low hum of satisfaction rumbles in his chest as he warms his hands in your gentle curves. "Goddamn, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice growing huskier. "Your warm little titties are heating up my cold hands real nice."

He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and groaning as his hands continue to massage your sensitive flesh. You let out a soft giggle, your hands pausing mid-task as his rough hands continue their gentle assault on your breasts.

"Joel..." you warn playfully, trying to sound stern but failing as his warm breath tickles your neck. "I'm trying to do the dishes here..." He smirks against your neck, "And I'm just trying to warm my hands, baby," he says with mock innocence, his hands still gently kneading your breasts.

"You just keep doing those dishes, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and teasing. "I'll just keep warming my hands right here." Unable to resist the temptation of your smooth skin, Joel starts placing soft kisses along your neck.

He works his way up from your shoulder, his lips gently nibbling and sucking on your sensitive flesh. His hands never stop their slow, sensual massage of your breasts, his calloused thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples.

Your cheeks flush pink as his lips and hands work their magic on you. You bite down harder on your lip to keep the moan trapped inside you. The sponge in your hand continues to move mechanically over the plates as you try to focus on something other than Joel's touch.

One hand continues kneading your breast while the other slides up to gently grip your throat. His lips move to capture your earlobe, giving it a playful bite as he presses his already rock-hard erection firmly against your backside. "You're driving me crazy, sweetheart," he growls low in your ear. Unable to resist any longer, Joel's hands become more urgent.

He squeezes your breast harder, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple. With his other hand still on your throat, he starts grinding his hardness against your ass, letting you feel exactly how much he wants you. You bit down on your lip to suppres a moan as he smirked,

"but I'm not doing anything daddy..." You said with mock innconcence earning a groan from Joel as he hears you calling him 'daddy' "Not doin' anything, my ass," he mutters against your neck, a husky chuckle escaping his lips. Your innocent act just makes it hotter as you grind your ass against his cock, making him groan deeply.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses out as you grind against him, the heat and wetness between your legs becoming more apparent through his jeans. His hands tighten on your throat and your sensitive tit, his breathing growing heavier. "You're getting all wet and warm back there, aren't you?"

His hand trails down your soft stomach and beneath the hem of his shirt (that you're wearing as a dress), finding no barriers whatsoever. "Damn, baby..." he whispers, smirking smugly into your neck.

One large hand cups your bare pussy completely, feeling how slick and warm you are. "Already fucking drippin' wet for me," he growls approvingly, his fingers spreading your lips apart to feel just how ready you are for him.

He pulls back slightly to look down at his hand cupping your bare pussy, watching his fingers glisten with your arousal in the warm kitchen light.

You lean back slightly against him, your breath hitching as you whisper in mock innocence again, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmhmm," he hums disbelievingly, "Damn near coating my palm, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, his middle finger sliding back and forth slowly, gathering more of your wetness.

"So fucking tight," he whispers roughly against your ear as his thick finger slowly pushes inside you. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and he slides in easily thanks to how wet you are.

"Look at how perfectly you're taking my finger, baby," he growls, starting a slow rhythm.

His thumb begins to circle your clit in slow, firm movements as he continues pumping his finger in and out of your tight pussy. "You like that, sweetheart? You like it when I finger your little cunt like this?" he asks in a low, dominant tone, his breath hot against your neck.

You whimper softly, your hips starting to move involuntarily against his hand. He adds a second finger, stretching you more as he curls them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your knees weak.

"Answer me," he demands, his fingers pumping faster and deeper. "Mm-hmm," you moan softly as his fingers nail that sweet spot inside you.

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he watches his fingers disappear inside you, making your juices coat his palm. "Damn, baby."

He starts moving his fingers faster, scissoring them inside you to prepare you for his much larger cock. His thumb circles your clit relentlessly while his other hand squeezes your breast hard.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out with a wet sound, making you whine at the loss. You look up at him with disappointed eyes, biting your lip as his fingers slip out of your warmth.

Before you can protest though, he brings those fingers dripping with your juices up to his mouth and licks them clean with a satisfied moan. "Jesus," he mutters softly, tasting your sweet pussy juice.

He reaches down with his clean hand and uses his thumb to pull down your lower lip, his eyes locked onto your bare pussy. "You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you? You gotta have some patience if you want somethin' sweetheart."

Without warning, he drops to his knees in front of you, pushing your legs apart roughly. He buries his face between your thighs, his tongue delving deep inside you without any warning. You scream out in pleasure as he eats you out like a starving man, his hands gripping your thighs tightly.

You grab the kitchen counter with both hands, knuckles turning white as Joel's tongue aggressively explores your pussy. Leaning back, you grind desperately against his face, chasing the intense pleasure. His hands move to your ass, holding you firmly against his mouth as he devours you eagerly.

His tongue laps at your clit relentlessly before plunging deep inside you again. You can hear him moaning against your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

You grind harder against him, your hips moving in desperate circles as he eats you out like a man possessed. He pulls back for a moment, his chin and lips glistening with your juices.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, before diving back in. His tongue flicks over your clit rapidly, making your legs tremble as you grind harder against him. He slides a finger inside you again, curling it just right to hit that magical spot.

His tongue continues to assault your clit, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You throw your head back and let out a loud, uninhibited moan as your orgasm crashes over you. "That's it, baby. Fucking come on my face," he growls against your pussy, feeling your walls clench tightly around his finger.

He laps at your clit with long, firm strokes as your orgasm wrecks through you, not letting up until your legs threaten to give out completely. He stands up slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, still leaning heavily against the counter for support as joel watches you come down from your high.

You lean heavily against the counter, your legs weak and trembling. Joel scoops you up effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

Joel carries you to the dining table, gently laying you down on the cold wooden surface he then unbuckles his belt with shaking hands, desperate to be inside you.

"You've fuckin' ruined me," he mutters under his breath, unzipping his jeans and finally freeing his hard cock. It stands thick and proud, leaking pre-cum. He kicks off his jeans completely, stroking himself slowly while looking at you spread out on the table.

You smile seductively, biting down on your lower lip as you lean back on the table and spread your legs wide apart. Your pussy glistens wetly with desire as you stare at Joel with half lidded eyes.

"God, Joel," you whisper breathlessly, watching him stroke himself. "I've been waiting all day for that big, thick cock of yours to be inside of me," you said breathlessly.

"Please, Joel. I need you so fucking bad..." You whined, "Christ," he breathes out roughly, precum beading at the tip of his cock. "You dirty girl, talkin' like that..." His eyes darken with pure desire as he steps closer, lining himself up with your entrance. "You want this he? Want him to fill that tight little pussy?"

"Yes," you moan, Your breasts heave with your shallow breaths, your pussy pulsing with need.

He grabs your hips roughly, pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He wraps one hand around his length and slowly pushes the fat head inside you.

"Jesus fuck," he mutters, watching your pussy stretch around his thickness. He slides in another inch slowly, making you moan loudly.

He continues to slowly feed his massive cock inside you, inch by inch, until he's finally buried to the hilt. You feel stuffed full, stretched impossibly wide around his girth. Joel's fingers dig into your hips as he starts to move, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in deep and slow.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," he groans, picking up the pace slightly but still maintaining a slow, deep rhythm. He watches as his cock slides in and out of you, glistening with your wetness. "So tight and wet for me."

He leans over you, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to play with your clit. His thumb circles the sensitive bud as he starts to fuck you harder and faster.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room along with your moans and his grunts. "I'm gonna fill you up," he says, his voice low and gravelly as he fucks you harder and deeper.

"Gonna pump my hot cum inside this tight little cunt." His hand on your hip tightens as he starts to lose control, his thrusts becoming erratic and forceful.

"Fuck, I need to breed you," he growls, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force. "Need my seed to spill deep inside you and make this pussy pregnant." He leans down, biting your neck as he fucks you relentlessly, chasing his orgasm. "Gonna fill you up so much..."

"Mmm, you'd look so beautiful with my baby growing in your belly," he murmurs against your neck, sucking and biting the skin, hitting just the right spot inside you. "You'd make such a good mother..."

"mmm yes..." you moan loudly, your body trembling with need. " I want you to breed me and make me carry your child, Joel, please..." Your words send Joel over the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and explodes. He holds himself deep inside you, his thick cock pulsing as he fills your womb with his hot, sticky cum.

"Take it all," he growls, his teeth sinking into your neck as he continues to breed the fuck out of you, ensuring every drop of his seed is planted inside you.

He pants against your neck, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he continues to shoot his load.

"You're gonna be so fucking full of my cum, it's gonna leak out of this tight little pussy for days." You moan softly as your legs tremble beneath him, feeling his massive cock slowly pull out of you.

As he slips free, a thick rope of his cum follows, dripping down your swollen lips and onto the floor below.

He brings his fingers to your dripping pussy, collecting the mixture of his cum and your juices.

He pushes those cum-coated fingers back inside you, knuckles deep. "And we don't waste anything in this household," he murmurs, ensuring every last drop is pushed back into your needy hole.

"Jesus fuck," he mutters appreciatively, watching proudly his handiwork. He rubs your clit gently with his cum-covered thumb before pulling away completely, leaving you messy and well-used.

[littledes1re]

Hi! You’re one of my favorite writers on here :3 I was wondering if you could do a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? (Totally not filling my birthday fantasies)

Birthday Sex

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, pinv, praise kink, pet names, oral f!receiving, fluff

„Look at you. Like a present from god, and it‘s not even my birthday, baby.“

It was your birthday. And, as if scripted by the universe itself, Joel went all out—again. It wasn’t unusual for him to give you everything he had but somehow, he always made this day feel a little more magical. You woke up to a mountain of gifts, the kind you could practically swim in, each one wrapped with care and tucked with little notes that made you smile before you even opened them.

The house smelled like comfort and joy—vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of fresh coffee. Joel had been up early, dancing around the kitchen like it was his stage. You had a choice that morning: waffles or pancakes. Without hesitation, you picked pancakes. Because Joel made them exactly the way you loved—golden, buttery, and extra fluffy, as if each bite could float you a little higher above your worries.

You didn’t even have to glance at your phone. Joel had already taken care of it. He called in for you, told them you were „terribly sick,” with that charming blend of sincerity and mischief. All before your eyes had fully opened. You had nothing to do, nowhere to be—just you, him and the morning sun creeping through the curtains, making everything feel like it existed only for you.

The day stretched on like a soft melody—unhurried, comforting, and full of little delights that feel stitched together just for the two of you.

After the pancakes, you two lingered at the kitchen table, sunlight dancing through the windows as Joel refilled your coffee mug without a word. He played that one record you both love, the one that instantly makes everything feel slower, dreamier. There’s no rush, no pressure—just warmth and presence.

As evening slides in, Joel lights a few candles and pulls together something simple and lovely for dinner. You two toast with wine and laugh about inside jokes no one else would ever understand.

And when you think that beautiful day got already to an end, Joel has still a surprise for you.

„Lay down, sweetheart.“ a smirk forming in his face. He peeks your curiosity and you do as he says.

He presses wet kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching your skin, his breath giving you a slight breeze. And as he kisses his way up to your cunt, he stops—pulling down your pants and panties.

„Joel—please.“ you sweetly whimper.

He chuckles, hushing you and spreading your lips with his fingers—blowing cold air into your cunt, making you clench around nothing, your clit already beginning to throb.

„So wet f‘me, my sweet girl.“ he whispers and dives right in. He takes a big lap from your hole to your clit, then latches around your nub. Your head fall to your bed, you reach for Joels curly hair, as he starts to suck and lick you. The pleasure spreading trough your whole body, feeling his fingers suddenly in you—curling upwards so he can rub your spot.

Your eyes roll back.

„Cum for me, baby. C‘mon.“ he says against your cunt, the buzzing going trough your folds as you spasm, your legs locking and you gush around his two fingers.

„You don‘t even know how fuckin‘ happy I am, that you were born.“

And as you try to catch your breath, Joel is already filling you with his cock.

His arms go around your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed—so he is closer to you. He starts thrusting slow, locking eyes with you, searching for any discomfort in your face. But that doesn‘t come, instead, your moans get louder and louder.

„My pretty angel. Always good for me, every single day.“ he coos, his hand cupping your cheek, gently caressing it as his thrusts go harder.

„You’re makin‘ me so happy, Joel.“ you cry out.

A smile spreads across his face, followed by a groan as you clench on his cock. His thumb falls on top of your clit, a whimper leaving your lips.

„C‘mon birthday girl. Show me how good y‘are. Cum for me one more time.“

Joel gives you one final thrust, his body fully laying on top of you, locking your lips with him. His thumb never stops, as you bite into his lip, coming with a soft whine, making him grunt into your mouth. He thrusts a few more times into you, all while kissing you, devouring you and releases into you, filling you to the brim.

„Happy birthday, baby.“

I hope you like this @bluekat707 <33 And thank you!!

[kirsteng42]

I had forgotten all about this extraordinary series and I don’t know how as the World and character building is exceptional!!!! I would recommend this is if you are a TLOU fan, a Joel Miller fan, an apocalypse fan!, or just a fan of damn good writing…I think Liv is 1 of my all time fave fan fic leading ladies/characters

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

title card by my sweet love @inklore 🤍

before // during // after

a story about second chances.

summary: you meet joel miller long before the world implodes. a summer fling that ends before it really has a chance to begin. (the before) the world ends and your lives are ripped apart at the seams. joel finds his way to boston almost five years later, and finds a new version of you he isn’t expecting. (the during) refusing to leave joel again, you leave boston with him and tess to bring ellie where she needs to go. (the after)

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, swearing, angst, trauma, allusions/description of PTSD, grief, death, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f and m receiving), spit play, ass play, super light dominance, badass reader, non-canon joel miller (like, still canon but not EXACTLY canon, ya feel me?)

title from the noah kahan song of the same name - you can find it here and the strawberry wine playlist here.

part 10 onwards, reader is a named OC, still written in reader format, as little description as possible! read more about Liv here.

read on ao3

before

part one

part two

part three

part four

during

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen

part twenty

after

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight

part twenty-nine

part thirty

part thirty-one

part thirty-two

part thirty-three

part thirty-four

part thirty-five

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[iamasaddie]

speed limit

lot lizard!Joel Miller x truck driver!f!reader

summary: different truck stop, same outcome. you meet Tommy’s brother down the road and learn that charm runs in Miller family warnings: again just a PWP nothing more; PinV; dirty talk; sex for money; mentions of past encounter with Tommy; no y/n or reader description wc: 3,9k a/n: I've tried writing in present tense and i am obsessed? hope u don't mind that change. thank you for the love and excitement over this silly idea <3 this is not heavily edited and once again, English is not my first language so mistakes are... there. most likely. previous part | series masterlist | next part

lot lizard (slang, US) — A prostitute at a truck stop.

Fate itself forces you to stop in Texas when a small red icon on the dashboard of your truck lights up, informing you of a plummeting tire pressure. You swear softly to yourself, turning the steering wheel and driving towards the first parking lot you see. Fortunately, even if you have a punctured tire, it will not prevent you from reaching your destination point, still, it will be useful to check all the others before you set off.

Before you jump out of the cab, you look behind the seat and fish out a red case where you kept necessary tools. You find the gauge quickly and jump out of the truck.

It's quiet in the half-empty parking lot, and from where you are standing you can see a heavyset man in his sixties dozing with his head thrown back in one of the trucks. A few more parked trucks look empty at first, but you know the drivers can well be napping in their cabins or having breakfast in the small shabby-looking diner. At the thought of breakfast, your stomach rumbles and you automatically squeeze the fabric of your T-shirt there, as if trying to stifle the shameful sound. That morning you drove off so briskly at first light that you completely forgot that the last time you ate was about twelve hours ago.

You quickly decide to stop by the dining room as soon as you've dealt with the tires. The road was empty in the early morning and you were already a couple of hours ahead of schedule.

The anticipation of breakfast—your mouth watered at the thought of fresh waffles and hot coffee—made you move faster. One by one, you approached each of the 18 tires until you found the one that failed you. As you thought, only one of the tires was showing pressure below normal, so you decide that you will be able to get to Iowa in the next couple of days no problem, unload and see a mechanic before going back to New Mexico.

  Still, you shake your head in frustration. It was damn irresponsible not to check the truck before leaving. You had your head in the clouds all early morning, the effects of a more than pleasant night in the company of Tommy were spreading under your skin like warm bliss. Your lips stretch into a silly smile when you remember how soft his curls felt under your fingers, and his lips on your-- You pinch the thin skin on your wrist, forcing yourself back to reality. Damn, just thinking about him made your panties wet and your eyes blur. He knew exactly what he was doing. Best 50$ spent in your life, you giggle to yourself.

You quickly realize that when you turned into the parking lot, you didn't even notice where you were. You remember that you saw a sign for Brookshire, and looking around the parking lot, you finally notice a huge, worn sign that says “Flying J”. Amazing how you haven’t noticed the huge red roof and the airplane logo earlier.

“Flying J, Brookshire. Texas.” When you say the words out loud, it suddenly dawns on you why they seem so familiar. The man, Joel. Tommy wanted you to say hi to him, but he didn't even tell you how to find him, just gave you the name of the place. You couldn't help but laugh with irony, you were taken to a place where only your curious pussy was planning to go.

With a grin on your face, you pull open the heavy door of the diner, the ringing of the bell informs everyone of your presence. After a quick inspection, you realize that “everyone” is an elderly waitress who is arguing with a guy in a dirty chef's hat, and a man who is sipping a cup of black coffee, if the half-empty coffee pot on the table is a sign.

 Without giving it much thought, you fall into the next table and wait for the waitress to bring you a slightly sticky laminated menu. While she dusts off her apron and quickly checks with a chrome spoon whether she has stained her teeth with her bright coral lipstick, you begin to study the man.

It strucks you almost immediately, that feeling. His skin is an almost familiar shade of golden, the curve of his strong nose and the curls that remind you so much of the ones you squeezed and pulled hours ago. 

Was he really? 

For a moment you stop yourself, taking the situation for just wishful thinking, even though you haven’t really been wishing for anything. And then, as if sensing your stare, he glances back at you. When he gives you a smile, you're ready to bet your entire salary that it is the man Tommy’s sent sleepy greetings to. He was right, they really do look alike, but somehow not so much in appearance—although the brown of their eyes is so memorable you think you could draw it from memory if you knew how—but more something inexplicable united them. The same vibration came from both men, a wave that penetrated you faster and deeper than you could understand and control.

“Y’know he can charge you for starin’, that one.”

The rattling voice of the waitress—Denise, as her crookedly pinned name tag said—pulled you out of daydreaming. The heat of shame rushed to your neck and you hurried to pretend a fool.

“Sorry?”

“‘m askin’ if you made your choice. Food?”

“Right!” Your eyes scan the menu quickly, but the words blur in one unintelligible line. “Sorry, yeah. Can I have some waffles and coffee?”

“No waffles, sorry, sweety. Not sure that punk can make anything besides biscuit an’ gravy.”

“Oh,” a slight disappointment settles at the bottom of your stomach, but it isn’t enough to satiate your hunger, so you just nod.“It’s okay, biscuit and gravy sounds great.”

Denise gives you a sympathetic smile and scribbles something in her crumpled notebook for show. “You need cream with your coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in a moment.” She only takes a couple of steps away from your table before she starts shouting your order out. Apparently, the cook's name was Jack.

Curiosity, or maybe not enough sleep, pulls you out from your own table and forces you to fall at the next one, settling down next to a familiar stranger. He doesn’t bat an eye, but smiles into the cup, giving you the opportunity to speak first.

“You’re Joel, aren’t you?” 

You’ve been expecting a surprised look, or at least some reaction to the fact that you know his name, but apparently he is quite popular in these parts and therefore he just smiles, puts the cup on the table and throws his arm over the back of the chair, half-turning to you.

“Sure am, ma’am. What can I do you for?”

His voice is thick as fog on the road after a cold and humid night. It seeps under your skin with goosebumps, raising your hair on the back of your neck. A slight southern accent and morning hoarseness makes you squirm in place, and the seam of your jeans, pressing right into your pussy, reminds you of the arousal that has not left you since you woke up.

“You can do me.” You don't know who said it, but it was definitely your voice. Your bluntness even made Joel choke a little. Perhaps he is a little more modest than his friend after all. “Tommy said hi.”

You can see the cogs in his head turning until everything falls into place. His face changes before your eyes: a slightly sleepy, morning smile turns into a predatory grin, and eyebrows that have been raised in surprise droop, casting a shadow over almost intimately familiar brown eyes.

“Mighty nice of him,” He nods, and pushes the empty cup away from the edge of the table—the sound cuts into your ears—and you're already too caught up in the man to twitch. “And how's my baby brother doin’?” 

Brother, of course. As if reading your mind, his broad palm finds your thigh under the table and boldly squeezes your soft flesh. Feeling under some spell you've cast on yourself, your legs spread slightly, telling Joel everything he needs to know. “He still treats little ladies nice?”

“He sure does.” Your voice is trembling, but it's not from fear or embarrassment. For the first time, you hear it tremble with excited impatience.

“Good,” he nods more to himself than to you. His hand doesn't leave your leg, his thumb draws small circles through the thin material of your jeans. “Otherwise I'd have to go over there and kick his lazy ass.”

You’re not sure how, and more importantly why, but you already know where you want this meeting to go. And Joel's narrowed eyes and lips, spread in a cheeky grin, tell you that he doesn’t mind. “Do you treat little ladies nice?”

He moves closer to you, fanning your ear and neck with his hot breath, which smells a little like the bitterness of black coffee. “Only if they ask for it.”

When Deborah puts your plate in front of you, she has a knowing grin on her lips.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to get from your table to now an even more empty parking lot. Your truck stands out like a sore thumb, giving Joel an understanding where to go. 

His hands don't let go of your waist, and you constantly trip on your way, distracted by the wet kisses he insistently leaves on your neck throughout the walk. 

When you finally climb into the cabin, you shrink a little, as if looking around through new eyes at a miniature room that accommodates only a mini mini-refrigerator; a single bed, which sometimes felt cramped for you alone; and a portable TV that you inherited from your uncle.

“Sorry, it’s pretty tight in here,” you purse your lips, but Joel stops you almost instantly, running his thumb over your lower lip and forcing you to release it from the captivity of your teeth. He wraps his hands around your neck, their imprint is hot, like an engine after a day of driving non-stop. 

When he leans towards you, for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you.

 “I like when it’s tight.”

Instead of pressing his mouth against your lips, his teeth bite your jaw, your earlobe, and descend with biting kisses to your neck. He cures each bite with a wet swipe of his tongue, and you feel like your nipples can cut through the soft cotton of your old T-shirt.

“Wait, the...fuck, the money.” You're almost suffocating, your brain is shutting down under the attack of skillful lips.

“50$ oral, 100$ sex,” he whispers as if it's something mundane, but as sexy as complimenting your soft breasts or wet pussy. “I’ve got condoms.” He finds your hand, which is clinging to his denim vest, and puts your palm on his jeans, where his cock is practically bursting through the hard denim. You can almost feel the way he thrums under your touch, all swollen and ready for you. “You want him?”

“Fuck, yes. Yes, god, yes, I want him.” You squeeze his cock slightly through the material, pulling a soft moan out of Joel.

“Good,” he nods and presses his forehead to yours, your eye-contact is so charged that the air between you is about to sparkle. “He wants you, too.”

As if following an unspoken order, you begin to pull off your clothes. You're doing it faster, considering you are only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Your busted sneakers are thrown under the bed along with your socks, and you fall on the bed in your panties, enjoying an impromptu performance from Joel.

He pulls off his vest and T-shirt that had its sleeves cut off, exposing his strong, but at the same time soft body to your eyes. The golden skin of his chest, a couple of shades lighter than his arms, was dotted with sparse hairs that grew thicker, descending to his navel and hiding behind the waistband of his jeans. His stomach bulges slightly above the belt and you want to sink your teeth into the yielding flesh, but instead you just reach out and run your hand over the skin, which immediately explodes with goosebumps under your touch.

Joel keeps his hungry eyes on you as his big fingers reach for his fly, finally getting rid of the rag shackles. Underneath, he's wearing white briefs that feel uncharacteristic and do nothing to hide the hungry monster that is leaking in excitement to feel you.

Having lost all three drops of shyness that you had, you reach for the waistband and gasp when he gently slaps your palm and clicks with fake disapproval. “Impatient.”

You almost burst out laughing, they really are brothers, no matter how fucked up it is in your situation. “I’ve been told.”

Instead of letting you finish undressing him, he starts to get down on his knees, and you notice how his eyebrows tighten when he hits the hard floor of your temporary home. You immediately understand what he wants to do when he puts his palms on your knees and spreads them apart, so you grab one of his hands and try to pull him towards you, causing him confusion.

 “Wait, no,” you tremble like a leaf, your nipples are hard buds that beg to be touched and played with, “I need something else, somethin-”

He shushes you softly, leaving a small kiss on your knee. “It’s okay, I know exactly what you need, little lady.” The nickname is gentle and sweet on his tongue that promises you nothing but wicked things. “But can I at least feel her first?”

His hand creeps up to your pussy, hidden behind the cotton of your plain panties. Along the way, he tickles the inside of your thigh with the tip of his index finger. There is a quiet thought in the back of your brain how Tommy’s fingers felt much softer, yet both of them elicit the same whimper from you. “I wanna know what it’s like to have your pretty pussy wrapped around my fingers before I split you with my cock. Trust me, it won’t be the same after.” 

“You’re cocky.” And after squeezing what he had in those jeans you know he had every reason to be, however you just can’t let that slide without saying something, without tickling him in a way. Everything about him is unexpected, and so is his reaction to your words. Joel lets out a soft laugh, and traces your slit with the same fingertip he teased your thigh with.

“Soon you’ll be, too. Can’t stay humble when you’re full’a cock like mine.” His eyes go pitch black at the promise, lips wet where he licked them in anticipation. “Know you’ll take it like a good girl.”

Your legs spread wider, and instead of baring your cunt, he tugs on the waistband of your panties, swiping his thumb over the place where a wet stain already blooms. 

He pulls on your panties so that they stick to your pussy like a second skin. The friction makes you moan and you almost bump your head into the wall when he caresses your clit with his finger, moving the pad up and down over the panties, teasing you relentlessly.

“So pretty, bet she’s tasty too.”

“I- -”

“Don’t worry, little lady, I remember how needy and impatient you are. Wanted me to fuck you before you even had your breakfast. That’s so hot.”

Then he hooks his fingers over the underwear, tugging it down. Your wet skin becomes cold when the air hits and for a split second you wish he would put his mouth on you, if only just to warm you up.

Instead, he glides his finger along your slit again and again, lathering it in the slick that covers your skin. Gently, he probes at your hole that welcomes him easily, the soft moan of your partial relief prompts Joel to move his digit in and out a few times before pushing a second one next to it.

“Mmm, she feels even more perfect than I imagined.”

“You imagined how my pussy feels?” You whisper, breathless, your body pushing itself on his fingers on its own accord.

“The moment you walked your pretty braless tits into that diner.” He hums, enjoying the squeeze of your walls and starting to feel impatient himself. Before he slides his fingers out, he places a kiss on your mound, just above your begging clit, tickling your skin there with his mustache.

You try to catch your breath, your hand involuntarily reaches out to where Joel has just been now to soften the feeling of his absence. He pulls off his boxers without a drop of grace, and bends down to a pool of his jeans on the floor, revealing to your gaze a juicy pair of his buttocks. Watching the muscles tense under his skin, your fingers enter your sticky wet hole, and you roll your eyes, fucking yourself.

“Uh-uh,” Joel shakes his head in mock displeasure. His massive cock is squeezed into a condom, and it's a little disappointing, but necessary. However, the white rubber can't hide the large, cum-filled balls covered with fluffy dark hair, and you almost drop your jaw when he starts to come closer to you, his cock swaying heavily.

“Nothing is stuffing that pretty pussy except for me while we’re together, little lady.” 

“Don’t leave me empty for so long, then,” you bit back flirtatiously, and drag your soaked fingers up your navel, leaving a wet path on your skin.

He’s on you in mere seconds, your bed barely holding the weight of you both and it’s just limbs, touches and wet kisses before he pushes inside you in one smooth movement, stilling for a second. 

You both forget how to breathe, as you grip his cock tightly and bite into the crook of his neck. It’s too much, it’s not enough.

He finds your eyes, swiping a strand of hair off your forehead, and you can almost hear him grit his teeth as he tries to stay still.

“Okay?”

“Please, move.” You beg, close to crying from your need.

His hips move gently at first, unexpectedly so. He cages you with his body, taking all of the space you’ve had and you don’t mind it. On the contrary, you want to carve more hollows inside you so he can get more of him in.

The wet squelches of your pussy taking him in are vulgar in the tiny cabin. You both let them fill the space, your eyes never leaving each other making the moment more intimate than it should be. Momentarily coming to his senses, Joel begins to build up the rhythm, the thrusts of his hips become sharper and more confident. When your pussy pulses around him, he bares his teeth and almost growls.

“Fuck, what a great fucking pussy, so wet and hot around me, drives me mad even through the rubber.” Joel drops his head, covering your outstretched neck with kisses and moving lower. His teeth bite your collarbone and you cry out softly, the sharp pain recedes as soon as he starts caressing the bite with his tongue. Soon, his lips are enveloping your nipples, first one, then the other. He nips at the delicate buds with his teeth, lightly biting the hard flesh. You writhe under him like a snake, but he doesn’t let you escape from his captivity.

His nicely trimmed pubic hair teases your clit and his cock feels even bigger when your pussy starts to shudder in orgasm. It lasts so long that it feels like you're cumming several times in a row and Joel continues coaxing pleasure out of you by sucking and nibbling on your skin, while his cock doesn't stop the rhythmic movements in and out of your puffy, sleek cunt.

“I, fuck, that’s too much.”

He doesn't stop moving, but grabs your chin, forcing you to look into the black depths of his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

Stop? Slip out of the tight embrace of your pussy leaving it empty and gaping without him? Nothing sounded worse.

“No, please,” at that moment you think you can give all the money you have just to keep him inside you forever. Stretching you, pushing you over the limit again and again until you cry, powerless.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your lips, like it is the only right answer. 

He changes his position without slipping out of you, and rests on his knees, lifting your hips higher to make it easier for him to move. When he returns to pounding your pussy, you're half out of it, your brain is completely useless and only your body responds to Joel with moans and twitches.

He freezes as suddenly as he started moving. With your tender inner walls, you can feel his cock twitching inside you, pouring into the condom. You watch the veins in Joel's neck and forehead bulge with tension, his teeth clenched tightly and his eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He whispers, his hips continuing to jerk erratically before he collapses on top of you, leaving a barely there kiss on your sweaty neck.

 “I should work mornings more often.”

You’ve covered your nakedness with a thin sheet and now watch as Joel pulls up his jeans and stuffs his underwear into his back pocket. Your throat is dry and, as if he's read your mind, he hands you a half-empty bottle of water from the top of your refrigerator. You feel a strange pang of sadness as the thought of never seeing Joel or his sunny brother, Tommy, again hits you.

“Remember when you said about going to Tommy?”

Joel jerks his head up, looking up from turning out his T-shirt. “Y’want me to kick his ass? He grins and continues to pull on his clothes as if nothing had happened. There's a crisp hundred sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“No.” You smile back and hesitate before continuing. “But maybe we can go down there sometime for a different kind of activity.” Devils glint in his eyes when he looks at you again, and for some reason it makes you feel shy, perverted all of a sudden for your rush of desire to have more when you’ve just had an overflowing cup of orgasms. “If that’s... If you’re okay with that.”

Joel doesn’t look phased by any part of your suggestion, so he leans to you and pinches your cheek gently. “Ain’t had a better preposition my whole life.” He places a kiss where the sting of his pinch still burns and grabs his vest from the floor. “You come over on your way back, I'll be waitin’ right here and we'll see what we can do.” He winks at you and leaves the cabin without further ado.

When you get behind the wheel, you have no doubt that you will see them again.

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