#joel miller the last of us

[millersdoll]

look at my papi <3

[lowrisemiller]

me and my old man bf <333

[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.

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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.

[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.

[foxtrology]

saturated (2)

dr!joel x resident!reader

inspired by the pitt on hbo | series | ao3 link

warnings: this chapter contains graphic depictions of medical trauma, emergency procedures, mass casualty events, and mentions of suicide. it also includes themes of burnout, grief, and ptsd in a high-stakes hospital environment.

reader discretion is advised. please take care while reading.

word count: 14.k

─────

When Joel got home—close to two in the goddamn morning—the whole house was dark.

The silence was thick. The kind that clung to your ribs.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. The house smelled like soap and something vaguely floral—your shampoo, probably. The faint hum of the AC pressed against the windows. The kind of quiet you only got in those brief hours when Austin’s chaos had finally exhausted itself.

He didn’t call your name. Didn’t have to. He knew exactly where you’d be.

Joel stripped in the hallway—peeling off his shirt, the weight of the day sticking to his back like a second skin. His pants followed. Then the socks. By the time he stepped into the bedroom, he was just muscle and scars and the heaviness of too many years in too many trauma bays.

You were already there.

Curled on your side. One of his old shirts stretched over your frame. Face half-buried in his pillow, chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of real sleep. Not a nap. Not collapse. Sleep.

Joel stopped in the doorway. Just stood there. And looked.

The sight of you hit him like a truck. Like adrenaline withdrawal. Like breathing in after hours of smoke.

His jaw twitched.

He didn’t say anything—just moved forward, slow and heavy, and collapsed onto the mattress. His arm slung across your waist automatically, hand spreading over your stomach. He pressed his face into the back of your neck, breathing you in like oxygen.

His other hand found the bandage on your collar. Still there.

His fingers flexed. Jaw locked. But he didn’t wake you. Not yet.

Instead, he held you. Tighter than he probably should’ve. Like if he let go, you’d evaporate. Like the ER might find a way to pull you back inside.

5 AM. That's when your alarm went off like a goddamn war crime.

Some soft piano chime you thought was “gentler” when you set it last week. Now it just sounded smug.

You blinked, groggy, warm, your face mashed into Joel’s shoulder. It took a full breath to realize where you were, what day it was, why you were so sore.

You groaned. Joel didn’t move.

“Alarm,” you croaked.

“Mmph.”

“Joel.”

His grip tightened around your waist. “No.”

“We have day shift.”

“I’ll kill it.”

“You can’t murder the clock.”

“Bet I fuckin’ could.”

You shifted, rolling onto your back. Joel growled low in his throat, dragging you with him, one knee wedging between your thighs, face nuzzled against your throat like you were a pillow made of Valium.

“I have to get up.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Fucking hell.”

He exhaled against your skin, then rolled back, dragging himself upright like a bear waking from hibernation. His hair was a mess. His eyes were still half-closed. But he stood.

Wordlessly, he offered his hand. You took it.

The walk to the bathroom was slow, your bodies brushing with every step. Joel flipped the light on with a grunt, and both of you flinched.

“God, we look dead,” you muttered, staring at the mirror.

“You look good dead,” Joel grunted, already twisting the shower knob. “Like a real pretty corpse.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.”

Joel climbed in first, pulling you in after him. The shower was hot. Scalding, almost.

You both stood under the stream for a long moment—silent, eyes closed, just breathing. Letting the water peel the last twenty-four hours off your skin.

Joel’s hands found your hips. Not to pull you close. Not to start anything. Just… to be there. To hold on.

His voice, low and gravel-warm, “That scratch still hurt?”

You touched the bandage near your collarbone. “A little.”

He turned you slowly, gently. Tilted your chin. His fingers traced the edge of the gauze, then peeled it away with surprising tenderness.

The scratch wasn’t deep, but it was angry. Red. A little raw.

Joel hissed through his teeth. “That son of a bitch.”

“Joel.”

He ignored you. Instead, he reached around, grabbed a washcloth, and began cleaning it. Soft. Meticulous. Like you were something fragile.

You stood there, heart knocking against your ribs, while Joel Miller—a man who’d cracked skulls open and stitched arteries in the middle of chaos—washed your fucking neck.

“I’ll put fresh gauze on it after,” he muttered.

“Okay.”

He rinsed the cloth. Pressed it to your shoulder again.

“Doesn’t look infected. But you need to stop fucking touching it.”

“I didn’t touch it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, once. Maybe twice.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Stop. Or I’ll tape your whole damn neck shut.”

“Hot.”

“Not a joke.”

You smiled. He kissed you once, slow and tired and deep, water trickling between your bodies. Then he turned off the shower and handed you a towel.

You did your skincare in the mirror while Joel dried off behind you. He didn’t rush. He never did in the mornings. Not with you.

Even when he was grumpy. Even when his shoulder ached or the weather made his knee act up. He always moved slow. Always stayed close.

You patted moisturizer into your face. Joel watched in the mirror.

“You really do all that shit every morning?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What does that one do?” He pointed at your serum bottle.

“Makes me glow.”

“You already glow.”

You blinked. Joel pretended he didn’t say it. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and eggs by the time you padded in barefoot, dressed in fresh scrubs, hair still damp.

Joel was at the stove. Mug in one hand. Spatula in the other. His back was bare—broad and solid and scar-laced, a roadmap of every trauma he’d ever lived through.

He flipped the eggs like a man who didn’t give a single fuck what Gordon Ramsay thought.

“Yours are over easy,” he muttered. “Mine broke. Don’t say shit about it.”

You slid into the chair at the counter and wrapped your hands around the coffee he’d already poured for you.

“You didn’t have to cook.”

“You didn’t have to work eighteen hours yesterday.”

He handed you a plate. Sat across from you. Forked into his eggs with quiet aggression.

The silence between you was comfortable. Not empty. Never empty. Just resting.

After a few minutes, Joel reached over, tugged your scrub collar down, and gently pressed a fresh bandage onto your scratch. His fingers were warm. Careful.

He didn’t say anything while he did it. Didn’t need to. You didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

By 6:30 a.m, you stood in front of the front door, bags slung over your shoulders, Joel double-checking for his badge like it might have betrayed him in the night.

“You ready?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at you for a second. Really looked.

Then he opened the door.

“Come on,” he grunted. “Let’s go do some damage.”

And you followed him out into the already-waking heat of Austin, the sky pink and soft with the kind of hope that always, always dies by noon.

Another day. Another battlefield. But you weren’t going in alone.

Joel held the car keys like he held trauma shears—tight, deliberate, and like if anyone else touched them, they’d lose a finger.

His truck—gray, dented, stubborn—sat in the driveway like it had been through as much as he had.

You’d only driven in together a handful of times, mostly on mornings after holidays or hellish shifts, or when he’d muttered, “Don’t drive. Just come with me,” while already pulling on his boots.

Today was another one of those days. After everything that happened on the Fourth—an explosion, a thoracotomy, a sparkler in someone’s orbital socket—it made sense. 

“You good?” he asked as you locked the front door behind you.

“I’m not bleeding,” you said. “That’s progress.”

Joel grunted. “Barely.”

He opened the passenger door for you—something he never acknowledged but always did—and waited until you were settled before circling around to the driver’s side. The truck rumbled to life with a grumble and a low groan, like even the engine had seen some shit.

The drive to Austin General was quiet. Not the tense kind. Not the I’m-thinking-of-ten-thousand-things kind either. Just comfortable. The kind of silence that only happens when two people have nothing to prove to each other.

Joel drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, thumb tapping once every few seconds. You drank coffee from the thermos he’d packed. It tasted like Joel—too strong, no sugar, with that bitter edge that clung to your teeth. You didn’t mind.

At a red light, he glanced over.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

You met his gaze. “Are you?”

He exhaled through his nose. Looked back at the road. “Guess we’ll find out.”

By 6:47, you both pulled into the staff garage behind the ambulance bay entrance.

The hospital loomed above like a tired giant. Some of the windows still flickered from the backup generator cycle. Yesterday’s trauma team hadn’t even had time to hose down the exterior concrete where one of the blood trails had baked into the pavement under the sun.

You climbed out of the truck and walked beside Joel in silence.

At the security desk, Bill looked up from his paper cup of coffee and raised one brow. His face remained unreadable, but the faintest twitch of his beard might’ve been a smirk.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Bill,” Joel grunted.

Bill looked at you. “Y’know, we should just assign you a cot somewhere in trauma. You basically live here.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “She doesn’t sleep in trauma.”

Bill lifted both hands, innocent. “Didn’t say she did.”

You bit back a laugh. Joel walked a little faster after that.

Inside, the ER was already humming. Not screaming—yet—but definitely buzzing with the kind of low-level chaos that meant the night shift hadn’t completely imploded.

Maria stood at the nurse’s station, arms crossed, tablet in hand, her expression locked somewhere between impressed and murderous. She saw you both and didn’t even blink.

“You’re late,” she said to Joel.

“It’s 6:54,” you said.

“Exactly.”

Maria sipped from her mug. “We’ve had two walk-ins for lacerations, one minor burn from someone reheating their goddamn barbecue ribs, and a psych eval sitting in Bay 3 who thinks he’s Abraham Lincoln.”

“I’ll take Lincoln,” you muttered.

“Be my guest.”

Jesse slid past the station with a chart in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. “Doc,” he said, nodding at you, “what are the odds I can bribe you into seeing my walk-in?”

“Negative a thousand.”

“Worth a shot.”

Ellie arrived next, a little too awake, a little too caffeinated, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. She spotted you and nearly tripped over herself.

“You’re here,” she said. “Didn’t you stay late last night? I thought Joel was gonna drag you out of here by the hair.”

Joel, behind you, muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

You smiled sweetly. “No hair-pulling necessary. I left voluntarily.”

“She was ordered,” Jesse added, grinning.

Ellie gasped. “You listen to him?”

“He's my boss.”

Joel coughed.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, “what did I miss?”

Riley poked her head out from the medication room. “We’re still trying to find where someone put all the tetanus shots. And Henry lost a patient.”

“What?” you and Joel said in unison.

“She walked out,” Riley clarified. “He said she was in Bed Nine, but turns out she got tired of waiting and stole someone’s vape on her way out.”

Joel exhaled sharply. “I swear to God.”

“Henry’s been in the bathroom since,” Riley added helpfully.

Joel growled something that sounded like "fucking hell" and walked toward the staff lounge like he needed to punch a wall.

Abby showed up right then, bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from the shower. She caught sight of Joel’s retreating form, then turned to you.

“Still alive?”

“Barely,” you said.

“Cool.” She paused. “Thanks again for yesterday.”

You nodded. “You okay?”

Abby looked down the hall, where Mel was just walking in, laughing at something Dina said.

“I’m working on it.”

You didn’t press. She didn’t offer more. But she stood there with you a moment longer before heading to the lockers.

The first trauma rolled in at 7:11 a.m.

A teenage girl, collapsed at a summer soccer camp from heat stroke. Vitals tanking. GCS of 9. Her skin was dry and hot, lips cracked, and by the time she hit Trauma Two, her body temp had climbed above 104.

You worked fast—Joel barking out orders from the head of the bed, Abby on fluids, Ellie on vitals, Jesse running labs, and you directing the cooling blankets like it was your second job.

Joel watched you the whole time, his jaw tight, but he didn’t correct you.

Didn’t override you. Just moved in sync. By 8:02 a.m., the girl was stable. Still groggy, but breathing on her own.

Joel peeled his gloves off and muttered, “She’ll be fine. Keep an eye on her sodium.”

“Already ordered a BMP,” you said.

He nodded. One of those short, gruff nods that meant good.

The morning passed in pulses. Nothing exploded. Nothing caught fire. It was all… controlled chaos. Predictable. Achievable.

But Joel never let you out of his sight for long. Every time he walked into a trauma bay and didn’t see you, his head would snap around like a predator searching for prey.

When you passed each other in the hallway, his fingers brushed your lower back—just a second, just a breath, always too brief to be obvious.

No one said anything. But they all saw. And no one dared fucking comment.

9:35 a.m. brought the day’s weirdest consult: a man who had somehow—somehow—fallen onto a pool noodle in a way that required a surgical extraction.

“Really?” Tess said, exasperated. “It’s always the pool toys.”

You snorted. “He said he thought it would float better with air pressure.”

Tess stared at you. “Did it?”

“No.”

Joel didn’t speak during the consult, just glared at the chart like it had personally insulted him.

“Can’t people just swim?” he muttered on his way out.

By 10:17 a.m., you had already diagnosed a kidney stone, popped a shoulder back in, and sedated a guy who thought his dog was a government spy.

And then Joel pulled you aside in the trauma hallway.

“You eaten?”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s been four hours. You eaten?”

“No.”

He handed you a granola bar. “Sit down. Now.”

You didn’t argue. And he didn’t leave.

He sat next to you on the bench outside the medication room, arms crossed, eyes scanning the floor like it had wronged him. You ate in silence.

And then, after a beat, “You still hurtin’?”

You touched your collar. “No. It’s healing.”

Joel’s hand rose, thumb brushing the edge of the gauze. His touch was careful. Calloused.

“You tell me if it doesn’t.”

You nodded. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t stop watching you.

And it hit you all over again...

You were in the middle of a storm, inside a building held together by caffeine, trauma tape, and anger issues—

And still, every time Joel Miller looked at you, it felt like home.

Even here.

Even now—on the worn-out bench outside the medication room, surrounded by the hum of flickering fluorescents and the antiseptic stink of blood crusted into the grout.

Even after eighteen straight hours yesterday, after breaking someone’s chest open with your own hands, after watching a child code and a Roman candle take off someone’s face, Joel still looked at you like you were something safe.

Of course, he wouldn’t say it.

He’d just toss you a granola bar and glare at the floor until you finished eating.

Which, for Joel, was basically a love poem.

You took the last bite, licked peanut butter off your thumb, and leaned back against the wall. He didn’t move. Just watched you quietly, like he was still trying to make sure all your parts were accounted for. You couldn’t help but glance down at the gauze still covering the scratch at the base of your neck.

“Still healing,” you said softly.

“Good,” Joel muttered. “Otherwise I’d have to fire every nurse in this place and start over.”

You rolled your eyes. “Including Marlene?”

“She gets a warning.”

You almost laughed—almost—but before the silence could turn warm, the trauma radio cracked overhead.

“Incoming minor burn trauma. Twelve-year-old male. Backyard explosion. ETA two minutes.”

Joel stiffened.

“Another fucking firework?”

You stood up. “The holiday was yesterday.”

“Yeah. And the idiots were born today.”

The boy came in with his dad, a frazzled man in mismatched socks who kept saying, “I told him not to touch it. I swear to God, I told him.”

You and Joel met the gurney just as it was wheeled into Exam 4, Ellie jogging at your heels with a tray of supplies and Henry clutching an ice pack and his iPad.

The kid was alert. Crying, but not screaming. His arms were mottled red, patches of blistering skin already forming down both forearms. His hair was singed at the front, and the smell—burnt hair and plastic—hit you like a slap.

“Name?” you asked gently.

“Derek,” the kid whimpered.

“How old are you, Derek?”

“T-Twelve.”

You nodded. “Okay. You’re doing really good. We’re going to clean this up and keep you from hurting more. Do you know what kind of firework it was?”

Joel glanced at the dad.

“Big one,” the man muttered. “From yesterday, I think. One of those leftover mortars.”

“You didn’t throw it out?” Joel snapped.

The man flinched. “I thought I did—he found it in the back corner of the yard. I didn’t think—”

“Clearly.”

“Joel,” you said quietly.

He bit back the rest of it and stepped aside, hands flexing at his hips. His jaw ticked.

You went to work. Saline flushes. Cool compresses. Henry handed you a burn dressing, and Ellie worked fast with the IV.

Joel hovered behind you—watching, but not stepping in. He only did that when he trusted you completely.

You caught his eye once, just for a second. He didn’t say a word. But that look? That was him saying: I’ve got your back. I always do.

Derek whimpered. You knelt beside him, brushed the hair back from his sticky forehead.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay, alright? You scared the hell out of us, but you’re gonna be just fine.”

The kid nodded. Sniffled. “Okay.”

Joel’s voice, low and steady, “We’ll monitor for inhalation injury, but he’s stable. Admit for observation. Abby’ll help you with the burn sheet.”

You nodded, and Joel finally stepped back.

When the door swung shut behind him, Ellie whispered, “He’s so intense. I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled faintly. “He means well.”

“Yeah. But he says it with, like, a knife.”

You didn’t get a break before the next call hit.

Marlene appeared, holding a file and a cup of hospital coffee so black it looked cursed.

“We’ve got a lady in Exam 2,” she said. “Still drunk from last night. Fell in the shower. Split her head wide open. She’s conscious, but loopy. Needs imaging for a concussion and a shit-ton of sutures.”

“Any chance she’s friendly?”

“She asked if I was her mailman.”

You sighed. “I’ll take it.”

“Atta girl.”

In Exam 2, the woman was sitting up on the gurney, a towel clutched to the side of her face, blood soaking through the edge. Her mascara was halfway down her cheek, and her smile was bleary.

“Hey,” she slurred. “You’re so pretty. Are you a nurse? Or a lifeguard? I fell in the tub and thought I was drowning.”

“I’m a doctor,” you said, pulling on gloves. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Dottie. Like the baseball girl.”

“Okay, Dottie. Can I look at your head?”

“Sure, baby. You can do whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

You stepped closer, peeled the towel back gently. The wound was bad. A long, curved laceration just behind her ear, splitting the skin open like a broken eggshell. Definitely needed imaging. Possibly staples. Definitely stitches.

“Jesus Christ,” Abby muttered, stepping in behind you.

“She fell on the soap dish,” you said.

“Oh God

Riley stuck her head in. “CT’s clear. No bleed.”

“Good,” you said. “Abby, grab the suture kit.”

Dottie blinked at you. “Hey, baby? You married?”

You glanced up. Joel was leaning in the doorway. You didn’t even hear him walk in.

“No,” you said, smiling sweetly. “But taken.”

Joel’s brow arched slightly. His gaze swept over Dottie, then the bloody towel, then your hands, and finally back to your face.

“She stable?”

“Yep.”

“Need anything?”

You shook your head.

Joel lingered just a second longer than necessary. Then he left.

Dottie blinked at the door. “He your boss?”

“Something like that.”

“He looks like he could bench press a firetruck.”

“Only on Mondays.”

By 11:42 a.m., the ER was once again, somehow, overflowing. Tess was yelling at imaging. Mel was arguing with a pharmacist. Jesse was holding two urine samples in one hand and his lunch in the other, looking very scared and conflicted.

You slipped into the breakroom for thirty seconds and collapsed into a chair.

Joel followed. Closed the door.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“Liar.”

You looked at him. “You okay?”

He paused. Then said, “No.”

You both laughed. It wasn’t even funny.

Joel leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“I’ve never seen you do a thoracotomy before,” he said. “You handled it better than half the staff.”

“Thanks.”

“I meant that.”

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to let me do it.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you do shit. You earned it.”

Silence. Warm. Tense. Real.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Joel said quietly. “Yesterday. When he scratched you.”

“I know.”

“I thought if I looked away for a second, you’d be the one on the table.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

But his jaw was tight. His hands clenched.

You stood. Crossed the room. And laid your palm over his chest.

His heartbeat was steady. Heavy. A little too fast.

“I’m still here,” you said softly.

His hand covered yours.

“I see you, you know,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“Even when you think I’m not looking. I always see you.”

Your breath caught. But before anything else could happen—

“Trauma alert. Code yellow. Two incoming. One penetrating, one blunt-force. ETA three minutes.”

Joel’s eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Duty calls,” you whispered.

He nodded once. “Stay close.”

You didn’t need to be told. You always did. Because this was Austin General. And there was no such thing as peace.

Only the seconds between impact.

It was 12:00 p.m. when the ER exhaled again. Not the quiet kind. Not the peaceful kind. Just a different kind of pressure—like a room that had been holding its breath for too long and now didn’t know what to do with all the oxygen.

You glanced up at the wall clock in the trauma hallway. Still ticking like a metronome to madness. The second hand clicked forward and you didn’t even register it anymore.

You lived in 15-minute increments now. The rest of the world could burn as long as you made it to your next trauma bay.

Joel was still beside you, silent after the last code yellow. One penetrating trauma, one blunt-force. Both stable now, upstairs for imaging and consults. Joel hadn’t even taken off his gloves when the doors swung open again.

A wheelchair rolled in. Pushed by Bill.

The man in it had to be at least eighty-five. Skin loose, shoes untied, button-up shirt with the collar wrong on both sides. His face was red, sweat pooled in the lines of his cheeks, and he was gripping his chest like it had insulted him in public.

“Said it was just heartburn,” Bill muttered. “I told him he needed to get checked. He argued. Then he nearly passed out in the lobby next to the vending machine.”

“Probably the vending machine’s fault,” the man wheezed. “Those goddamn Funyuns.”

You stepped forward. “Sir, what’s your name?”

“Leonard.”

“Okay, Leonard. Can you describe the pain?”

Leonard waved you off with a wrinkled hand. “Been having it since last night. Ate my niece’s chili. Too many beans. Feels like somethin’ goin’ on in my chest, but it’s just gas. Happens all the time.”

You blinked. Joel didn’t.

“Put him in Trauma 5,” Joel barked. “Now. Get EKG, draw a troponin. Monitor vitals. Oxygen, nasal cannula. I want a chest X-ray on deck. Now.”

“Joel,” you said softly, “he says it’s just—”

“Silent MI,” Joel growled. “Seen it before. Pressure like gas, no radiating pain, no nausea. Happens all the goddamn time in older men. They die in recliners because no one took ‘heartburn’ seriously.”

Leonard blinked up at him. “You always this dramatic, son?”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “You want to live or not?”

“Suppose I do.”

“Then shut up and let us do our jobs.”

Joel turned on his heel and stalked into the trauma bay, already pulling a fresh pair of gloves on. You followed, heart thudding.

Jesse arrived two minutes later, dragging the portable EKG cart, out of breath and covered in something unidentifiable. “Sorry—somebody vomited in the hallway and I slipped in it. I’m okay. My ego may be injured. But okay.”

Ellie peeked around the curtain. “Did someone say heartburn?”

“Silent MI,” you corrected. “Joel wants labs now.”

She saluted and disappeared.

You stood on the left side of Leonard while Joel worked the right, laying leads, pressing his fingers into the man’s wrist to feel the pulse.

His touch looked rough, but you knew Joel. You knew how careful he actually was. How tightly he held control when something inside him screamed.

“BP’s dropping,” Joel said sharply. “Ninety over sixty. Jesse, get a second line. You—” He jerked his chin at Henry, who had wandered too close. “What do you do when your patient’s having an NSTEMI?”

Henry froze. “Uh—start oxygen, get nitro ready, prepare for aspirin?”

Joel’s face was stone. “Did you say ‘prepare for aspirin’?”

“I—I mean—give it?”

Joel stepped closer, towering over him. “You either know it or you don’t. There’s no ‘prepare’ when your patient’s dying, kid.”

You touched Joel’s arm gently. He glanced at you. His jaw unclenched—just barely—and he stepped back.

You looked at Henry. “Aspirin’s in the second drawer. Grab two, chewable. Go.”

Henry bolted. Joel didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to. The EKG machine began its infernal printing, and you read the strip.

“ST depressions,” you muttered. “It’s real.”

Joel nodded once.

Leonard blinked up at you. “Huh. Not just gas, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

You smiled despite yourself. Joel huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.

You stabilized Leonard. Got him a nitro drip, pain eased, vitals up. He was admitted upstairs to cardiology with a sarcastic goodbye and an invitation to his niece’s funeral chili cookout next Sunday.

Joel didn’t look at you for a few minutes after the bed rolled out, just stood in the trauma bay, eyes on the floor, fists still flexing.

He didn’t like being right when being right meant someone could’ve died.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Old men are stubborn.”

“You’re one of them.”

He looked at you. Finally. “And I’m still alive.”

You shrugged. “For now.”

He smirked. Just a little. You let that be enough.

It was barely 12:35 p.m. when the nurse’s station erupted again.

This time, it was Riley who flagged you down. “We’ve got a walk-in. Kid. Came in with her older brother—he looks like he’s barely older than her. Said she’s been scratching her head for weeks. No insurance. No PCP. No meds.”

“Lice?” you asked.

“Yeah. Like, bad. Real bad.”

Joel was standing next to you, reading a chart. You watched his spine stiffen. He didn’t say anything. But his jaw locked.

You followed Riley to Exam 9.

Inside, the girl was maybe eight. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Her hair was matted and greasy, dark streaks where she’d clearly tried to scratch herself bloody. Her little fingernails were dirty.

She sat on the edge of the bed like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Her brother—maybe fifteen—stood in the corner, arms crossed, eyes flicking everywhere but you. His hoodie was ripped. His sneakers had holes.

But he was standing between his sister and the door like he’d fight anyone who looked at her wrong.

You knelt beside the girl. “Hey. I’m one of the doctors. Can I take a look at your head?”

She didn’t speak. Just nodded. Barely.

Joel stood in the doorway. You felt him before you saw him. That dense kind of presence he carried like a loaded weapon.

You parted the girl’s hair. Winced.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Hundreds. Literal hundreds of nits. Clumped at the base of the scalp, crawling along the strands. Her ears were crusted with scabs from scratching. This wasn’t new. This was neglect.

“She’s had it for months,” the brother said. His voice cracked. “I tried. I bought shampoo. She cried. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a—” His voice broke. “I’m not a mom.”

Joel still hadn’t said a word. But his knuckles were white around the file in his hands.

“She’s not in school?” you asked gently.

“Not since May,” the boy said. “I had to keep her home. They called CPS last time. I can’t—she’s all I have.”

Joel turned. Left the room.

You blinked.

Ten minutes later, he came back. Carrying two pharmacy bags.

He handed them to the brother.

“Shampoo,” he said flatly. “Good kind. Gloves. Shower caps. Combs. Clean pillowcases. Antibiotic cream for the scabs.”

The boy stared. “I—I don’t have—”

Joel stepped forward. Didn’t yell. Didn’t scowl.

Just said, “You’re gonna take her home. You’re gonna wash her hair. You’re gonna follow the instructions. She’s gonna stop scratching. She’s gonna sleep on clean sheets. You’re gonna do all that. And you’re not gonna thank me. You’re just gonna do it.”

The boy swallowed. Joel leaned in, voice low.

“And if your parent lets this happen again, I will call every agency in the goddamn state.”

The boy nodded.

Joel turned to you.

“Discharge her,” he said.

Then walked away.

You caught up with him three rooms down, grabbing his arm.

“Hey.”

He didn’t look at you. You touched the inside of his wrist, where the pulse still jumped.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” you whispered.

He grunted. “Wasn’t trying to.”

You smiled. He didn’t. But his shoulders loosened. And that was something.

It was still 12, but edging closer to 1 p.m.

The air inside Austin General’s emergency wing had shifted—not louder, not even busier, just…stranger. Like the rhythm of the day had slowed just enough to notice it was about to snap.

You were reviewing discharge paperwork for the lice girl when Riley stepped into the nurses' station, looking pale.

“We’ve got a walk-in,” she said. “Elderly. No ID. Found wandering outside the H-E-B on 7th.”

You blinked.

“She walk here?”

“Not sure,” Riley said. “Bill brought her in. She didn’t resist, but she’s confused. Doesn’t know where she is. Keeps repeating the same name.”

Joel, across the station, stiffened.

“Put her in Exam 7,” he ordered. “Monitor vitals. No restraints unless she tries to bolt.”

You followed Riley down the hall, into Exam 7, where the woman sat alone on the gurney. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Wiry. Her blouse was stained, shoes on the wrong feet, and her white hair was frizzed into soft static. Her hands twisted in her lap like they were searching for something they’d lost decades ago.

You approached slowly. “Hi. I’m one of the doctors. Can I ask your name?”

She looked at you with watery blue eyes that didn’t quite see you.

Her voice came small, papery, “Angie. Angie. Angie.”

She said it again. Then again. Just one name. Over and over. Not in fear. Not in panic. Just…lost.

“She won’t stop saying it,” Riley whispered. “We tried the emergency contact on her bracelet—no answer. No address in the system.”

Joel arrived two minutes later. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway. Watching. Like he was trying to remember someone. Then he moved forward. His whole frame tense, jaw tight.

“Ma’am,” he said gently. Gentle, for him. “Do you know where you are?”

“Angie.”

He crouched beside her, his voice lowering.

“Can you tell me who Angie is?”

She reached out. Clutched his forearm. Her grip was strong. Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just sat there and let her hold on.

“She was my girl,” the woman whispered. “She was mine. And I lost her.”

Your throat went tight.

Joel nodded. Quiet. “We’ll find her, alright? We’ll look.”

You blinked hard, looked down at your tablet.

“Vitals stable,” you murmured, clearing your throat. “Labs ordered. Jesse’s on the phone with Adult Protective Services. Henry’s calling nearby care facilities.”

Joel stood slowly. His eyes flicked to you.

“She’s not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “Not ‘til someone claims her.”

You nodded. “And if no one does?”

He didn’t answer. But his hand stayed clenched at his side.

You left the room, heart heavy. And then the trauma doors opened again. Because of course they did.

“Room 3,” Mel said, moving fast beside you. “Sixteen. Football player. Came in with chest pain during summer conditioning drills. Dizzy, shortness of breath. Coach made him come in ‘just to be safe.’”

You blinked. “Vitals?”

“BP 110/72, HR 98. No fever. Clear lungs. Slight systolic murmur on auscultation. No known cardiac history.”

You looked at her sideways. “You said sixteen?”

Mel nodded. You pushed open the curtain.

The kid on the bed looked older than sixteen. Broad-shouldered, lean muscle, tan lines from Texas heat. His football jersey was wadded under his arm. Sweat plastered the front of his undershirt to his chest. His eyes were scared, but trying to play it cool.

“Name?” you asked.

“Cory.”

“Okay, Cory. You said this started during practice?”

“Yeah. We were doing sprints, and my chest felt weird. Like tight. I got dizzy. Coach said maybe it was the heat. But I’ve played through worse.”

You glanced at the monitor. “Has this happened before?”

He hesitated. “...Once. A few weeks ago. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want them to pull me from reps.”

“Any family history of heart disease?”

He looked down. “My uncle died of a heart thing in his forties. I think.”

You exchanged a glance with Mel. She was already typing.

“Okay,” you said, keeping your tone light. “We’re gonna run some tests. Just to be safe. You’ll be outta here in no time.”

Cory nodded, trying to smile. You stepped outside with Mel.

“Order an ECG,” you said. “Echo, too. Let’s rule out structural causes. Maybe a stress test if cardiology doesn’t scream at us.”

Joel appeared beside you like a shadow. “You talking about the kid in 3?”

You nodded. “Systolic murmur. Episodic chest pain with exertion. Could be heat stroke. Could be anxiety. Could be nothing.”

“Could be HCM,” Joel said flatly.

“Yeah.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “I’ll get Imaging. We’re not missing this one.”

It didn’t take long. The echo told the truth. Joel called you into the radiology reading room himself.

The image flickered on the screen—thickened ventricular septum, diastolic dysfunction, the unmistakable pattern of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

Your stomach dropped. Joel didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at the monitor, his arms crossed, tension rippling through every inch of his body.

He finally looked at you. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.”

Joel exhaled, low and slow, “Want me to do it?”

You shook your head. “No. I’ve got it.”

He looked at you—really looked—then nodded. “I’ll be right outside.”

You sat beside Cory on the edge of his bed, the curtain pulled closed to block out the chaos of the ER.

He looked at you like you were about to hand him the keys to his future.

“Good news?” he asked.

You didn’t sugarcoat. You never did.

“We found something.”

He blinked. “Like, something bad?”

You swallowed. “It’s a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It means your heart muscle—specifically the wall between the two lower chambers—is abnormally thick. It makes it harder for your heart to pump blood effectively.”

Cory stared at you.

“No. No, I—I feel fine most days. I’ve always passed physicals.”

“It often doesn’t show up until something triggers it. You’re lucky it did. If you’d passed out without anyone around…”

You let it hang there. He didn’t move. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“So... what does this mean?”

You paused. “It means no more football.”

Silence.

Then, “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, no, no. That’s not—” His voice broke. “I’ve been training for this since I was ten. I just got invited to the summer showcase at UT. I’ve got coacheslooking at me. I can’t—I can’t—”

You didn’t stop him. You let him feel it. You stayed right there as he buried his face in his hands.

And when he finally looked up, eyes red, lips trembling, you said, “You’re alive, Cory. You’re going to stay alive. But you have to change course. That’s what matters right now.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t throw anything either. So that was something.

Outside, Joel was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. When he saw your face, he didn’t ask.

Just said, “You did good.”

You shook your head. “I hate this part.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Means you still got a soul.”

You didn’t speak again until you were back at the nurse’s station.

Jesse handed you a chart, Abby appeared with a new tray of IV kits, Ellie was arguing with someone about a urinal, and Henry was missing again.

Just another moment. Another beat. Still 12:57 p.m. Still not screaming. But the wind had shifted. And everyone could feel it.

The shift in the ER—subtle but total. Like someone had cranked the volume of the world to one notch below unbearable. No screaming yet. Just the weight of everything pressing down.

That’s when she came in.

You didn’t catch her name at first. Only her voice—sharp, cracked, desperate—and the unmistakable phrase, already being said before the curtain was even closed,

“I need Dilaudid. Just give me the Dilaudid.”

You looked up from the trauma board.

Across the hall, Jesse stood outside Exam 11, arms crossed, face locked in that uneasy grimace he wore whenever he was trying to hide discomfort behind professionalism.

“She say Dilaudid?” you asked.

Jesse nodded once. “Yelled it. About four times. Then cried.”

Mel passed behind you, muttering under her breath. “This again. Jesus.”

“Vitals?” you asked.

“BP 132/89, HR slightly elevated. Says she’s a chronic pain patient. Fibromyalgia, lower back disc degeneration, migraines. Lists ten meds she’s ‘allergic’ to.”

You winced. That checklist. The impossible one. The one that throws the whole room off-balance.

You stood, snapping on gloves.

“I’ll take it.”

“Of course you will,” Jesse said, smiling faintly. “You’re the only one she hasn’t screamed at yet.”

She was in her late thirties, maybe forty. Hard to tell—her face was drawn, eyes sunken with fatigue. Not from lack of sleep, but from years of wear. Her hair was tied back, but uneven. Her nails were chewed raw. Her hands trembled with the kind of exhaustion that made your throat ache just watching it.

She looked up when you stepped in. Her first words weren’t a greeting.

“Please don’t tell me it’s Tylenol. Please don’t fucking tell me it’s Tylenol again.”

“I’m not telling you anything yet,” you said gently, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m just here to talk.”

Her eyes narrowed, waiting for judgment. You didn’t offer it.

“I’ve been through this a hundred times,” she said. “I get it. You think I’m a junkie. That I’m drug-seeking. That I’m trying to score. But I’m in pain. I’ve been in pain since I was twenty-one. My spine is a fucking mess. My doctor retired last year and I’ve been in withdrawal ever since. No one will touch my chart.”

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s talk about it.”

Joel arrived ten minutes later. You knew he would. He always did when the air got like this—tense, cracked like thunder waiting to fall.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood outside the curtain, arms folded, listening to your voice as you walked the patient through the same set of questions you’d asked every chronic pain case before her...

When did the pain start?

What does it feel like?

What helps?

What’s made it worse?

She cried. Quietly. You stayed still. And Joel finally stepped in.

His eyes flicked from you to the patient and back again.

“What’s your name?” he asked flatly.

“Trina,” she whispered.

“You’ve been here before.”

“I have.”

“You’ve asked for Dilaudid every time.”

“Because it works.”

Joel’s gaze didn’t soften. “You know we’re not a refill station, right?”

“I’m not asking for a month’s supply. I’m asking for one dose. To stop my legs from feeling like they’re being set on fire.”

You saw it. The twitch in Joel’s jaw. That old scar that flared when he gritted his teeth too hard.

“She’s in pain,” you said softly, more for him than for her.

He didn’t look at you. Not yet. But his silence cracked.

“She allergic to morphine?” he asked.

“Yes,” Trina said, too fast.

“Hydrocodone?”

“Also yes.”

Joel exhaled. “What about Toradol?”

“Gives me hives.”

“Tylenol?”

“Do you really think I’d be here if Tylenol worked?”

Joel was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, low, sharp, “Jesse. Get me her chart from the last three visits. I want full tox screens. And a list of filled prescriptions.”

Jesse moved fast.

Trina shook her head. “You think I’m lying.”

“I think we have a system that doesn’t help people like you,” Joel said flatly. “And I think you’ve been burned so many times you stopped trying to prove you’re telling the truth.”

That shut her up.

Joel turned to you. “Walk with me.”

You followed him outside the trauma wing and into the hallway, where the walls weren’t bleeding pain.

He stopped. Looked at you hard.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “But I don’t like watching someone twitch like that either.”

“She’s not faking,” you said.

“I know.”

“She’s terrified of being labeled again.”

“She already is.”

He rubbed his hands down his face.

“This system is broken,” he growled. “We treat pain like it’s a negotiation. Like people should earn relief. Like we can guess who’s in agony by how polite they are.”

You blinked. “So…what do we do?”

Joel met your eyes. “We treat the fucking pain.”

When you walked back into Exam 11, Joel was already writing the order. Single dose of IV Dilaudid. Low dose. Under supervision.

Jesse came back with her history—no flagged behaviors, no record of prescription fraud. Just an endless trail of bounced-around providers, ERs, urgent cares, and desperate attempts to find anyone who would believe her.

You administered the dose yourself. Her eyes filled with tears the second it hit.

“I’m not high,” she said. “I’m just…I don’t hurt. For the first time in a week.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Outside, Joel leaned against the wall, watching the floor. When you came out, he looked up at you. Just once. You nodded.

“She’ll be out in an hour,” you said. “Then Ellie will talk to her about follow-up care.”

Joel nodded. Said nothing. But when you reached for his wrist—quiet, unseen—he let you hold on.

His pulse was steady. But now the screaming had started. And you weren’t letting go.

But the hospital didn’t care about things like stillness, or intimacy, or the fragile moment where you could feel someone’s pulse through your fingertips.

The ER didn’t care that you’d just poured your soul into a woman who hadn’t known if she deserved relief. It was 1:00 p.m. now, and the shift had turned.

Afternoons always brought something. The morning was for predictable chaos—broken bones, missed meds, barbecue injuries, and complications from last night’s poor decisions. But one o’clock? That was when the weird showed up. That was when the city remembered you existed and decided to test your limits.

You were barely logging the Dilaudid patient’s chart when Riley jogged toward you, hands flailing like she was chasing a balloon.

“Influencer in triage,” she hissed.

You stared at her. “What?”

“She’s live-streaming.”

“What?”

“She said it’s very important for her community to see her medical journey in real time. Jesse’s with her. He’s trying not to lose it.”

You followed her back to triage. And there she was.

Hot-pink leggings. Some light thing attached to her phone. False lashes that looked heavy enough to injure someone.

She was sitting on the triage cot like it was her dressing room, iPhone held high in one hand, the other dramatically bandaged with a gauze square the size of a postage stamp.

You heard her before she saw you.

“Hey my babies! So, I was viciously attacked by a bee at Barton Springs—like, full-on survival moment—and now I’m in the ER because I have a severe, deadlyallergy and my throat literally almost closed.”

Jesse was standing beside her, trying to get a blood pressure reading without being captured in the livestream. He looked like he wanted the fluorescent lights to explode and bury him in debris.

You cleared your throat.

The influencer whipped around. “Oh my God—are you my doctor? You look so young. She looks so young, right?” She gestured to the camera. “Everyone say hi!”

You didn’t say hi.

You turned to Jesse. “Vitals?”

“All normal. No swelling. No signs of anaphylaxis. She drove herself here. Took a Benadryl an hour ago.”

“Tongue? Throat?”

He shook his head. “Clear.”

You turned to her.

“You said you have a deadly allergy?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t use your EpiPen?”

She blinked. “I didn’t bring it.”

“You didn’t have someone drive you?”

“I didn’t want to wait.”

“You took Benadryl?”

“Yes.”

“And you can breathe?”

“Obviously.”

You stared at her. She smiled, perfectly white teeth catching the light of her phone. You stepped forward and gently tapped the screen of her phone, turning it off.

She blinked. “Um—what—?”

“You’re in a medical facility,” you said. “Not a film set.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, scandalized. “You didn’t just touch my—”

“HIPAA,” Jesse muttered like it was a prayer. “HIPAA, HIPAA, HIPAA.”

You turned to Jesse. “Get her a discharge summary and a lollipop.”

The woman gasped. “I’m going to post about this—”

“I encourage it,” you said with a smile.

As you walked away, Jesse fell into step beside you.

“She tried to ask me to pose for a ‘we made it’ selfie.”

“Did you?”

“She said her brand is about healing through visibility. I think I disassociated.”

You reached up and patted his shoulder.

“You’re a soldier.”

He nodded solemnly. “Vietnam flashbacks. Except worse.”

At 1:18 p.m., you barely made it through three bites of a protein bar before Ellie appeared.

“There’s a new mom in 6. Fever. Pain. Baby’s here. She looks rough.”

“How rough?”

Ellie hesitated. “Like... I think she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s got that twitchy eye thing going on. And she’s reallytrying to hold it together.”

You finished the bite and followed her back.

Room 6 was darkened, the baby cradled in a bundle in a too-big hospital bassinet next to the bed.

The woman on the bed looked pale, blotchy, fevered. Her sweat-soaked tank top clung to her back, her breasts visibly swollen beneath it. One side red and inflamed. Her eyes flicked to you like she expected to be judged before you even opened your mouth.

You spoke softly, “Hi. I’m one of the doctors. What’s going on today?”

Her voice broke on the second word. “It hurts. My boob—it’s hot, and red, and he won’t—” she looked at the baby—“he won’t latch, and I’ve tried everything, and I haven’t slept in four days, and I think I’m dying.”

You pulled gloves on. “How old is he?”

“Thirteen days.”

You nodded. “This your first?”

“Yes.”

You glanced at Ellie. She stepped back, knowing this was yours.

You moved slowly. Sat beside the bed.

“You’re not dying,” you said gently. “You have mastitis. It’s a breast tissue infection. It happens, especially when a baby has trouble latching or feedings are inconsistent.”

The woman bit her lip.

“But I’ve been pumping. And massaging. I tried warm compresses. I even—God, this is so stupid—I googled something about cabbage leaves. I’ve been putting lettuce in my bra.”

“That’s not stupid,” you said. “That’s desperate. And you’re allowed to be desperate. You’re exhausted. You’re in pain. You’re feeding a human with your body and nobody told you it would feel like being hit by a truck and then asked to do calculus.”

She started to cry. Not loudly. Just the soft, hiccuping sobs of someone who finally got permission to fall apart. You stayed.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you said gently. “We’re going to get you on antibiotics. We’re going to get you a lactation consult. We’re going to bring your fever down and manage your pain. And you’re going to sleep. Even if I have to sedate half the wing to give you peace, you are going to rest.”

Her hand gripped yours. Tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You stayed a little longer. Then got up to start her orders. When you turned, Joel was there. Leaning in the hallway. Watching. He didn’t speak. Just met your eyes. And something in his gaze—soft but sharp—wrapped around your ribs like a wire pulled tight.

You walked out into the hallway, toward him.

“She’s gonna be okay,” you said.

Joel nodded.

“She was scared out of her mind.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how people do it. Alone.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“They shouldn’t have to,” he said.

And he didn’t say more. Because it was the afternoon, high times. And Austin General was still full of screaming. But with him standing there, watching you like that? You weren’t screaming anymore. But the world outside your skin was.

The clock ticked past 1:17 p.m., and Austin General spun on without pause. The afternoon haze crept in through the automatic doors like breath through a cracked rib, uneven, persistent, fragile. The AC buzzed too loud in the nurse’s station. Someone spilled coffee near the crash cart. A fluorescent light in Room 12 flickered so fast it gave Mel a headache.

And the cases? They didn’t slow. They just changed shape.

A post-op patient arrived just after the new hour mark—transferred from another hospital across town.

He came in on a gurney soaked in sweat, with surgical dressing that reeked of necrotic tissue the second it hit air. His wound site—deep in the lower abdomen—was leaking pus that ran dark yellow, laced with streaks of green. Red, angry skin stretched outward from the edges of the incision like it was being peeled from the inside.

He didn’t even try to sit up. Didn’t have the strength.

You read the transfer note. Appendectomy. Four days ago. Complained of fever and worsening pain. Told to "monitor at home."

No antibiotics. No follow-up. Just “Tylenol and fluids,” according to the record.

Joel read it over your shoulder. Said nothing at first.

Then, very quietly, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You glanced at him. “He should’ve been here days ago.”

“He should’ve been in the OR again days ago.”

He turned and walked out. You followed. He didn’t go to Trauma or Radiology or even the consult rooms.

He went straight to the break room. Shut the door. Pulled out his phone. You heard him dial. Then tap the speakerphone.

“Dr. Kevner.”

Joel’s voice dropped into the register he only used when he was holding a scalpel or about to verbally eviscerate someone.

“Kevner. Miller from Austin General.”

“Joel, hey. You got the transfer?”

“Yeah. The one with the abscess the size of a grapefruit.”

“Right. We figured it was best he go to you guys since you’ve got more trauma coverage—”

“You let a post-op with signs of sepsis walk around for four days?”

“We were monitoring remotely. His vitals weren’t concerning—”

Joel’s fist slammed against the break room table. “You think a rotting gut smells like nothing, Kevner? You know what kind of post-op infection this is? The kind that eats people.”

“Joel—”

“You abandoned this kid. He came in tachycardic, hypotensive, oozing pus out of a dressing that looks like it was stuck on with duct tape. You didn’t even give him Augmentin?”

“We didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think at all. You dumped him on us ‘cause you didn’t want him crashing on your floor.”

“That’s not fair—”

Joel’s voice cut sharp and flat. “He could’ve died in a goddamn Uber, Kevner. So here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m writing a formal review. I’m calling the state board. And if this kid doesn’t walk out of here whole, I’m sending his mom your malpractice address directly.”

Silence on the other end. Then the line clicked dead. Joel stared at the phone. Then looked at you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

He just shook his head. “I fucking hate this job sometimes.”

And then you heard it. The doors. Bursting open. You turned, gut coiling instinctively.

Frank was running. Covered in blood. Tommy was behind him, hauling the stretcher with a speed that made the wheels scream across tile.

On the gurney, a teen. Seventeen, maybe. Thin. Torn clothes. Blood on the chest. On the jaw. Across what was left of his right leg.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

“Hit by train,” Frank shouted. “Intentional. Jumped. Emergency stop missed. He was trying to die.”

The kid was missing skin. From his hips down. Left thigh torn open, right side fully degloved—flesh ripped back like a sheet, exposing red muscle and shattered bone. The meat of his body was visible. Raw. He looked like a person half-finished.

No pulse. No movement. Nothing.

“We can't give up on him!” Tommy barked. “He was crying when we got to him. He wanted help. He changed his mind!”

You threw your body into motion.

“Get him in Bay 1!” you screamed. “Now!”

Joel was already sprinting beside you, barking orders.

“Massive transfusion protocol! Jesse—run the O-neg. Mel, grab crash kit. Riley—intubation tray. Henry, get out unless you’re ready to bleed.”

Frank stayed. His knuckles were red from where he’d done compressions all the way here. Tommy stood against the wall, hands shaking. You didn’t flinch.

“You’re not dying here,” you whispered to the kid. “Not on my fucking table.”

It was chaos. The kind of chaos that strips the skin off your soul.

You intubated. Jesse missed the first line. You got it on the second. Ellie handed you a chest tube. Blood pooled beneath your shoes.

Joel’s hands were moving fast, precise. His voice was sharp, relentless. Every word from him cut through the noise.

“Three units, wide open.”

“Another 8.5 ET. He’s swelling.”

“Where’s ortho? We need vascular now.”

But you could see it. People were starting to doubt. You saw it in Abby’s eyes. In the silence from Henry. Even Riley flinched when she saw how much of the kid’s leg was just gone.

You stood over him. Chest compressions in progress. Bleeding not slowing. Vitals flatline.

“He’s D.O.A.,” someone whispered.

“No, he’s not,” you snapped. “We’ve got a window. He was alive ten minutes ago. He was crying. We are not letting him die because we’re tired.”

Joel’s voice barked, “You heard her. Move.”

You cracked ribs with your own hands. Pushed epinephrine. Tilted the table.

Blood pressure came back. Faint. But it came back. You felt it. A flutter. A whisper in the radial.

You stared.

“He’s perfusing,” you gasped.

Joel looked up at you. And in that moment, he didn’t look mean. He looked awed.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

Not until he was intubated. Not until you had tourniquets in place and trauma had arrived with the crash team. Not until his mother arrived—shaking, sobbing—and saw that her son was still breathing.

You walked out of Trauma 1 covered in blood. You peeled off your gloves in one motion. And Joel was waiting. Right outside the door. He said nothing. Just looked at you.

You wiped your arm on your scrub top. “He wanted help.”

Joel nodded.

“You saved him,” he said.

You stared. “We did.”

Joel stepped closer. There was blood on your cheek. He wiped it with his thumb. Then stepped back.

But his hand lingered a second longer than necessary. You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t need to.

It was still just past two. And you weren’t letting anyone die today. Not if you had anything to do with it. But eventually—because it had to—the adrenaline slowed.

Your body remembered that it was attached to muscles and bones and nerve endings that ached. Your stomach, neglected for the last six hours, growled loud enough to startle Jesse as he walked by with a chart.

And right then—like a miracle made of takeout foil and white plastic forks—the break room door opened to reveal something that almost felt like salvation...

Lunch. Real lunch. Catered. Paid for by the hospital’s owner—someone you’d never met, who apparently existed solely in Board meetings and vague references to lawsuits—but they’d bought food.

For you. For the chaos warriors who’d dragged themselves through yesterday’s Fourth of July madness, who’d patched gunshots and peeled melted plastic off children’s hands, who’d kept hearts beating, lungs breathing, and somehow still made it to work again today.

Jesse poked his head out of the break room. “Sandwiches. Tacos. Pasta. There’s even cold lemonade in one of those big-ass jugs.”

Abby trailed behind him, face flushed, ponytail crooked. “There’s salad too, but it’s Austin. Everything’s got quinoa.”

You finally exhaled.

Then you turned to find Joel—but of course, he wasn’t with the rest of the staff. Not in the hallway. Not near the triage desk. Not hovering beside the trauma bays like he usually was, scanning for errors in posture or medication orders.

Joel was gone.

In the break room, the noise was louder than it had been all day—but it was a different kind of loud.

This wasn’t the shriek of monitors or the scuff of gurney wheels or the metallic ring of dropped surgical tools.

This was laughter. Riley perched on the edge of a chair with her feet on a cooler, stuffing a taco into her mouth and trying to explain something about a failed Tinder date with a guy who claimed to be “emotionally polyamorous but spiritually monogamous.”

Mel snorted lemonade through her nose. Henry looked traumatized but impressed.

Ellie was cutting up her food into impossibly small bites and pretending she wasn’t listening to Maria’s story about a bachelorette party injury involving an ill-advised pole and three tequila shots.

Jesse was leaning back, both feet up on the table, eating pasta like he hadn’t seen carbs in weeks.

You saw Dina step in too—eyeliner smudged, hair pulled back, smiling in that sleepy, warm way she did after hours of difficult conversations with scared families. She grabbed two tacos, no plate, and stood beside the fridge with her hip against the counter, finally letting herself just be for a minute.

Even Tommy and Frank had stopped in—Tommy pulling Frank a chair like he was courting him all over again, both of them sweaty, still in EMS gear, still stained from the train call.

Everyone was here.

Except Joel.

You found a takeout container and began assembling a plate.

You knew what he liked—sliced brisket, no sauce, potato salad, not too much—one of the little cornbread muffins, the kind no one else touched because they looked dry but he liked them anyway.

You wrapped it tightly in foil. Wrote his initials on the top with a Sharpie you borrowed from Jesse, who gave you a knowing smirk and didn’t say a word.

You placed it in the staff fridge like it was sacred. It kind of was. Then, only after, did you sit down. Your feet ached. Your scrubs were stained.

There was dried blood beneath your fingernails and pressure still echoing in your chest from the compressions you'd done less than an hour ago—but for this one breath, this tiny sliver of a break room universe, everything felt normal.

Warm food. Smiling faces. The hum of microwaves and dumb inside jokes. It was the kind of peace that didn’t last long in an ER.

But god, it mattered. And when you finally stood, stretching your arms overhead, the quiet in your limbs was the only thing louder than the laughter.

You didn’t find Joel until almost an hour later, near the ambulance bay.

He was alone, as always, leaning against the edge of the wall like he belonged to the concrete.

You could tell he’d washed his hands—again—because they were still red. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. His expression unreadable.

“You missed lunch,” you said softly.

He glanced at you. Then back at the parking lot.

“You eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

There was a beat.

Then you added, “I saved you a plate.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once.

Then, just barely audible, “Thanks.”

You stepped closer. Not too close. Not where anyone could see. But close enough that he could hear the difference in your breath. Feel the way you looked at him.

“You need to eat, Joel.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t think I’d survive another one of those cases.”

“But you did.”

He looked at you then. And for just one second, the mean lines in his face softened.

“Because you were there,” he said.

You didn’t smile. But you reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist. That was enough. No one said anything else.

Not until the alarms blared again, and your pagers lit up, and someone in the nurse’s station called your name.

But in that quiet space between bites and blood, you’d built something. Something soft. And real. And his.

That word sat in the back of your throat for the next twenty minutes. Didn’t leave. Didn’t try to. It just lived there quietly, pressing against your pulse every time you remembered the way Joel had looked at you when he said it.

“Because you were there.”

Because you always were.

That moment might have lasted longer—maybe even slipped into something softer, something even riskier—but just then, the intercom crackled.

“Doctor Miller and third-year, please report to the nurses’ station. Family on line two.”

Joel sighed like it was a personal attack.

You followed him back in, glancing up at the board as you passed, everything still full. Every bed still filled. Every name glowing under fluorescent helllight.

Kathleen was manning the phones even though it was technically not her shift yet. She handed Joel the receiver like she was handing off a grenade.

“It’s the dementia patient’s family,” she said quietly. “Finally called back.”

Joel blinked. “They just now called back?”

“Yeah. Line was disconnected all morning.”

You leaned in, listening.

Joel pressed the receiver to his ear. “This is Dr. Miller.”

The voice that came through was young. Male. Rushed. Guilty.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry. I just got this message. I—I lost my phone this morning at my son’s soccer practice, and I didn’t realize until after lunch that I’d missed like six calls from the hospital. I just— Is she okay? Is my mom okay?”

Joel’s mouth tightened.

“She’s stable. Came in around noon. No ID besides a bracelet. She’s been repeating the name Angie.”

“Yeah, that’s my daughter. Angie’s her granddaughter. They’re very close.”

Joel glanced at you. You nodded. It made sense now.

“I can be there in twenty minutes. I swear. I—I didn’t mean for her to be alone that long. My wife was watching her during the game and thought she was napping upstairs. But then...”

His voice broke.

Joel exhaled. “She’s safe. Come to the main ER entrance. We’ll walk you back.”

Twenty-five minutes later, a tired man in cleats and a youth league jersey stepped into the unit. One sock still grass-stained. His face drawn with guilt, worry, exhaustion.

You saw him before he saw her. When he did—when she turned toward the doorway, blinking like she was waking from a dream—his whole body just collapsed inward.

He rushed to her side. Kissed her head, “Mom. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Angie’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looked up at him, confused for a second. Then her face changed.

“I missed the game,” she said softly.

The son’s eyes welled. “I know. Its okay.”

“No,” she whispered. “I missed it.”

He crouched beside her, face pressed into her hand. And for a moment, you and Joel just stood there. Silent. Watching.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel murmured. “I’m not made for this part.”

You smiled. “Yes, you are.”

He didn’t argue. The spell didn’t last. It never did.

You were halfway through prepping a patient with an infected foot ulcer when Tess appeared beside you.

“Hey,” she said flatly. “Need your help with a situation.”

You looked up. “What kind of situation?”

“The yelling kind.”

You blinked. “Verbal or physical?”

“Unknown,” Tess said, already walking. “But if it turns physical, I get to hit first.”

Room 9. The door was shut but not sealed, and even from the hallway you could hear the argument happening inside.

You stepped in just behind Tess.

A man in his late forties sat on the edge of the bed, clearly agitated. His chart said “chronic shoulder dislocation,” but you could tell from the way he was gripping the call button that pain was only half the problem.

His eyes locked onto Tess immediately. “I said I wanted another doctor.”

“You got one,” Tess said, pointing at you. “She’s better than me anyway.”

He scoffed. “She’s a kid.”

You didn’t flinch. “I’m a third-year. You’re in a trauma facility. You came to us. So let’s work together.”

He bristled. “You’re gonna listen to me?”

“That depends. You planning on throwing anything at my face?”

“Not unless you treat me like a junkie.”

You met his stare. Dead on.

“Sir, I’m going to treat you like someone in pain. That’s it. You be mean to my staff, I will have you thrown out.”

Tess smirked behind you. The patient didn’t blink. But after a moment—he sighed.

“Fine.”

“Good,” you said. “Now take off your jacket so I can look at your shoulder.”

Twenty minutes later, his shoulder was relocated, the swelling addressed, and he’d even asked if you were “one of the good ones.”

You said, “Aren’t we all?”

He muttered something about you having a better bedside manner than Joel.

You grinned. “Don’t let him hear that.”

When you stepped out, Tess nudged your shoulder with her fist.

“You’re gonna be chief one day,” she muttered.

“I don’t want to be.”

“Yeah, well. That’s why you should be.”

You returned to the nurse’s station, found your coffee from earlier, now lukewarm and neglected.

Joel passed you a fresh cup. Didn’t say a word. Just handed it over. You took it. Sipped. Winced.

“No sugar?”

Joel shrugged. “You’re sweet enough.”

You blinked at him. “Did you hit your head today?”

“Shut up.”

And he walked off. But his hand brushed your back as he did. Just barely. Just enough.

And for now, that was enough. Until it wasn’t. Because the ER never let you be full for long.

Around 3 PM, you got the usual trickle—low-stakes, high-frustration patients who were always sprinkled like salt across your chart. A man who’d had a panic attack on the bus and insisted it was a heart attack. A toddler with a plastic bead up his nose. A woman who demanded stitches be done by a plastic surgeon only,as if this were Beverly Hills and not an Austin trauma bay where blood was still on the floor from a degloving.

At 4 PM, six more beds were filled.

A teenage girl who fainted after fasting for a fitness challenge—Joel had muttered something about the world being broken before ordering a bag of D5 and a banana.

Then a man who’d been trying to remove a mole on his own with a butter knife.

You didn’t ask.

By 5 PM, everyone was tired again. You could feel it. The tension in the staff’s collective shoulders. The quiet way Ellie was curled up in a corner chair with a bag of goldfish and her head against the wall. How Abby and Mel were both standing too still while they wrote up discharge summaries. How even Maria looked like she might consider caffeine an inadequate substitute for a coma.

You were standing at the crash cart, double-checking supplies with Riley, when your pager vibrated hard against your hip.

Trauma incoming. MCI. Multiple victims. Truck rollover I-35. ETA 7 min.

Seven minutes. You didn’t even have time to swear before Joel’s voice cut through the air like a bullet.

“Mass casualty protocol. Jesse, get on the loudspeaker. Ellie—triage out front. Tess, you’re with me. Everyone not actively coding a patient, suit up.”

The break room emptied like floodgates opening. People ran without asking where.

You’d trained for it. You’d run drills. But nothing prepared you for the noise. Nothing will ever prepare you for the noise.

The first ambulance came in like a screaming red siren of the apocalypse. Behind it, a second. Then two more. You heard the unmistakable wail of Tommy’s voice yelling from behind the gurney, “Four trapped under the rig, we got two with crush injuries and one flail chest!”

Frank shouted, “Driver ejected. Helmetless. Pulseless on scene. We brought him anyway!”

Jesse and Kathleen threw triage tags like confetti. Red. Yellow. Black. You watched Riley pale when she saw the black one—expectant. Not saveable.

“Don’t look at the tags,” you muttered to her. “Look at their eyes. Look at their breath.”

You were thrown into Trauma 2 before you could breathe again.

A girl. 22, maybe. Covered in gasoline. Glass embedded in her legs.

Abby was cutting through her jeans with trauma shears. You held pressure on her abdomen. Mel came in behind you with a crash cart and blood.

“She was in the back seat,” Henry said from the doorway. “Not belted. Hit the seat in front of her when the cab rolled.”

Her pulse was thready. Her pupils sluggish.

“She’s tamponading,” you said. “Prep for chest tube.”

Joel’s voice from across the hall, “Do it! Don’t wait for me!”

And so you did. By 6:10, the ER was a battlefield.

Three bays were full. Four more patients were lined against the wall on backboards, IVs taped to their arms like lifelines. Tess had gone through two pairs of gloves and one set of scrubs. Maria had yelled at the ortho resident and then Jesse.

Joel hadn’t stopped moving once.

He was yelling. Barking orders. Throwing himself into the middle of every collapsed airway, every exposed femur, every chest full of blood. He was mean, but he was brilliant. And everyone followed him because he didn’t let people die unless he had to.

You worked on a man who had glass lodged in both hands and a piece of rebar poking from his side.

When he screamed, you leaned into him and whispered, “We’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”

He nodded, tears leaking into the surgical drape.

Outside the trauma bay, Dina was trying to calm a young woman who’d just watched her boyfriend pulled from the wreckage with no face left to recognize. Kathleen held a clipboard like a weapon, ticking off names, counting bodies. Even Bill—the usually stoic, quiet security guard—was hauling gauze boxes and water bottles down the hall like his own life depended on it.

And Tommy?

Tommy had blood on his uniform, his hands, his face. He leaned in the hallway, catching his breath, but when he saw you stumble, he caught your elbow.

“You good?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “You’re doing good.”

And you moved on. Because more were coming. Always more.

Joel finally paused near the nurses’ station. Just for a second. Just to find you.

And you were there. Bloodied, sweating, but still standing. He looked at you. You looked back. And no words were spoken.

Because you didn’t need them. Because everything you were was in that moment—the carnage, the chaos, the calm between it.

And that look? It said, I’m not letting you go. Not here. Not ever.

The doors opened again. More sirens. More blood. And you went.

Because this didn’t end with quiet. It ended with screaming. And you were still listening. Still moving. Still breathing through blood-soaked gloves and adrenaline that wouldn’t leave your bloodstream even if you begged.

It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of the clock above the medication room that it hit you...

7:48 p.m. The whole goddamn day had disappeared.

You blinked, chest rising, eyes burning. Your last actual sip of water had been sometime around noon. Your stomach was an empty cavity. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d sat for longer than twenty seconds. And still—you kept going.

Because the truck rollover had swallowed the hospital whole.

No one had noticed time moving. Not you, not Jesse, not Riley or Ellie or Maria or Kathleen, who still had her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose even though she wasn’t reading a damn thing.

Even Joel, who usually noticed everything, had missed it.

The ER had never fully quieted—it just shifted pitch. And then you heard it...

That strange, bittersweet sound of relief.

Night shift was coming in.

You heard Dina first, talking to Gail, the night counterpart.

“Two still critical. Five stable. Four being observed. One transferred to ICU. One—” Dina’s voice dropped—“black tag.”

Gail nodded, already tapping her badge for access. She didn’t flinch. Just stepped into chaos with the deadpan precision of someone used to storms.

“Where’s Joel?” she asked.

“Still barking at the trauma bay,” Dina muttered. “Still bleeding brilliance all over the floor.”

You smiled without meaning to.

Then saw Ellie, shoulders slumped, yawning so hard her mouth cracked like a hinge.

“Go home,” you told her. “You’re done.”

“You sure?”

“Go. Before I sedate you.”

Ellie flashed a thumbs up and disappeared toward the locker rooms.

As the shift change solidified—chart updates being handed off, new meds prepped, triage re-opened—you paused. Just for a second. You leaned against the wall outside Trauma 2 and let your head fall back.

The hallway buzzed in waves. Squeaking shoes, IV pumps clicking, the murmur of names being handed over like heirlooms.

You felt something like satisfaction. And exhaustion. And something else you didn’t want to name yet.

You saw Joel before he saw you.

He was in the far corridor, talking to Tommy and Tess—gesturing with one hand, still wearing a drying bloodstain on his sleeve.

But his eyes shifted. And then, he was walking toward you.

The hallway fell quiet behind him. Just for you.

And when he got close—close enough to make the rest of the world vanish—he tilted his head and said,

“You alive?”

You nodded. “Barely.”

He sighed. “Let’s go.”

You were almost to the exit when you remembered.

You grabbed his plate from the fridge—the one you’d made hours ago with food that was probably tepid and a little sad by now, but it was still his.

Still a reminder that someone had thought of him.

You held it out wordlessly. He took it from you and didn’t say a word either. He didn’t need to.

The parking lot was a dreamscape—soft shadows under orange lights, buzzing insects echoing across the concrete. The world outside didn’t know the trauma that had happened just beyond those double doors.

Joel walked with you in silence.

He wasn’t limping, but he moved like something in him ached. You understood. Your own joints felt like chewed leather.

You reached his truck. He moved to the passenger side and opened the door for you. And just as you turned to climb in, you felt it.

His hand. On your hip.

And then...

His mouth. On yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, intimate, full of all the things he hadn’t said today.

His hand slid up your spine, holding you flush to him, his chest still warm from the heat of the hospital. His other hand rested just above your hip, steadying you like he thought maybe you’d fall apart otherwise.

You gasped softly into him. Not because you were surprised.

But because it was the first time all day you’d felt something that wasn’t pain or duty or adrenaline.

You felt like his.

He pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.

“You were a fuckin’ force today,” he murmured. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Your hand clutched the front of his scrub shirt.

“I didn’t want you to.”

He chuckled low. “I know.”

Then pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’re everything in there,” he said. “You know that?”

You nodded.

And whispered, “So are you.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Not the kiss of survival. The kiss of belonging.

Then, finally, he helped you into the truck. Closed the door gently. Walked around the front. Climbed in beside you.

And pulled away from the curb—toward home. The hospital shrank behind you in the mirror.

But the blood on your shoes? The pulse in your throat? The memory of your hands holding someone back from the brink?

That stayed. And so did he.

Joel’s truck rumbled beneath you like an old, steady heartbeat. The sun had finally dipped below the skyline, casting Austin in a warm gold that faded fast into dusky blue. The windows were cracked, letting in a breeze that smelled faintly like asphalt and humidity. The AC was on low. One of Joel’s hands was wrapped around the steering wheel.

The other? Firm on your thigh.

His thumb rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your scrub pants, just above your knee. Like he was reminding himself you were real. That you were there, not a ghost of adrenaline or a fleeting high of some trauma-stained day.

Neither of you talked at first.

Not because you didn’t have things to say—God, you both did—but because the quiet between you was too good to break just yet.

You watched the trees pass by, each intersection blinking soft yellow as the city wound down. Joel looked ahead with that same furrow in his brow he always wore post-shift, like he was cataloging every life you’d both touched, every one you couldn’t save.

Eventually, you reached over, fingers brushing his wrist.

“Long day.”

Joel let out a dry breath. “Understatement of the fuckin’ year.”

You smiled, eyes still on the road. “You were incredible.”

He scoffed. “You saved that kid with no pulse. Don’t think I missed that.”

“We all saved him.”

“No,” Joel said, shaking his head once. “You did. You never backed down. I saw you. I always see you.”

The truck slowed at a red light. His hand squeezed your thigh gently.

“You’re the reason I’m still doin’ this,” he said, voice soft enough it barely made it over the hum of the engine.

You turned toward him, brows pulling in slightly.

“I thought you hated this job.”

“I do.”

“Then why stay?”

He finally looked at you. And his voice dropped, low and certain.

“‘Cause it brought me you.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

The red light turned green. And the truck rolled forward again.

But you reached for his hand this time—threaded your fingers through his, grounding both of you in something real, something steady.

Something yours.

His house smelled like a mix of you two.

That warm, familiar scent, something earthy, grounded, lived-in. The second you stepped through the door, you peeled off your shoes like they were made of concrete. Joel locked the door behind you, then watched silently as you reached up, untying your scrub top with tired fingers.

He followed suit, tugging his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He toed off his boots with one heel, not even bothering to look where they landed. The soft thud of fabric on the hardwood floor was the only sound between you.

You met his eyes. No words needed.

Your hands found the hem of your scrub pants. His fingers were already at his waistband.

Every motion was slow. Heavy. Not sexual, not frantic.

Just… tired. Intimate.

A ceremony of shedding.

You padded quietly toward the bathroom together, your bare feet on the cold tile making you shiver slightly—until Joel stepped in behind you and turned the water on, checking it with his wrist before nodding toward the showerhead.

He pulled you into the warm steam with him.

And for a while, nothing existed but the water.

Joel’s hands found your hair first. You leaned forward, eyes closed, and he carefully lathered the shampoo through the strands, massaging slow and patient like he was reading scripture. His fingers were so gentle they almost tickled. You hummed under your breath, leaning into it.

Then he reached for the body wash, poured it into his palm, and rubbed slow circles into your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. Every touch deliberate. Caring.

He kissed your neck once, lingering there like he didn’t want to let go.

You turned and took your turn, washing him the same way.

You traced the scars on his chest like memories. Watched the muscles of his stomach flex under your touch. Washed his hair with care. Rinsed the dried sweat from his collarbones, the bloodstain from his wrist that hadn’t come out yet.

You both stood under the spray for a long time after that. Water pounding against your bodies. No talking. Just existing. Together.

The couch welcomed you both like an old friend.

Joel pulled on a pair of sweats and tossed you one of his ancient, threadbare t-shirts—the gray one with a faded Longhorns logo and a hole near the hem. You crawled beneath the blanket with your knees tucked beside you while Joel microwaved the plate you’d saved him.

The smell of brisket and cornbread filled the room.

He brought it over with a fork.

You both ate, passing the fork back and forth between bites, eating slow, savoring the quiet.

On the TV, some rerun from a cooking competition show played in the background. A judge was yelling about under-seasoned risotto. Neither of you really watched.

Joel looked so different out of the ER. His face a little softer. The worry lines across his forehead had faded just slightly in the warm lamplight. His arm was slung behind your shoulders, fingers occasionally grazing your upper arm like they were drawn there on instinct.

“Didn’t think I’d make it through today. After everything with yesterday...” you murmured, watching him chew.

He swallowed, then passed you the last bite of cornbread.

“But you did.”

“I did.”

“Because you’re tough as hell,” he said.

You looked at him. “Because you were there.”

Joel’s eyes met yours. He leaned forward, kissed your temple, and didn’t move away for a long time.

You didn’t walk to the bedroom. You were carried.

Joel scooped you up the way he had before—one arm under your knees, the other around your back, pressing you to his chest like something sacred.

You buried your face in his shoulder. His skin still smelled faintly like your soap.

He set you down gently on the bed, pulled the covers back, and slipped in behind you without a word.

His body curled around yours instinctively—the big spoon, always—and he dragged one arm over your waist until your back was snug against his chest, your legs tangled, your heartbeat steady.

The house was silent except for the hum of the fan.

His fingers splayed against your stomach. You reached back and rested your hand over his.

And just before you fell asleep, you heard him murmur into your hair...

“I love you.”

You didn’t need to say it back. He already knew.

And the hospital could wait. Because tonight, this was the only shift that mattered.

taglist: @secretlettersfromyourlove @areamir @hermionelove

[tofics]

When Time Stood Still

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: In a universe where the apocalypse never happened, Joel gets drunk and regrets breaking up with you, resulting in a video tape he wishes he hadn't sent... Set in a timeline somewhere around Joel's 40th year around the sun, where he hasn't allowed himself to really love anyone since Sarah's mom - at least until he met you.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, mentions of a stroke/aneurysm, broken hearts, angst, regret, fluff

A/N: This idea came to me after watching Pedro perform "For All The Lovesick Mad Sad Geniuses" by Ngozi Anyanwu as part of the 24 viral monologues by the 24 Hour Plays. This fic is based around Anyanwu's incredible monologue and Pedro's performance of it. Please give it a watch, especially if you'd like a visual representation for half of this fic 😅

They say that some things have to be felt to be understood.

A sentiment you had never subscribed to. If you could imagine it, you could understand it. That was how you saw it.

Until the day that Joel showed up at your door at 10am on a Sunday morning, hair disheveled and brows furrowed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Time really did stand still then.

You hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't expected to see him now at your front door either. It just wasn't the kind of thing one expected after a break-up. Hoped for maybe, sure. But expect it?

Not in a million years. Not after he'd shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces, fragments so little that even months later, you were still in the process of gluing it back together; trying to find matching fragments in a sea of chunks and shards. They cut you sometimes, sharp edges and all, memories bleeding into the now. It made you wonder now, just for a moment, if you were hallucinating him.

"Did you watch it?"

The hallucination spoke with his voice - Joel's voice - and then it pushed past you (with all the force of a very real being) into your living room.

You watched as Joel marched over to your couch, shaking up the blankets you kept on it for comfort and warmth, then digging through the cushions.

A cold draft blew around your bare legs. While the Joel-shaped person blew through your living room, you stood by your front door, handle in one hand, a sagging slice of toast in the other. The bite that was still in your mouth had taken on the consistency of cement.

Is this what a stroke feels like?

You could only briefly wonder if you had blown an aneurysm before hands were on your shoulders and you heard your name being spoken in that awful, awful favorite voice of yours.

"Hey, hey. Focus. Did you watch it?"

This version of Joel was different than the one you knew. His hair was a bit longer. Messier too. There was more silver in it. Bags under the eyes, dark and heavy. They matched the dark irises that were boring into yours. Your Joel's eyes had always been warm, like a cozy fire that was happily crackling on in the background. This Joel's eyes had none of that. His were dull and empty, like a fireplace long forgotten.

You liked your version of Joel much better.

Like a bizarre game of ping-pong, you matched this Joel's eyes as they flicked back and forth between yours. Left-right-left-right.

A deep sigh, and though you didn't think it possible, the light in his eyes darkened even more.

"Of course you saw it. Of course. Fuck."

He sat on your couch, face in his hands. Another cold breeze blew through your open door and rustled the loose papers on your dining table. With goosebumps all over your legs you closed the door to your apartment, sealing whatever hallucination had blown through inside of your apartment.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Stroke, hallucination - you figured it couldn't hurt to be polite. There was a guest in your house, and you had manners.

It was also the only thing you could think of to say.

Because what was the alternative? Demanding to know what he was doing here? A plausible choice, if he was real. The jury was still out on that one.

You set your slice of toast down on the nearest end-table, the strawberry marmalade having lost all its appeal. It'd have to go on the "forbidden items" list once this was over, joining its brothers and sisters with memory-jogging-capabilities. Another thing lost to Joel Miller. Would the list ever end?

Once you dared looking over again, you found the Joel imitation staring at you like you were the alien in your own house, not him.

“I also have coffee.” Did figments of imagination prefer caffeinated water? You didn’t know.

He regarded you for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, as if coming to terms with something he’d been struggling with.

“Of course you’d wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than you, then: “Coffee’s fine.”

Talk about what?

You filled a mug for him, then repeated the question out loud.

'Joel' accepted the cup with a dry snort. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good. Y’don’t gotta pretend. Go ‘head. Lay it on me. I deserve it.”

A somber expression took place on his face, one you’d seen him put on before meetings with clients he knew had a bone to pick with him.

You blinked at him, trying once again to figure out if this was happening or just a really absurd dream.

“Umh.” You felt the strong urge to reach for your phone. Didn't Google have an answer for everything? 'how to tell if a person is real' 'how to politely ask if someone is real without coming off as crazy' 'signs of mental breakdown' Wouldn't that be a fine addition to your digital footprint.

You cleared your throat, hands nervously twitching at your sides.

“Uh… don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But, umh, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel's fingers fumble across the screen, accidentally swiping back and forth between the photo and video option a couple of times. A frustrated sound bubbles up from the back of his throat before he finally manages to settle on the correct setting. A tap of his thumb, and the countdown starts.

10, 9, 8, 7...

The visual on the screen shakes as Joel hastily props his phone down against the makeshift stand he created out of books and manuals. It's not perfect, but it'll get the job done. Hopefully.

Little beeps accompany the dwindling numbers until there's silence. He glances up at the screen, half-convinced he's fucked it up again - but there's the big red stop button, along with counting numbers at the top.

The tape's rolling, metaphorically at least.

A grin breaks out on his face. Victory. He did it. He's doing it. He's doing this.

He's going to pour his all into this video. Gonna put into words what has been trudging through his brain in an endless loop. He's gonna make you see, that you're still here, in his heart, his brain, his every fiber-

The numbers are going, running away from him. The tape's rolling, and he hasn't said a word so far. Out loud.

The smile falls from his face as he sombers, focuses.

"Hi."

The greeting hangs heavy in the air. It sounds unfinished to his ears, lacking one of the many endearments that used to follow his hellos.

"I... I, I, I..."

He had a plan. A speech, if you will. All laid out and practiced in his mind, but now that he's doing this, talking to you... He knows it's just his phone. But it's not. He's not talking to a mechanical box, he's talking to you. And that knocks the wind out of him.

Joel takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows he has to say. Needs to say, or his head will implode. His chest might too.

It's now or never.

"I was thinking about you. I always do, around this time - every time of the day, actually... Uh, anyway. You're probably not even thinking about me." He's moved forward, more subconsciously than purposely, leaning towards the camera.

"Do you? Ever think about me?" Please say you do. "A little?" Please.

The picture of your smile enters his mind, distracting him momentarily. God, he misses you like a desert misses rain.

You're getting off track. Shit.

"What was I saying. What am I... What am I saying...? Don't lose track. Fuck!" He straightens momentarily in the hopes of straightening his thoughts along with his spine. This is so stupid. What is he doing?

"What am I saying!" He can't help but grin at his own incompetence. You used to lovingly tease him for it, the way his mind would sometimes scramble mid-sentence when he looked at you. God, this is awkward. He had a whole speech planned. Where did it go? What did he want to say?

Joel rubs his hands over his face, then claps them together. Focus.

He had a speech. A point. Time to bring it across.

"Do you remember - d'you remember when we saw that - what was it? Uh..." Fuck, what was it called? He snaps his fingers like the memory will snap back into his brain if he just does it enough. What was it called?!

"You remember?" Please say you do. "They used to be in these big ass expensive fuckin' buildings - you remember? What are they called... Erm-" What's the fucking word! Joel can't remember for the life of him. Perhaps the various whiskeys he's had have something to do with it. Either way, this is going nowhere. He's trying to make a goddamn point, for Christ's sake!

What were they called, what were they called? He knows he has one of them lying around. The papers that used to come with them. Probably still do. The little leaflets, you saved so many of them...

Joel doesn't realize he walks out of frame, nor the ruckus his search causes. Shit, this place is a fucking mess. But he knows there's one of them somewhere. He has kept them all, even if he didn't keep you. Don't think about that now. Don't. This is why you're doing this. Focus! Too many empty beer cans. He swipes them off the counter, along with his toolbelt. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is... There!

Joel hurries back to the camera, holding up the leaflet triumphantly. It has the word "PLAYBILL" stamped across its front. "Plays!" He beams at the camera. Finally. "This dude." He raps his finger against the thick paper. "The Last of the Sad Mad Geniuses," he reads the title. It was one of the first ones you and him saw together.

"Remember plays?" You have to. There's no way you forgot. "Songs?" You used to sing them all the time. In the shower, in the car. "Poetry?" He'd read them to you, verses you found in old books you picked up at the flea market. Your head on his lap, one of his hands in your hair-

God, why did he let you go!

You probably don't remember any of it.

"Yeah, me neither." The beer and whiskey slosh around in his stomach. Fuck, his head is kind of spinny too. Wait, didn't he have a point?

"What was I saying?" A point, yes, he had a point. "Right, umh." The play.

Joel holds the pamphlet up again, taps its cover. "Remember we saw this play, and you laughed so hard you peed a little..." You had been so embarrassed, but it just made Joel love you even more. Your joy was contagious. It'd make everyone smile. Him. Sarah. Most of all him. It makes him smile now too, just thinking about it. What was that line again?

"What was that fucking line in the play? How the fuck did it go? If - if if if -" Get it the fuck together, Joel. Focus. What was that line?

"If you got one friend when you die..." He hears your echo in his mind. It's hollow now, not as clear as it used to be, your voice slowly fading into obscurity as the days without you begin to outnumber the days when you were still his. If you got one friend when you die...

"...then you got something most people never have." He finishes the line and takes the verbal punch to the gut. Who knew theater could predict the future? You'd been his, and he had cast you away. For all the good reasons, the good and bad, though they all seem bad now in retrospect. Why the fuck did he push you away!

"And I tried to quote that shit back at you..." He sees you clearly now, down in that alleyway about a block away from the theater, your eyes shining with tears of laughter. "And you laughed at me, cause I fucked it up-" Like he always did. Like he had, with you. Finish the story.

"And I kissed you-" And then he threw you away. Suddenly, the tears are too thick to hold back. They burn in his throat, on his tongue. Fuck, fuck, hold it in, hold it in. Joel's breath trembles as he speaks again. "And you let me-" God, it hurts to breathe. His chest is too tight for his lungs to spread. There's not enough air, not in his lungs, not in this room, not in his heart. Fuck, his heart. It hurts so bad.

"And it-" Breathe, he has to breathe. "And it rained like we were in a fucking movie! And life was never better than that." The sobs come as the truth hits him smack in the face. He loves Sarah with all his heart. But you? You completed him. Filled in the cracks that opened when Sarah's mother left him. You made him whole.

Which means that he not only broke your heart, he broke his own too. In trying to do what he thought was best, he broke the both of you.

Joel thinks this just might be the moment that death comes and takes him. Almost hopes for it as he faces the ugly truth of his own actions. "Shit," he curses through his tears, then again. "Shit! What am I saying?" Didn't he start this full of confidence, with a plan? "Wh-what was I saying?" Breathe, Joel, breathe. Focus.

"Right. Right!" He remembers, now. The question he meant to ask.

"Why did you have to love me like that?" None of this would have happened if you hadn't loved him, after all. He wouldn't be here, suffering worse than he did after the mother of his child left him, left them. He wouldn't have to face the fact that his good intentions had been anything but.

"Why did you have to love me back!" It comes out in a yell, all wound up and tight like his anger is inside of him. At you, at himself. Mostly himself.

"You know? Why'd you do that?" Why did you? Love him back?

"You'd have to have known that you'd - you'd send me into a kind of madness, you know. Sometimes... Sometimes I think, maybe, uh... I made you up." Say that you were real. Say that we were real. "Sometimes," Joel whispers and wishes nothing more than to hear you answer him.

"So I go into the quietest parts of this house and... I whisper your name. I wish I could scream it." He should. "I should." Should he? "Should I scream it? I will. I should." He inhales deeply, your name already at the tip of his tongue. Just say it. Scream it. He wants to. He does. But his throat is locked up, your name heavy on his tongue like lead. Try as he might, it won't roll off.

The air dissipates out of him like a deflated balloon. He's dizzy, his stomach in an uproar. His pulse pounds in his ears.

Joel glances at the screen of his phone. Five minutes in, and he's only made a fool of himself.

"Yeah, I... I can't send this." What the hell was he even thinking?

Joel sat on your couch like a statue made of stone as you watched the video. If you'd had looked up from your phone, you'd have seen him flinch and cringe during various moments, but alas, your attention was fixated on the video Joel had sent you.

You hadn't seen it before he arrived. As a rule, you avoided your phone until after you had finished your breakfast, and Joel had interrupted you right in the middle of it. To be fair, the rule had only recently come into place, more specifically after Joel had broken up with you. Not immediately after, only when you noticed that you would scroll through his old texts and stalk his business' website like a madwoman, or - well, like a woman with a broken heart. You knew it was unhealthy and getting you nowhere.

So you hadn't seen it, not when he had sent it and not the morning after. Not until he showed up at your door like a ghost from the past you had tried to summon with your heart every day since he had cast you out.

You could hardly believe your eyes nor your ears.

The Joel that had recorded this had clearly been intoxicated. That, or someone had switched out your version of Joel for one that spoke a lot more openly about what he felt.

Silence filled the room when the video ended. You saw your own stunned reflection in the reflection of your phone screen as turned black.

"Umh-" You searched your mind for the right words, for the appropriate reaction. What did one say in a situation like this?

"I know," Joel interrupted your thinking before you could get anywhere. "M' sorry. Shouldn't have... I shouldn't have sent that. Or recorded it to begin with." He scoffed. "Just goes to show wha'a fool I am. M' sorry you had to see all that." Joel didn't look you in the eyes as he spoke. His eyes landed on your half eaten toast instead. "Sorry I interrupted your breakfast too." You saw him run a tired hand over his face, heard him sigh. "Guess I'm sorry for a lotta things these days."

Was he? Sorry? For breaking up with you?

For all he'd said in the video, that much still wasn't clear. You could assume, of course, but you had also assumed that Joel had loved you enough not to send you on your way, and you had been wrong about that.

"Why did you love me, Joel?" It wasn't quite what you had intended to ask, but it was close enough. You could tell it caught Joel off guard by the way he froze in place.

He took so long to answer that you were almost convinced he wasn't going to, or that he didn't know how. You couldn't have blamed him for the latter. It was hard to summarize why you loved the people you did, especially when put on the spot. To his credit - and your surprise - he tried regardless.

"Because you made me whole." He said it quietly, but with conviction. And then, for the first time since you had clicked play, he met your eyes. "Cause you love loudly and without fear, n' I loved it so much - you so much - that it scared me. Terrified me, actually." Joel was on his feet now, slowly approaching you. "What you gave me, I haven't felt that since Sarah's mom left. Hell, if we're bein' honest, I never allowed myself. But with you..." He came to a stop in front of you, and now you could see flickers of that warm fire in his eyes again. "Never had a choice."

Though he looked more like the Joel you knew again, you were starting to doubt his realness once more. How else could you explain the man you loved so deeply standing in front of you, telling you all you'd wished to hear ever since he had cast you out?

"You took my choice, too." For all the good he was saying, there was still a lot of hurt inside of you. "When you told me to leave, you took away my choice of staying with you despite your fear." The words felt wide and heavy, awkwardly shaped lumps that you had to force out of your throat and over your tongue out into the world. You blinked ferociously, trying to keep the few tears at bay that had pooled in your eyes.

Joel's face twitched and crumpled at your words. His arm jerked, like he was fighting an instinct, and then he brought a thumb to your cheek regardless, wiping away a single tear that had managed to escaped.

"I know," he rasped, visibly trying to control himself. "N' I'll spend my whole life makin' it up to you. If you'll let me."

And despite the pain he had caused you, despite the many nights you had cried over him, you didn't need to think twice to know your answer. You still loved him, after all. And in spite of it all, it seemed that Joel Miller still loved you too.

Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

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[andy-15-07]

May I ask for some mechanic Joel, old Joel, grumpy, pervert Joel haha, reader is trying to change a tire in the middle of the road, her skirt is so short that she is showing her bare pussy, no panties, and then Joel sees her and he doesn’t even hide his desire, maybe some rough sex, spanks, pussy spanks, pet names, Joel has a tummy, big age gap. Thank you

That Ain’t No Way To Ask for Help, Sweetheart

PAIRING:Mechanic!Joel Miller x Younger!Reader 

WORD COUNT: 1213 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Your hands were greasy, your nails chipped, and your patience was hanging by a single frayed thread. You didn’t know what possessed you to wear a skirt this short on a day you’d be driving on a dusty back road out of town , but here you were, crouched over your rear tire, sweat beading on your thighs, lips pursed in frustration. The damn tire iron wouldn’t budge.

And you were alone. Or… you thought you were.

The low purr of a truck engine came up behind you, slow and growling. You didn’t bother to turn , not until it stopped right beside you, and the creak of an old door opened behind the roar of cicadas and your annoyed breathing.

Then: a whistle.

Low. Appreciative. Dirty.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

You turned and met the eyes of a man leaning one hand on the truck door , tan skin, salt-and-pepper curls under a worn cap, lines carved into his face like he’d seen more than one war. He looked at you like he just walked in on a free show. His gaze went straight to your thighs.

Your heart skipped.

Joel Miller. The mechanic from down by the auto yard. You’d seen him a couple times , always covered in oil and sweat, thick hands and a grumble for a voice. Easily old enough to be your dad. Or… older.

“I-I got it,” you stammered, reaching for the iron again.

He didn’t answer. Just rounded the hood of his truck and came to crouch beside you, thick arms resting on his knees.

“Not wearin’ nothin’ under that pretty skirt, huh?” he asked, eyes glued to the spot between your thighs. “Jesus Christ, girl.”

Your breath hitched. You should’ve squeezed your legs shut , but you didn’t. Some twisted part of you liked how he looked at you. Like he could devour you whole.

“Didn’t think I’d be on my knees today,” you muttered.

Joel chuckled low, voice like smoke and whiskey. “Then you sure dressed for attention.”

You felt your skin heat. But you didn’t move.

“Flat tire?” he asked, glancing at the useless jack.

“Yeah. I tried. Can’t get the bolts off.”

Joel stood up with a grunt, his belly shifting under his stained t-shirt. He pulled a rag from his pocket, wiped his hands , and tossed it back with a nod toward your car.

“Get in the truck.”

“What?”

He licked his thumb, wiped a smear of grease from your cheek.

“You heard me. You look like you need a real man’s help.” Then, with a smirk, “And I ain’t changin’ no tire ‘til you’re sittin’ pretty for me, sweetheart.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

You slipped into the passenger side of his truck. The seat was hot from the sun, the interior smelled like sweat, gasoline, and pine. Joel’s scent. He climbed in beside you after a moment, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“So what is this?” you asked, crossing your legs slowly, teasing. “You get off on rescuing dumb girls by the highway?”

He laughed once. “Not dumb. Just naughty.”

He reached over. One large, calloused hand ran up your thigh, rough from years of work. His palm was hot, greedy.

“No panties?” he asked again. “Walked outta the house wantin’ someone to see, didn’t ya?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe.”

Joel exhaled through his nose , like you’d tested the last of his patience.

His hand shot up and cupped your bare pussy, rough fingers dragging through your folds. You gasped, hips lifting.

“Slick already. You like bein’ caught like this, huh?” He leaned in, voice thick. “You’re just a needy little slut.”

You whined when he slapped it , not too hard, but enough to make your skin sting and your legs jerk.

“Ah, Joel.”

“‘Sir.’ That’s what you call me.”

You swallowed. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He did it again. A sharp slap right across your pussy lips. You twitched.

“Good girl.”

Joel leaned in, tongue licking a stripe up your neck. “Bet no boy your age knows how to treat a brat like you.”

You shook your head. He was right.

Joel yanked you across the bench seat. His belly pressed against your hip as he pulled your legs over his lap, his thick jeans rubbing your sensitive skin. He looked massive up close , broad arms, hands like leather, thick thighs, and a soft stomach that jiggled when he moved.

He hiked your skirt higher. You were already soaked.

“Need it rough, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Need an old man to knock the brat outta you.”

You didn’t answer. So he spanked your pussy again. Harder.

“Y-Yes!”

“Yeah you do.”

He pushed two fingers inside you , no warning, no teasing , and you cried out as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight. This little cunt’s fuckin’ beggin’.”

His fingers curled just right, knuckles grinding your clit. You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his shirt. The soft curve of his belly rocked against your leg with each thrust.

Joel kissed your jaw, then bit your earlobe.

“You gonna come just from my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically.

He laughed darkly, pulling out.

“Too bad.”

You whined at the loss.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Face down. Ass up on the seat.”

You obeyed.

The truck door slammed open for air as Joel dropped his jeans , and you barely caught a glimpse of his thick cock before he was pushing the head right between your folds.

“Gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll forget what a jack looks like.”

And then he was inside , one long, slow thrust that had you arching, your hands scrambling against the vinyl seat for grip.

Joel groaned like a man starved. “Jesus Christ, this pussy.”

He set a brutal rhythm, thick hips slapping against your ass. Each thrust shoved you forward into the seat, making you whimper with every slap of skin. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Who do you belong to now, baby?”

“You, sir!”

He spanked your ass , then your pussy again , then grabbed your hips tight enough to bruise.

“That’s right. Just an old man’s fucktoy now, huh?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely think. The only thing that existed was his cock stretching you wide, the smack of his belly against your skin, and the heat building between your legs.

Joel grunted, pulling you flush against him.

“Come on this cock, baby. Let daddy feel it.”

You came with a scream , clenching around him, shaking, drooling onto the seat. Joel didn’t stop. He chased his own release with ruthless strokes.

“Fuck. Gonna fill this little pussy,” he growled.

He spilled inside you with a groan, thick spurts of cum painting your walls. You moaned as the heat spread inside.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Joel smacked your ass gently.

“Still think you don’t need help, darlin’?”

You giggled, voice wrecked. “Guess I should break down more often.”

Joel zipped up, smirked, and climbed out of the truck.

“Gimme five minutes. Tire’ll be fixed. And then I’m takin’ you home.”

“Why?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“So I can fuck you again. On somethin’ softer than a truck seat.”

[foxviant]

Hii, loved your Joel stories. Can we get one where Joel got hurt while he was out. When he got home, he tried to hide it. He didnt want you to worry.

But you ended up cleaning his wounds and took care of him. He was not used to that, he felt weird because he loved it. Something lime that thanks

Let Me.

Summary: Joel comes home hurt and tries to hide it, but your gentle care makes him realize how much he’s needed that kind of love. Pairing: Joel Miler x Reader. Word count: 2k Warning: Injury (non-graphic), emotional vulnerability, soft caring, slow burn feelings

: ̗̀➛ masterlist | navigation

You heard the door creak open before you saw him.

It was late too late for Joel to be getting back from patrol. The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. You were curled up on the couch with a blanket, pretending to read, but really just waiting for the sound of his boots.

And now he was here.

“Joel?” you called softly, glancing over the back of the couch.

He didn’t answer at first.

Just stood in the entryway, the door half-shut behind him, framed in cold air and moonlight. His shoulders were hunched, his face half in shadow, but even from here, you saw the way his hand hovered just slightly over his side. His movements were stiff. Too careful.

He walked in like someone trying to hide a limp. You sat up slowly, brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“nothin’,” he muttered, voice rough, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Just tired.”

You stood. “Joel—”

“I said it’s nothin’.”

He kept walking, making a beeline for the bathroom like you wouldn’t notice the way his shirt stuck to his side with something darker than sweat. But you weren’t an idiot. And you’d seen him like this before gritting his teeth through pain, trying to pretend it was nothing.

You followed him before the door could close. He sighed, tired and defeated, and sat on the closed toilet lid with his head bowed.

“I told you,” he said, quieter this time, “don’t worry.”

“You don’t get to say that when you’re bleeding,” you replied, your voice trembling just slightly not with panic, but with something sharper. Something personal.

He didn’t argue. Just sat there and let the silence stretch between you. You stepped closer, kneeling in front of him, and touched the hem of his flannel. “Let me see.”

You shook your head and stood. “Sit still. I’ll get the kit.”

He didn’t move.

In the kitchen, your hands shook slightly as you pulled the first-aid kit from under the sink. Not from fear. From frustration. He always did this carried everything alone. Pain. Guilt. Even this.

You returned to him quietly and knelt again, the kit open on the floor beside you.

You grabbed the first-aid kit and a clean towel from the bathroom before coming back. The silence was thick with tension mostly his. You knelt in front of him, and he avoided your eyes like a child caught lying.

“Lift your shirt,” you said gently.

His jaw worked, grinding slightly, like he was still fighting the instinct to push you away. But he didn’t. After a beat, he nodded.

You peeled his shirt up gently, fingers brushing warm skin, and he winced but not from the pain. More like from the exposure.

And there it was.

A long, shallow gash just beneath his ribs. It had stopped bleeding, mostly, but the skin around it was inflamed and raw, the edge of his shirt soaked in rust-colored blood.

“Jesus, Joel…”

“It ain’t deep.” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “Was just a knife. Got careless.”

“How long have you been walking around like this?”

“Since it happened,” he muttered. “Didn’t have time to stop. Had to get back.”

You soaked the towel and pressed it gently to the wound. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna worry you.”

You looked up at him sharply. “And bleeding out alone wouldn’t worry me more?”

He looked away.

“You’re allowed to let people care about you, you know,” you said as you worked, voice quiet but firm. “You don’t always have to be the one patching others up.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. You could see it the discomfort. Not from the pain, but from the attention. The tenderness. Like it was unfamiliar territory.

You cleaned the cut carefully, working in silence for a few minutes. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off of him.

“I’m used to doin’ things on my own,” he finally said.

“I know,” you replied, dabbing the wound with antiseptic. “Doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it that way.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched your hands move, expression unreadable.

“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal. You came home hurt and bleeding. That’s not just a bad day.”

Joel exhaled. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

You paused, setting the cloth down. “Joel, I’m always going to worry. That’s part of loving someone.” The words slipped out before you realized what you’d said. And you froze.

Joel went very still.

You felt it the shift in the air. Like something unsaid had finally surfaced between you, hanging there in the quiet like dust in a sunbeam.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. Tired eyes, lined with guilt and something deeper. Something scared.

“You love me?” he asked softly.

You met his gaze, steady and honest. “Of course I do.”

He swallowed hard. His hands clenched slightly, then released. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me be here.”

He didn’t speak again, but something in his body language softened. Like a wall slowly crumbling.

You finished cleaning the wound and wrapped the bandage around him, your touch gentle, your fingers brushing his skin with a kind of reverence. You didn’t rush. You didn’t scold. You just cared.

And Joel felt it.

Every second of it.

When you were done, you sat back on your heels. “There. That should hold for tonight.”

He looked down at you, his voice quiet. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His brow furrowed. You could see it the conflict in his chest, the discomfort, the fear. Not of you. Of needing you.

And maybe of liking it.

“You don’t like being taken care of,” you said softly.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted.

You reached up and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “Then let me teach you.”

He didn’t speak. Just looked down at your hands. And then, slowly, he brought your joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

A thank you. An apology. A promise.

You stood and helped him up, guiding him toward the couch with a gentle touch on his arm.

He hesitated again. “I can sleep in the chair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sit down.”

He obeyed without arguing, and you pulled a blanket over both of you as you curled up beside him. He was still tense for a while, body rigid, breath shallow.

But then he let out a slow sigh and leaned into you, his arm slipping around your waist, your head resting on his shoulder.

The fire crackled softly.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I think so.”

You smiled and reached for his hand again, twining your fingers with his. “Get used to it.”

He huffed a small laugh and leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’ll try.”

[cuntyhunty22]

CHAPTER 3!!!!! Give it a read

Guilty as sin (chapter 3)

Paring : Joel!dbf x reader x Tommy

Summery : things heat up. Your elationship with Tommy develops.. months go by.. things change.. things get.. well complicated..

Tags : bathroom sex , public sex (kind of) , p in v , rough sex, choking , dirty talk. Daddy kink (sorry it was fitting for this part ) fingering , slight possessiveness , sort of infidelity, pet names, probably way more but I'm drunk editing this ) just smut okay.

(Hiiii sorry it took a minute to post! If there are mistakes I apologize did this drunk: hungover and in a hurry.)🫶🏼

Songs for this chapter :

Worst way : Riley green

You belong to somebody else : Noah Cyrus

I lied : lord Huron

And of course song of the whole fic : guilty as sin : Taylor swift.

•

IYou haven't moved since Joel said those things. You stand there watching everyone, Joel and your dad playing cornhole with Randy, Sheila and dolly gossiping, Sarah and Tommy attempting to put together this sprinkler. You look back and forth between the two men. Each wonderful humans. You're sinking back to that place you were a few days ago but you can't.. You have a good thing going with Tommy it's fair to you and him to see it out. Then you wonder, why does Joel think that.. does he think he's the man for you..

You walk over to where Tommy is, he's fumbling with the plastic, Sarah giving him directions.

"Ya know you and dad build stuff for a living you would think you would be able to put this together. " she laughs as Tommy can't get the plastic to snap.

"Give me that." You take it out of his hands snapping it together no problem.

"I swear you are magic, I was doing that I don't know-" Tommy shakes his head as you and Sarah laugh at him.

"No you weren't you were manhandling it." You give him a playful push.

You didn't seem to mind when I manhandled you. " That cheeky ass grin on his face. Your jaw drops looking back at him as Sarah just looks back and forth between you and Tommy

"Shit. I said that outloud. Sarah.. uh.. " Tommy figets nervously

"It's fine... weird.. kind of.. but fine I kinda already knew." Sarah shrugs.

"Hey Sarah... wanna come with me to find liquor.? " you pull her by the hand.

You reach the kitchen, opening the cabinet finding your tequila you pour two shots.

"Here you're gonna need this..." you hand her a shot glass.

"So what the hell is happening, you left. You come back and Tommy?" Sarah's brows raise in curiosity.

"Yeah.. Tommy.." you throw a shot back pouring another. "To be honest Sarah I'm just going with whatever life throws at me.. shit at my moms was bad really bad. And then just whatever the fuck I was doing." You stand there leaning against the counter.

"Yeah I heard dad talking about it.. I also heard him grumble about Tommy going. even though he's the one that told him where your mom lives." She looks at you analyzing you for answers on that.

"Yeah.. I don't think I can talk to you about Joel.. it's still too weird..and to be honest I haven't really spoke to him."

"But my uncle isn't weird? She laughs

"Actually no.. not really." You catch yourself smiling .

"Hmmm ya know.. I kinda like it. He needs to settle down. That man is crazy."

You laugh "yeah that's what makes him Tommy though. "

"Manhandle?" Sarah cackles

"STOP. I can't breathe." You laugh uncontrollably and it felt good. You have been so caught up with everything you have missed being just a girl.

You heard the back door open as Tommy walks in. You both look at him cracking up again.

"Wow it's not polite to laugh at people." He taunts playfully.

"What are you gonna do manhandle us."

Sarah throws her hands up acting scared.

"Oh Tommy please manhandle me..." you say in a mocking voice, as he comes over to the kitchen island where you and Sarah were.

"I'm not gonna say anything you guys will just twist my words and use it against me ." Tommy chuckles.

You slide a shot over to him your eye glistening looking at him, tight jeans big belt buckle now just in that damn tank top.

You pour two more, handing one to Sarah.

"Hey now.. Sarah.. Your dad isn't-"

You cut Tommy off "don't be a party pooper. Or I'm gonna manhandle you out of this kitchen." Sarah laughs

"Maam don't threaten me with a good time. I might like that." He gives you a wink making you have butterflies.

"I know you would now shut up and take the shot."

He listens. You three cheers and shoot them back.

"Okay let's go play in this sprinkler." Sarah says.

You get up heads towards the door Sarah already outside. Before you walk out Tommy pulls you back.

"Come here" his arms wrap around you as his eyes trail down your body. You know that look.

You had this wild idea. Grabbing the tequila bottle.

"Shot?" You ask

"Why not." He smiles.

"Open your mouth." You tell him.

He just looks at you curious.

You take a big swig of the tequila then spitting it into Tommy's mouth.

"Christ woman. That was-"

You push him down the hall way into the bathroom.

"Baby.. baby what about the sprinkler."

You laugh knowing the next thing that comes out of your mouth is gonna send him over the edge "why don't you play in my sprinkler instead."

"Swear to god you are gonna be the death of me.. but at least I'll die a happy man."

Tommy chuckles.

You lock the door, immediately your mouth was on his. You didn't know what took over you but you needed him. Even if it just was a hot heavy make out session. You were in charge, your tongue sliding into his mouth, taking up every space possible, your lips sliding off to suck on his bottom lip before giving it a bite, Tommy groans as he slides his hands around your ass with a firm grip picking you up planting you on the sink.

"I want you to fuck me here." You pant as you fumble with his belt.

Tommy's pupils blown wide. "Here?" He questioned.

"Did I fucking stutter Tommy miller."

You unzip his jeans.

He lets out a growl before pulling off your shorts leaving your panties on trying to be quick. He pulls his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring out , which no surprise at all he was hard. Rock hard.

"Hmm would ya look at that." Your voice smug as you wrap your hand around his cock pre cum leaking at the tip. Tommy wraps his arms around your legs gently lifting you to a better angle. He lines himself up before fully sinking all the way in.

"Fuck woman you're already squeezin me."

Tommy's thrusts deep making you whine a little louder than you should. He lifts his hand to cover your mouth and then it hit you like Deja vu. Your brain went from Tommy to Joel to back to Tommy in the matter of seconds.

His pace was frantic you only had so long until it became suspicious.

Each thrust deep his tip kissing your cervix, your back slamming against the wall. His hand still covering your mouth, as his gaze never leaves your eyes.

"I'm moving my hand... be a good girl for me?" His smooth as silk drawl coming out low and sexy.

You nod.

His hand moves from your mouth to your throat. Gentle grip on it right amount of pressure.

"Harder." You whisper. "Please"

Tommy's eyes darken as his grip tightens a little moan slipping from your mouth as he thrusts hard as he could going deep as possible, he repeated this over and over your eyes roll back as your core burns and your climax builds.

"God you look so pretty with my hand around your throat and my cock burried in you.. Christ -" Tommy groans.

"Yeah.. tell me more.." you whimper as Tommy moves his hand down his thumb now circling your clit.

"I love how needy, how you take this cock like a good girl, how your gonna milk me dry, how I want to fuck you every minute of the day..."

You squirm under him. Your body shaking.

"Fuck Tommy. So close- I."

He kisses your jaw. "Yes baby I love those noises I love yo- fuck"

Your eyes glimmer. Your orgasm taking over. Your whole body shaking. You cup his face as he slides in and out riding through your high.

"You love me?" You smirk. "Was that what you were going to say? You know it's bad to tell a woman that while fucking her."

He laughs "would it be bad to say.." he thrusts deep.. "that." He thrusts again. "Fuck I'm - im gonna cum."

You hold his face kissing his lips as he unravels inside of you.

Tommy lets out a deep groan followed by a deep breath his forehead to yours. He takes your chin lifting it up to look at him.

"Can I say it now?" He smirks that god damn smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Yea-" your voice cuts off as you hear the back door open.

You both scramble putting yourself together trying to make it as discreet as possible. You open the door sliding out walking towards the stairs, as Tommy slides out walking towards the kitchen. You decided to go upstairs to throw a bikini top on. As you take off Tommy's shirt you see Joel's shirt still on your bed.. and you realize how fucked up that looks. You sit it down. And head back downstairs.

Once you make it to the kitchen everyone is inside grabbing food. You walk over to where Sarah is.. Tommy, Joel and your dad in the other side talking about who knows what. You look over for a moment and catch both of them staring.

"I thought you ran off again." Sarah laughs.

"Well.. kind of got distracted...." you laugh as you grab something off Tommy's plate as he walks by he just chuckles as he walks out to the patio.

"Yup got it. I swear your life is like a soap opera."

"Definitely feels that way sometimes."

You look down feeling nervous as Joel walks by.

"I know you don't want to talk about it. Hell I don't know if I want to... but all I'm sayin is maybe you need to talk to him.. alone without all the distractions.. just hash things out. It's weird seeing you and my dad not really speak."

"Yeah maybe." You shrug. "Let's get food before all them men eat it all."

Sarah chuckles. "Yup that will happen."

Once you and Sarah got your food you made it outside. Everyone sitting in their chair or at the patio table. You and Sarah opted to do it picnic style and sit on a blanket.

Once you got everything settled, Tommy plops himself down next to you stealing something off your plate. You playfully smack his hand.

"So what you can do it but I can't."

"Exactly right" you smile.

"I you two think your are being discreet, but if there was a sign that said we are fu-"

"Sarah don't you dare finish that sentence..." Tommy leans back.

"I'm just sayin." She shrugs. "I don't think anyone would care just so you both know."

(That's a fucking lie.)

Once you finished your food, you finally turned the hose on for the sprinkler. You ran through like you were a child again, giggling with Sarah. You couldn't help to notice Joel crack a smile when he looked over and that made you feel good. No matter what you never wanted him to hate you, or for things to be weird.

You ran through again this time you were met with Tommy picking you up spinning you around through the water as you wrap your Legs around his waist. His white tank top clinging to his skin. Caught up in the moment you both forgetting where you were . He kisses you. It wasn't too much but it was enough.

Welp cats out of the bag completely." Sarah folds her arms.

You both pull back staring at one another then back to everyone else. You notice your dad kinda fidget he doesn't seem mad but maybe confused... Joel on the other hand.. he already knew but now in its his face in front of everyone it's real.

He puts you down, grabbing your hand.

"Well.." you look over to him.

"Well.. want me to say it now?" He says

You just smile..

"I lov-"

Sheila comes walking over. (Great she ruins everything.)

"Well congratulations, I know this would happen eventually. I look forward to being sister in law's."

You cackle. "God damn Sheila. Yeah of course in your land of delusion."

"I don't know why you care so much about me wanting Joel...hmmm." She just looks at you and smirks as she walks away.

"God I hate that woman." You roll your eyes.

You and Tommy make it up to the patio everyone looking at you.

You decided maybe you should talk to your dad.

He's standing over the cooler beer in hand.

"Hey dad.." you walk over nervously.

"Hey sweetie, so uh-" he looks at you then back at Tommy.

"yeah.. is that okay?"

"If he makes you happy. And he treats you well then yeah more than okay. Him and Joel are like family."

Family... that word hit a bit too hard. If your dad only really knew.

You dad walks over pulling you into a hug

"Dad I'm soaked."

"I know kiddo I don't care. I'm just happy. I'm happy you are happy and home. To be honest I didn't like that guy across the pond... too girly.."

You chuckle. "Good to know dad, okay I'm gonna give change. Love you."

You walk back over to Tommy who's standing there just talking to everyone, he looks like a weight has been lifted from him as he pulls you in to him in front of everyone. His hand wraps around your waist like it's easy, like it's supposed to be.

"Hey I'm gonna go change okay?" You kiss his cheek.

"Yeah that's fine baby, I'll probably go home soon since I'm all wet.. you stayin home or? " his eyes glisten looking at you hoping you will say what he wants to hear.

"I'll stay. Let me grab a few things."

•

You walk down the hall way that leads to the stair up to your room. As you step up the first step the bathroom door opens.. you don't even have to look to know who it is. You feel him. You say nothing .. you continue up the steps.. so does he.. you slide into your room knowing he will be in shortly after. He slides in and you lock the door. You haven't been alone since the last night he was here in this room.. tangled up skin on skin begging for you.. telling you he needs you.. you stand there waiting for something to be said.. something to be done. He watches you.. watches the water drip on your skin from your hair, he watches how you are fighting things you feel. He knows you. He takes a few steps forward inches between one another. He gently takes his fingers tracing your jawline. That was enough.. just the touch of him. You fight it, and then it slips.. a small quiet whimper.

"Joel I -" you freeze.

He lifts your chin to look at him.

"I know... does he make you happy?"

You look him in his eyes "he does."

His jaw tightens. "Do you love him.?"

You remain silent. You look at him not knowing what to say.. " he loves me.."

He inches closer, his breath lingers above your ear. You can feel the heat of his body. You are taken over by the intoxicating smell of him. "That's not what I asked."

Your body is frozen. You can't move. Under the spell he as on you. Finally you gain some type of strength.

"What do you want me to say.. want me to do.." you look at him begging for some type of closure. "Joel. I don't know. I don't know anything right now. I'm - nevermind. I need to change I need to grab things I'm staying with Tommy tonight."

You go to move and he grabs your hand pulling you back his lips crashing down before you could even stop. It was urgent, it was hungry, it was desperate. His hand finds the back of your neck pulling you more into the kiss as he deepens it like his lips own you. Finally you snap back into your body you push back.

"I had to. I needed to. I'll let you go. Ill set you free... I'll let you find yourself. I'll let you be happy because you deserve to be. I'll be here in anyway you need me to be.. But I stand by what I said earlier. And if I am wrong then that's on me.. and if I'm not.. come back to me.."

His hands grip your face like he did that night. And then he walks out of your room.

•

You sit on your bed. Staring at the two shirts lying there that symbolize more than just two shirts. You needed a minute. You need silence to be in a room that didn't have a Miller in it. After you got yourself together you changed. You threw on some plaid shorts, an old beer tee your dad gave you, slipping your wet hair up. You threw some random clothes, some other self care things into a bag and went back downstairs. It's getting dark now, your dad has a fire going. Everyone is gathered around it, the air shifts as you make your appearance.

"Hey sweetheart, we were actually just talking about you." You dad says as you walk up.

"Good things I hope." You look at Tommy. Then to Joel. Then back to your dad.

"Actually yes... you know that old building in the town center.. the one that used to be a speak easy in the 20s, and it was a bakery about a year ago."

"Cynthia's old place?" Joel pipes in.

"Yeah well, it's for sale.. and Tommy was telling me about your dream." Your dad touches your shoulder.

You look over to Tommy with a smile.

"Jesus you couldn't wait to get

brownie points with him could ya."

He laughs. "Maybe.. but what did I tell ya.. I told ya that we are gonna make it happen.."

"Okay so? Building is for Sale so what? It probably needs alot of work.. and besides I don't have money to buy a building.. or to pay people to fix it.. and hell anything else. I would need equipment.. and a business license.. it's not as easy as just buying a damn building "

You look at all three of them.

"I'll co sign for you. If that's your dream. I'll do what I can." Your dad says.

Joel clears his throat, as he looks at you. "Are you forgettin I own a contacting company?"

"No of course not. But you would need paid. How am I gonna do that."

"You aren't. I'll do it for free. If this really what ya want. Plus you got that guy too." He looks over at Tommy. "Both of us would make light work."

Both . Of . Us. That statement repeates over and over and over.

"As for the other things. We will research. Figure it all out. You have people that want to support you. People that love and care for you." Tommy grabs your hand. You notice Joel's body stiffen but he looks at you with those eyes that say he will do anything. Proving his statement earlier.

"I'll help too! I'll make social media pages, help advertise! I can do that even when I'm back in Dallas. " sarah smiles.

"Fine. You guys win." You let out a deep breath followed by a big smile.

"Wonderful. I'll call in the morning.. we all will go look at it together. I'm happy kiddo . I'm happy to do this ." Your dad brings you into a hug, you hug him back tighter than usual.

•

The night comes to an end, you ended up staying at your dad's longer than planned. You say your goodbyes as you follow Tommy to the truck. In the rear view you see Joel and Sarah leaving. You hop in exhausted from the day, and honestly overwhelmed.

You stay quiet for start of the drive, you look over at Tommy. The moonlight illuminates his beauty. His hand on your thigh, where lately it seems that's where it stays. Where it belongs.

"Thank you." Your voice quiet.

"For what?" He replies gently give your thigh a squeeze.

"For loving me. For finding out about that building. For today. For how you are in front of everyone."

He's quiet for moment. He takes a deep breath in before saying what he's been trying to all day.

" I love you. And I told you whatever you need. Whatever you want. If I can do it it's yours."

You know you need to say it back. You want too because you do love him.. but a part of you is hesitant.. but you do it anyways.

"And I love you."

•

You arrive to Tommy's, as soon as his door opens he's flying over to yours. Pulling you out of the truck into his arms. His lips find yours full of need. You pull him leading the way, he opens the door and hes back on you. Pulling off your shirt, you peel off

his still damp tank top, followed by his jeans. Leaving a trail of discarded clothing.

Whole time your lips never leave one another until he's has you naked. His lips leave yours working down your jaw, to your neck. He wasn't careful, there was no need to be anymore. He went straight to that sensitive spot kissing it, then he bites. You feel his teeth graze your skin, you gasp at the pressure, at the electric shock it made through your body.

"Tommy" you moan out his name,

Knowing what it does to him.

His hands grip your hips, picking you up he takes you into the bedroom. He plops you into the bed the matress bouncing with your weight. Then he's there between your legs, his hands trace down your body to your breast, to your stomach. Down your mound he spreads your folds sliding his fingers in your slick.

"Look at this." He inserts two fingers just going knuckle deep. "So wet for me darlin... this.. fuck.. this is mine." He fully inserts his fingers now pumping them in and out curling them. He pumps them hard and fast. You arch into him, fucking your self

On his fingers, chasing that High that was building in your core.

"Yeah that's it.. good fucking girl."

"Tommy please... fuck.."

Tommy's thumb finds your clit circling as he continues pumping his fingers.

"Cum for me baby.. show me how good it feels.. wanna hear it.."

And it came.. you arch up hard as you gush out, Tommy takes his fingers out now covered with your arousal.

You stare at him. All fucked out. Your body shaking. But your eyes said differently. Your eyes begged for more and he knew it.

I need you." You whine just above a whisper like it was something sacred.

He moves to you. His hand running down your thigh as he kisses you, his tongue circles yours his lips suckig your bottom one . You feel him. How hard. His tip at your entrance, Tommy cups your face before he sinks in. A groan leaving his lips. He sinks in slow deep, like every inch had a purpose.

He moves sliding sing half way out before he thrusts back in. He keeps doing this as he mumbles, trying to keep himself from already falling apart.

"Look at me." He says as he throws his head back then Right back to looking at you.

His pace deliberate, you feel everything.

"You feel this" his hand on your lower stomach. "You feel me here.." He stares right into your eyes. "Yeah you do ya feel it. s'that good baby."

"So good, tell me you love me. Tell me please." You claw down his back as you pull him forward to wrapping your leg's around him.

His dark curls now falling out of his bun dangling above your face. his mustache tickles your lip as he leaves a hungry kiss on your mouth. Tommy's big hands cage your head, putting him at a perfect angle to thrust deeper into you than you could imagine. Once he found that he could sink that deep he didn't stop. It was different though.. he was deep and hard but it didn't feel like fucking it fell like something different because it was.

"I love you baby, I love you so fucking much.. don't you feel it. You feel how you make me."

"Yes. I love you- fuck I'm-" you were about to unravel again and you had a feeling this was just the beginning.

"Fuck my girl, give it to me. That's it." Tommy laid gentle kisses on your neck as you shook under him your climax taking over.

In a swift motion he flipped you from your back on the mattress to on top Of him.

You took a second just looking down at him, his chest glistening with sweat, his bun barely holding on, how his lips are swollen from kissing you so hard.

Your legs stratal his wait, his cock still hard, you keep staring at him, him staring at you. You caress his face as your fingers trail over his lips, down his body. Tommy groans under your touch. You lift your hip finding him before taking him in his cock sinking deep.

"You feel so good, feel so - Jesus."

Tommy exhales.

You didn't start slow, you just let your body take over, your hand on Tommy's chest balancing yourself as you bounce up and down fast and deep taking every inch as you do. It was pathetic but you were close again, you didn't know why or how.

"Just like that baby, so pretty bouncing on my cock. Fuck. Keep goin darlin. Shit- your squeezin. Close again?"

His big brown eyes staring up.

"Take it baby, take what's yours... darlin.. " He groans before you feel him fill you deep. warm white ropes. You continue bouncing chasing your third orgasm, this one hit hard, you practically seen stars before you collapsed on top of Tommy.

"Wow." You laugh.

"Yeah wow. Jesus so this is what life is gonna be like now."

He pets your head as you lay on his chest.

"Are ya complainin miller."

"No not at all just thinking how lucky am."

Tommy kisses your head .

"Pretty fucking lucky aren't we."

•

The next morning.

You could get used to this, Waking up next to Tommy, attempting to making breakfast but it burns because you can't take your hands off one another like hormonal teenagers. But that's the honeymoon phase.. what's real life going to be like.

•

You both got ready for the day, you are going to meet your dad and Joel at the building to scope it out , sign papers and come up with a plan.

Once you get there Joel is already there, waiting chatting with your dad.

Tommy opens your door helping you out you guys make tons way over to them.

"Hey baby doll, you excited." Your dad pulls you into a hug. "Tommy you taking care of my daughter." Your dad shakes his hand. As Joel watches.

"Yes sir. She's precious." Tommy lays a kiss on your head.

Your dad walks over to greet the real estate agent, leaving you with Joel and Tommy.

"Big brother" Tommy gives Joel a hug.

"Yall doing okay today." Joel asks trying to make small talk.

"Yeah alls good, how are you?" You ask, it's discreet but enough. You try to keep those feelings, that kiss locked in a box deep down.

"M'alright, intrigued to see how much work this place needs."

"Yeah me too. Thank you again. Both of you really."

Joel clears his throat as your dad comes over.

You all follow them into the building looking around getting an idea of what it needs..

"So what do you think?" The agent asks you...

"Well it's beautiful, and it can be exactly what I want.. but the question is for Joel.. is this place save-able is it worth it?

You look to him for an answer for help. You feel guilty because maybe you should have asked Tommy.

"It's gonna be a task... but if it's what ya want... we will make it happen."

Small smirk on his face.

"Dad? Your thoughts? Tommy?"

"I agree with Joel. He's smart he will make it happen, I'm here to help ya know that."

Tommy grabs your hand.

"Up to you baby doll, your dream is here if you're ready to make it happen." You dad replies.

"Okay then it's decided. We will take it."

•

3 months later.

Putting this place together has been a process.. you've spent hours getting things together. Business licenses, liquor licenses, food licenses, everything you needed. When you weren't handling the business part you spent your time with Joel and Tommy, painting the building, attempting to help them install things. Honestly you were just supervising as they did the man work. Tommy and you have been doing great.. you mainly stay at his place. You visit your dad almost every day.

6 months later.

It's late afternoon. You haven't seen Tommy in five days. He's been on a trip for Joel since Joel stayed here to help out finish up the building.. you open next month and you are on a time crunch. It's been weird without him. You are always attached at the hip. Not to mention he kind of puts a buffer between you and Joel. He checks in little bit by little bit he's been odd.. and it's starting to make you overthink.

You are at the building now.. and your phone goes off.. there is a tornado warning.. and it's heading to you fast. Outside the wind has picked up Dabris is flying everywhere as hail pounds down. The electric flickers on and off. You can't drive In this so you stay there. You find blankets candles anything you think you would need.

-incoming call : Tommy miller

- Y - hey baby what's going on I miss you.

No answer just laughing and loud music.

-Y - Tommy? Hello?

Nothing

T- shit. Hey babe. How are you.

Y - actually not great.. there is a tornado headed this way.. and I haven't heard from-

Line goes dead. "Fuck."

It's getting worse outside and you're starting to freak out a bit being here by yourself. It's to the point you can't see anything outside besides the poring of the hail and rain followed by a loud crash and your new sign falling to the ground.

"Great. Seems like that's how my life's going." You mutter to yourself.

Another bang but this time it was a bang on the door. Someone is outside in this weather.

You run over opening the door and there he was. Completely drenched right teeshirt sticking to his body, his curls wet.

"Joel what the hell why are you out in this weather."

He walks in water poring off of him.

"Knew you were here alone. Couldn't let you be. It got worse than I thought. Was just gonna take you back to your dad's or Tommy's."

He looks at you observing your body language, how you are shaking how your eyes look like you could cry any minute.

"You ok?"

You shake it off. Last thing you need is to let those old feelings resurface in a moment of you feeling down.

"Yeah I'm okay. Just stressed."

"Ok..."

Another crash, followed by the sky lighting up and the wind whistling.

"We need to go to the basement. Grab what you need and let's go."

You follow Joel down to the basement. He lights some candles laying blankets on the ground he sits. You stand there pacing back and forth.

"You're gonna run a damn hole in the floor if ya don't stop.. come sit."

"I can't sit." You continue pacing.

Your phone rings again

Incoming call : Tommy miller

Y- Tommy baby. Where are you can you hear me?

Echos of laughter on the other end of the line followed by a woman's voice. "You're just so funny Tommy."

You hang up the phone looking Joel.

"He wouldn't do that to you.. he's dumb.. but he's not that dumb.. don't jump to conclusions. I'm sure he's just out with the company. But right now that's not important. You see this."

Joel shows you his phone the weather radar and what's about to hit. F-10 tornado.

"This is what's important so I need you to sit your ass down here. We will deal with Tommy's dumb ass later."

You sit next to Joel. Silent. You don't know what to say. What to do. What if you are just reading into things. But what if you weren't. You don't think he would do that to do. He's been with you through so much but you know shit happens.

The tornado hits. It's like a freight train. Everything thing shakes around you. You start to sob overwhelming and scared that's when you feel him. He wraps you in his arms and holds you.

"S'ok just breathe." He tightens his grip. "I'm here, m'not gonna let anything happen to ya."

You melt yourself into him, letting yourself be there, letting yourself feel everything. Being scared of the tornado, scared that all your hardwork is going to be ruined, scared of what Tommy is doing, scared on how that's going to hurt like hell, and scared of how you feel right now in Joel's arms. This goes on for about 10 minutes and then it's dead silent.

You look up at him his arms still around you. You touch his face, his eyes locked on you. On your every move. And then you do something... something stupid.. some very very reckless and hypocritical.

You kiss Joel... not just a peck.. not just a scared kiss.. you kiss him with every single ounce of you... and he... he kisses you back... his hands finding your body like someone Starved.. his fingers graze the button of your jeans until your phone rings...

-incoming call : Tommy miller

You let it ring.. you look at Joel not knowing what to do.. you pull away fixing yourself like he could see you.. feeling absolutely worthless..

call connects

T - hey babe I'm sorry I've just been busy.. some of went out ..

y- well an F-10 just hit.. and I was at the building.. while some woman was saying you were so funny.

(Toxic I know. Bare with me)

T- uh yeah.. um.. that was Maria.

Y - who's Maria.?

Joel just looks at you like he knows something he shouldn't.

T- just an old friend. You okay tho? Were you at the building alone.

Y- I was.. until Joel came..

T- Joel came?

Y- yeah it's over now, I'm gonna go check things out... when do you come back.?

T- I'll be home tomorrow night.

Y-okay. Good.

T- call me later okay.. love you..

Y- love you.

Call ends.

You feel like the absolute worst person on the planet.. but now the look Joel gave you when that name was mentioned has you believing maybe you aren't crazy.

"So. Who's Maria." You look at him as you lean back against the wall.

"Maria is Tommy's ex... the one he was supposed to marry.. the one he moved to California for..."

"Fucking wonderful . All of this is fucking wonderful.. I can't even be mad.. I can't even. Jesus Joel what is wrong with us."

He leans back against the wall next to you.

"It was the heat of the moment. You were scared.. it's fine.. don't beat yourself up..l

"You are just saying that when you know.. it wasn't just that.."

Joel clears his throat getting up off the ground he reaches out his hand helping you up.

"Let's go check out the damage."

"Fine."

You walk upstairs, the inside is fine.. the outside on the other hand leaves alot to be desired... the windows are cracked, the front needs redone.

You look around taking a deep breath.

"It could be alot worse.. we will fix it.. still be on schedule to open."

You zone out not focusing on anything Joel was saying.

"Darlin.."

You look up.. it's been a long damn time since you've heard.

"Yeah sorry I'm okay."

"That's a damn lie. But I told ya. Don't beat yourself up... talk to him when he gets home. I don't think it's anything to worry about.."

"What happened to come back to me.. huh... what happened to all of that shit you said... did you even mean it."

You didn't realize at this moment you were screaming at him, people looking in your direction.

He grabs your arm pulling you back into the building , pulling you back to the kitchen. Once he gets you back there he has you backed into a corner, his breath heavy, you can feel his body heat, his Hands cup your face on both sides as he stares into your eyes.

"I meant every fucking word. I still mean those words.. but this is a line I can't cross.. and I know you can't either, god I want to kiss you again. To make love to you. Do you know how often I think about you and how dirty it makes me feel.. you are dating my brother.. you chose my brother.. my brother loves you.. you love my brother.. and I lo- shit..."

You stare back at him. You know he's right. But you needed to know.

"You what Joel." Your voice cracks.

"Nothing I can't .." Joel turns and he leaves

•

You sit on the counter.. not moving.. he's good at this.. good at saying things that hit you deep and just leave.. normally you'd have Tommy to be a distraction from that.. and then Tommy ended up being someone you love more than anything.. but in a way you think so was Joel.

You stare at your phone.. it's been 2 hours since you have heard from Tommy..

Calling : Tommy Miller

Voicemail: hey... baby.. um it's me... (you start to cry) I'm sorry I just.. I miss you.. today has just been hard and my mind is overwhelmed. Uh just call me back okay.. I love you.

You slam your phone down. How did you end back here. Back to feeling th same way you felt months ago..

•

You lock up the building, and you get into your car.. you didn't want to go to Tommy's.. being there alone right now would just be too much.. you didn't want to go to your dads you didn't wanna answer questions.. so you went to the one place you shouldn't.. and you didn't even know if you would let you in.

•

Joel's POV

It killed me to leave her. But I had to. I love her.. I was going to tell her that but who would I be to make her life more comfortable I was supposed to help her. I needed to talk to Tommy.. see what wa showing on there and why he was with Maria.. but then again should I meddle in that relationship.. would that be wrong of me..

Calling Tommy miller :

T- hello brother.

J- hey, how are ya how's the trip.

T- fine everything is going good been busy.. heard about the tornado..

j - yeah. Pretty messed up here.. speaking of.. you talk to your girlfriend.

Tommy goes silent.

T- yeah a little.. uh.. I need advice.

J- with what.

T- Maria is here.. she ended up working on the same house.. interior design. We talked.. I told her I'm with someone.. but I just I don't know I guess I can't help but to think of what could have been with Maria ya know. We were engaged. But I mean I love her.. and I know she had a bad day.. which thank you for being there for her..

j- yeah not a problem.. Tommy.. ya know I stay out of things.. I let you make your own decisions.. but really think about this one. If she's not who you see yourself with or you are having second thoughts you let that girl go.

*ding dong

J- Tommy I gotta go someone's at the door.

T- okay big brother I'll see ya.

Call ends.

Who could be here at this hour, I open the door and there you were.

"Hi" she looks at me with those eyes. And I can't resist her.

•

"I'm sorry I know I shouldn't be here.. but I was sitting there thinking.. I didn't want to go to Tommy's.. I didn't want to go to dads... and the only place I knew I'd feel safe.. was here."

Your eyes are bloodshot, your skin is pale.

"Come in. Have you ate. You look like hell."

You walk through the door headed towards the living room.

"Thanks joel I appreciate that. Always know how to cheer me up." You collapse on his couch.. the very couch where Joel was on his knees earring you like a man starved. The night that started it all.

He looks over and you swear he's thinking the same thing.

"Wasn't being mean.. you should know how I feel.. I was just sayin."

"Have you heard from Tommy? I've left him voicemails. Sent texts. Like if something has changed if he has changed his mind I wish he'd just tell me.. fuck I shouldn't talk to you about that. This is so fucked up. It's like I can't go anywhere. I can't escape this. I go here it's you. I go to Tommy's it's him. I go home. My dad ask's about everything. But you know what.. no matter what.. I crawl back to you..I end up here.. I end up with you. It's always been that way hasn't it."

Joel comes over to sit next to you. He moves your head putting it in his lap.. you didn't have it in you to object to fight. You both remain silent for a moment. His hands twirl your hair, then they move tracing your jaw.

"Joel..." you whimper.

"He doesn't deserve you.. hell I don't even deserve you."

You look at him confused on why he said that..

Your phone vibrates.

Incoming call : Tommy miller

"Don't answer." Joel looks down at you.

"Why.? What do you know Joel." He just zones out.

You pick up the phone.

"Tommy?"

"Hey.."

"Hi.. everything okay.?"

"Honestly I don't know. Um I wanted to talk about this in person but it's killing me .. Maria is my ex.. so she's here working interior design.. we talked. Was looking for closure and I realized that there is still feelings there.. and same for her.. I'm not saying I'm getting back with her but it feels wrong for me to question this.. for you to not have someone fully sure.. and I was.. I was sure more than sure about you.. until I seen her.. I just I don't want to hurt you."

You get up off the couch walking outside. You didn't want Joel to see you cry.

Thank you for being honest.. I understand actually.. I um.. I'll get my things tomorrow.. I gotta go..."

•

You hang up the phone. You had no right to be mad.. you were doing basically the same thing.. but you did love him.. maybe not in love with him they way your supposed to be but in a way he healed you. He was good to you and you like to think for a while you were good to him.

•

You sit in Joel's rocking chair staring out into the distance when you hear him come outside. He said nothing he didn't need to.. because he already knew.

"You knew didn't you.. that's why you let me in.. why you touched me.. because that made us less guilty.. I'm gonna puke.."

You run back inside heading towards the bathroom, he's right behind you, you sit on the bathroom floor putting your head into the toilet, he sits down beside you grabbing your hair as you puke your brains out.

You just look at him. He pulls you in wrapping you up.

"Joel... I'm a terrible person... I didn't even fight for him.. I just agreed.. I didn't fight because I did way worse earlier. We did that. We can't do this.."

You sob into his chest. Leaving tears marks over the fabric of his teeshirt.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He kisses your head not in an over stepping way but in a I'm here let me comfort you way.

"Honestly.. I was gonna sleep at the building.. probably wasn't even gonna sleep.. but I go there and I think of Tommy.. and you.. it's like no matter where I go I can't escape this.. and that's what my place was supposed to be."

"Then let it be that. Don't let life take it from you. Don't let whatever you feel for me take that from you.. that's the opposite of what I'd ever want."

Joel rests his chin on your head gripping you tighter as you both sit on the cold tile.

"You can stay here... I want you to stay here... this is the worst time for this but I can't stop myself anymore.. I can't control wanting you.. wanting to take care of you.. wanting to kiss you... wanting to hear those sweet noises."

Joel leans back to look at you his eyes darken.

" want you in the worst way."

His lips find your jaw, leaving hungry kisses and nips down your neck.

You couldn't fight it either.. when it comes to him your weak.. and maybe you always have been.

It didn't take long for a moan to slip from your lips, and that sent Joel over the edge. He picks you up off the floor, your legs wrapped around his waist he carries you to the bedroom.

Once you were in there he slams you on to the bed, frantically taking off your clothes. And you taking off his. His lips find your body again. Biting every single sensitive spot marking you like you belonged to him.

This wasn't soft. This wasn't making love. This was pure fucking need. You needed him to fuck you senseless.

•

Joel pushed your legs open and you already know you are soaked. You shouldn't be but you are.

Joel lets out a very sadistic laugh. You know that laugh he's about to ruin you.

"Fucking leaking out. Like you haven't been fucked properly.."

He opens your folds licking his lips at your glistening cunt, he inserts two fingers deep already hooking them inside. You scream at the stretch, the pressure and the pace he's fucking you with his fingers.

"Don't you dare fucking cum.. did he let you cum.. I bet he let you have whatever you wanted.."

you stare up at him.. maybe hearing this was too soon.. but you couldn't help how fucking turned on it made you. This is what you loved about Joel in the bedroom.. he was filthy when needed, but also loving when the time was right. He was the best of both worlds.

"Answer me." Joel pulls his fingers out toying with you.

"Please." You whisper.

"What I can't hear you darlin." Joel smacks your clit the pressure made you gush.

"Jesus Christ.. yeah that's what you want.. you want it rough.?"

"Yes" you moan out loudly.

"Fuck. On all fours.. now." Joel demands.

You do as your told, you feel him come behind you. His hands on your waist, putting himself where he wants to be. In an instant he fills you making you scream his name. He established his pace, hard fast and furious. He thrusts in and out over and over over no mercy.

"This what you wanted.." Joel takes a handful of your hair wrapping it around his hand giving him a good grip to pull you all the way back. Your body arching to where you can look at him to the pint you feel he could snap you in half.

"Answer me." He pulls your hair harder as he lands deeper that you have ever felt.

"Yes.." you scream.

"Good fucking girl." Joel releases your hair, you fall forward his thrusts staying the punishable pace.

He catches you by wrapping his arm around you pulling your top half to him. Your hips still arched in the perfect position for him to stay deep. He holds your body to his tight, his chin resting on your shoulders, his grunts and moans fill your ear.

"What did I tell you.. Months ago.. you remember .." Joel says right in your ear, his voice low, smooth.

You know exactly what he is referring to as Joel moves his hand down to play with your clit.

"Yeah.. I'm yours.. oh - my god.. yes right there."

Joel bites your shoulder.. " mine.. "

"Say it again.. who's are you.. who owns this pussy.. who is the only one that can fuck you like this."

Hearing this hits you like lightning, your core burned, your stomach fluttered. You needed to ground yourself, you gripped on his thumb as you felt yourself losing control.

"I'm yours Joel.. daddy please let me- I can't-" your falling apart right there, this was something you haven't felt before more intense.

"I know baby.. I know.. I feel you.. that's my girl..."

He holds you tight letting your body shake as you unravel, his deliberate pace slows, his cock sliding in and out through your climax. You stay there feeling him. He keeps it slow steady until you look at him. Your eyes go dark like it was you giving him the go ahead to keep going.

Joel's breathing increases, panting in your ear. You take your hand moving it to his face, cupping it holding it to your face. He moans under the touch of your finger tips tracing his skin. He slowly increases his pace with each thrust until he's back at that frantic speed.

"Fucking needy.. you can't get enough can you.."

His face next your yours, close as possible.

"No I can't.. s'good.. you fuck me so good Joel.."

He growls as he moves his hand to wrap it around your throat. You knew then that he was just getting started. Joel's grip on your throat tightens as he furiously pounds you.

"You like this huh?" He rasps in your ear knowing damn well you can't speak.

"Look at you letting me fuck you like you're nothin.."

You just nod babbling what noises you could make.

"You wanna cum again for daddy.. give me another."

And so it took over your body.. you clinch around him, your screams muffles by his hand still on your throat. Before you could even think again, joel has you flipped on to your back pushing your legs up holding them there so he can fuck you deep.

From this angle you can watch him, watch the sweat on his forehead, that one curl that always falls, how dark his eyes get and how he wears every single emotion on his face.

"Look at me.. eyes up here " Joel says followed by a few grunts. "Tell me again who's are you."

His hands grip hard, his nails sinking into your skin as he bottoms completely out hitting that deep squishy spot he stays there.

"Yours Joel. I am yours."

Next thing you feel is his body shake, his cock twitch as he fills you to the brim with his spend. He stay there for a moment before he pulls out, he backs himself off the bed to look at you, to look at the mess he's made. He leaves you for a second, going into his bathroom that attaches to his bedroom. You hear the shower turn on, he walks back out looking at you laying there, his cum leaking out. It's silent for bit, until he comes over pulling you off the bed to the shower.

You stay under the hot water, kinda of numb he lays gentle kisses on your shoulder as he washes you.

"You ok?" His voice low.

"I'm not entirely sure... but.." you stop yourself.

"But what."

"Do you think it was supposed to be this way.. us.. and we were just too stupid to make it happen so in the meantime we hurt others."

He lets out a deep breath. "Let's get you washed and some food.."

Your body tenses as you pull back from him.

"No stop doing that. Stop running away when things get hard.. that's what happened here in the first place. You just fucked my brains out but you can't answer a question as I'm standing here completely vulnerable and bare."

Joel puts his face into his hands. "M'scared ok.. you knew that.. you called me out on it at the wedding.. I try I do.. but this.. you.. me.. it's gon be hard.. hell it already is.. I meant what I said earlier I can't hold it in anymore.. what I feel.. what I've tried to not feel.. but how do we do this without hurting people around us."

You close the space wrapping your arms around him. "We do what we should have.. we figure it out.. we come up with a way to tell people.. in the meantime time.. sneak around.. which is bad but I can't be away from you anymore either. I can't fight this you consume me Joel in ways no one ever has."

•

Once you both left the shower, Joel went to the kitchen to find something to make for you to eat. You stole another one of his flannels.. as you walk out he couldn't help but smirk.

"I think this is my favorite look on ya, my flannel, panties, wet messy hair."

He walks over leaning down to kiss your lips. "Surprised you can walk."

You playfully shove him. "Shut up."

He grabs your chin. "Hey now.. don't make me bend you over the counter."

You stare back at him. "Feed me first"

"Oh so now you are hungry.. got it. So that's how it works.. gotta fuck ya silly."

He smiles.. like an actual smile.

"Yep."

You spent the rest of the night, curled up together on the couch watching some old western, eventually you fell asleep on Joel's lap. When you woke up, you were in bed... his bed.. as he's peacefully sleeping next to you as the big spoon..

Tags : @ohhoneypascal @mani-pedro @megangovier @littledes1re @shaunasrabbit @glitterspark @umadirectioner @darknight3904 @thoughtfullypinkgiver @gardeniaviolets @half-moon16 @zen3ca @drewsctover @lostboys1987girl @doblasftcisco

[dilf-docs]

From This Time, Unchained

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

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

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

word count: 8,554 words

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

Joel Miller is a busy man.

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

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

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

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

To believe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Joel"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then stop hiding"

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

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

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

"If you keep that up, I might do"

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

"Thankfully, not me"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure, darlin'. Go'head"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remain silent, making him a little nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

He slowly nods, a sheepish expression on his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face flushes and core pulses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You send him a little flirtatious wink.

"I am looking for some trouble tonight"

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

"Ain't that interesting?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. That's not what I want"

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

"What'da ya' want, then?"

You pout your lips, whining.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I reckon that's me, doll"

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

"Joel"

"Yes?"

"I want you to have me"

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

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

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

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

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

"I've never been more sure"

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

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

Joel lets out a small laugh. "You little devious minx. I'll give ya' that"

"Give me what?" you tease.

His lips crash into yours as your hands find his face, holding as you deepen the kiss. His fingers dig in your thighs, making you moan and a spark of electricity run through his spine. He lets out a low moan in response to yours, pulling away from your lips momentarily, his eyes darkening with want. Joel looks at you for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

He lets out a low rumble, his voice gruff and rough.

"Yeah" he mutters. "Keep talkin' like that, and you'll get more than a kiss"

"So, I'll keep talking then"

"Y' little brat" he grumbles, voice dripping with frustration. "If ya' don't stop, I'm gonna..."

Joel trails off, his eyes dark with promises left unspoken.

"Say it" you challenge. "Or are you backing down?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of self control, despite loving your teasing and how it's driving him wild. He lets out a small laugh, his mind swirling with desire and frustration.

"Y' gon' pay for that later, darlin'" he threatens gruffly, his eyes locked on yours.

"How about now?"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your question, the idea sending a surge of desire through him. He can feel his self-control slipping away, your words pushing him closer to the edge.

He lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his hand tightening around your chin. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of desire and anticipation in them.

"Sure you wanna know, doll?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

"All of it" too eager. He can't help but smile, resolve unraveling. "Don't spare any details"

"And you gon' be a good girl?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Didn't I promise so?"

Those simple words are all it takes for Joel's resolve to finally crumble. Fuck what other people think. Fuck his own fears. He can't resist you any longer, the desire within him reaching boiling point.

"Shit, doll" he rasps, voice rough. "With words like that I'm just gon' give y'anythin' you want"

"Please, Joel" you utter his name in a little whimper.

"Please what?"

Loves to see you beg. Has imagined you squirming, like you did when his fingers would drift too close to your aching cunt. Straddling feels so stupid now, when he could've have sweet you like this a long ago.

"Fuck me"

The sound of your whimper goes straight to Joel's throbbing dick. He's completely undone, powerless against your desires.

"That's right, good girl" he rasps, his voice gruff and rough. You let a little whimper at the praise. "I'll give y'anythin' you want, angel"

He carries you upstairs while you giggle at his huffs, teasing him when his knees creak like the old wooden stairs. Still, he insists on carrying you when you offer to walk, maybe trying to prove his strength to you or something. When his face turns a deep shade of red, you can't tell if it's out of shame or effort.

"Taking me to your bed? I've never seen your bedroom" you muse out loud, once he reaches the final stair.

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"There's always a first" he rasps.

Your nose brushes against his cheek. "Can't wait"

The door opens when Joel kicks it lightly. It's very him, you think, as soon as it comes on view. There's a guitar in the corner, you notice too.

"It's very you" you say out loud now. He drops you on the bed, making you giggle. "It's simple and cozy"

He's still trying to calm his racing heart, but it's difficult when he's hovering over you, so close to your body, he can feel the heat of it. Can even smell your arousal in the air.

"'M not sure simple's a nice thing t' say 'bout someone"

For a moment, the room goes quiet. He hesitates to continue.

"There's just... somethin' I need to discuss with ya' before we get carried 'way"

Your doe eyes look up to him. "Yes?"

Joel takes a deep breath.

"I've... It's been a while, y'know, since... I'm just used to bein' alone. In that sense. And I... I haven't been with someone in a long time"

His voice trails off, a vulnerability settling in his expression.

"Joel..." you whisper, sitting as he backs up a bit.

"'M not good with people" he admits gruffly. "I tend to scare 'em off"

You extend your hand to softly trace over his stubble. Joel leans into your touch, his expression softening, your presence providing a sense of comfort. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You're not scaring me. I'm here"

His mouth tastes like sand when he swallows.

"Yeah, but I-"

"Yes?"

He pauses for a moment, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"'M not exactly young anymore, sugar"

"And what's bad about not being young?" you look at him, voice soft. "Are you afraid your knees will crack when you go down on me or what?"

He lets out a clipped laugh. The tension in the room lightens a little, and he's grateful for your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh, very funny, sweetheart." he grumbles, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And no, 's not that. I can eat ya' just fine" Joel spits, making you laugh at his cocky demeanor. But then he goes quiet again. "It's just... 'M not as young and good lookin' as I used to be" he finally blurts out.

Why is he even saying this things out loud. He didn't care before. He thought about himself better before. Yeah, before. What is it about the now that he cares, worse, admits out loud his insecurities?

Your expression morphs into one of sympathy. God, he hates it. Looks away from your warmth and pity. No, not pity. Compassion, like Joel was some sort of wounded old dog.

"Joel" you close the distance, tracing his face tenderly, drawing little heart shapes over his stubble. "That's not true. You're as handsome as back in the day, baby. I didn't meet you then, I know that, and this may be biased, but I'll choose the old you always, my pretty boy"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his expression softening even more. He's not used to such tender affection, and it's overwhelming.

He takes a moment to process your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He can see the sincerity in your eyes, and it touches him more than he can express. Words were never his thing, anyway.

"Y/n" he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with emotion. He even used your name. "You're too good fo' me"

"I just... I think it's because I love you"

He's taken back, almost falling in top of you, yet quickly regaining his posture. Still, his heart jumps into his throat, dangerously close to falling out from his mouth at your sudden confession.

It's been almost a year of being his and him being yours, yet those three words hadn't even been close to being said. Joel never thought he'd get to hear them again from the lips of a lover. Yet here you were, so damn young and sweet, letting them roll off your tongue in a soft echo of your loving. Safe. Like a home. You were his home.

He looks at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

"Y'... Y' love me?" his voice rasping a bit as he questions you.

"It's okay if you don't say it back" you laugh quietly, probably to make him feel better. Always thinking about the others, you pure thing.

He looks you in the eye, his hand still cupping your cheek. There's a warm tenderness in his expression, despite his gruff tone.

"No. Don't think that" he goes quiet for a moment, as if the weight of your declaration was sinking him. He lets out a shaky breath, as if unsure if the world around him was real, his eyes locked on yours. "I... love you too"

Your eyes widen, a smile appearing instantly on your face as it lights up. His heart swells immediately at the sight of your happiness, and all he wishes for is to see it everyday. When he wakes up, to be first, and when he goes to sleep, your face the last thing to see. To be there, even as he closes his eyes and dozes off to sleep. Your giddy giggles are so fucking contagious, a rebellious smile creeps up his lips.

"You do?"

His chest tightens, vulnerable. Filled with an affection never known before.

"Yeah, sweet girl" he mutters gruffly. "I do. I love you"

Your smile is probably the most beautiful thing in the world, pleased and vicious like a cat's.

"Now, if you love me so dearly as you say, please" your lips part in a shaky breath, "have me"

So damn impatient. He may have spoiled you too much.

"Ya' want me t' have ya', honey?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide down your thighs, tainting untouched skin.

You squirm, nodding eagerly. "Please. I want you so bad it hurts"

His voice, so soft and low, may have passed as a grunt. But you saw. Heard. Noticed. Like the way his face frowned, eyebrows furrowed as if you just told him you were sick. As if he wanted to be the cure to the disease he gave you.

"Tell me where it hurts"

Demanding in a tender way. Almost benevolent. Not even hurting you, but wanted to take every pain of yours away. You didn't deserve not even a scratch of this angry dirty world ruining your soft heart.

You point to the middle of your legs, parting them slowly open. His eyes turn glassy as he tugs your jeans down, and the first sight he gets, is your underwear, damp with your sticky arousal. He gulps, eyes darkening with desire.

"Please. There" you whimper.

"I've got eyes" Joel lets out a small, gruff chuckle. "You're impatient, know that?"

He cups your chin, eyes locked on yours. His breath is shallow, voice raspy and low.

"Don't worry. Lemme help"

He places himself in between your legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties.

"Gon' show ya' what'a man with experience has to offer, al'ight? Now, spread y'r legs open for me" he commands softly. "Lemme see that beautiful, needy cunt"

He pulls your panties down, his throat dry when he peels the drenched fabric down your legs, revealing glistening folds. He can see how swollen and puffy they were. The sight makes his mouth water and his cock pulse with desire.

Joel lowers his head, knees and bed creaking, inhaling the sweet intoxicating smell of your arousal, his facial hear ghosting over your trembling skin until it tickles. Your nervous giggling get stuck in your throat when Joel buries his face between your thighs, tongue delving into your slick folds to lap up the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. He groans at the taste, as if savoring the best meal to exist on Earth.

"So sweet" he growls, voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His mouth latches onto your clit, suckling the throbbing needy bud as his tongue flicks over it. "Too damn sweet"

It still hurts. It's across your face.

"Gon' help with 'tis. Just wait" he thrusts two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to stroke a spot that reduces you to a quiet muffled mess. "S' right, sugar" he praises. "Wanna see you come f' y'r old man"

The feeling of having you here, so needy and responsive, is doing things to him. Joel's lost on the way you beg, his name out of your parted lips in a secretive manner, as if reinforcing the nature of your desires and needs. How this moment was only yours, a whole new world past his door, creeping up the sweaty sheets, making way to his lonley heart, poisoned by the infectious warmth of your own.

He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, cute cries and whimpers serving as a motivation to bring you to the edge. Joel devours you, sucking like a starved man, flicking and lashing at your gushing cunt mercilessly with his tongue. It's experience, he made damn sure you knew about that. He also pumps his fingers faster, plunging deeper into your clutching heat.

"Come on, doll" he urges, voice a low rumble against your sex, "wanna feel 'tis tight little pussy spasm 'round ma' fingers"

"Joel!" you moan out loud, hands clawing into his arms for support.

He can feel your body tensing, your tight walls fluttering around the digits plunging in and out of you. Joel knew you were close, so he sucks your clit with fervent intensity as he curled his fingers just right, stroking that special spot that made your toes curl.

"That's it, y/n" he growls, eyes flashing up to meet yours, dark and intense with lust. "Drench me, y' sweet thing"

With a keening cry, you feel your body burst. Your back archs as your body quakes and shudders, your orgasm washing over you. Joel feels your pussy clench and spasm around his fingers, hot liquid gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist.

Joel's a gentleman, languidly licking and suckling as you ride out of your high. Once your breathing slows, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to clean off your essence. He meets your gaze, eyes hooded with the same hunger as your own.

"Like I said" he praises softly, making your spent cunt throb. "You're too damn sweet, sugar"

You giggle. "You're insane"

He leans in, planting a soft fluttering kiss to your quivering lips.

"Just f' ya'"

There's only one thing left to do. You know. He knows. You both know. But the way he takes in your pause, as if you're going to discover the most powerful secret, makes you believe there is so much more. His expression turns curious at your deliberate choice of aphony.

"Tell me what ya' want now. I could give ya' the world if 's what ya' want"

You avoid his gaze, playing with the collar of his flannel.

"I need you"

He lets out a clipped chuckle. "That I know, dirty one"

You roll your eyes, playfully.

"We're both aware. But it's not that, it's just..."

"Yes?"

"Can I see you, please?"

His eyes meet your expectant ones. His voice is gruff but soft, his desire for you mixing with a hint of vulnerability.

"Y' wanna see me?"

You nod as he gulps harshly, mouth tasting like sand.

"Can I take off your clothes?"

Joel's heart skips a beat again at your request, a mix of desire and vulnerability warring within him. It's too revealing and intimate, but God knows he just wants to give you all you want.

There's a hint of huskiness to his vulnerable voice. Unsure.

"Yeah" a beat. "You can"

You start unbuttoning slowly, licking your lips with eager trembling hands and pupils blown wide. Like a child on Christmas, knowing they're opening what they asked for. What they wanted. What they wrote at the top of their list. Your slow, deliberate unbuttoning has him practically holding his breath.

"Joel..." you bite your lip, removing his final button. Finally. "You're...."

Joel's heart stammers at the sight of your eyes on him, your obvious desire heightening his own. Yet, he avoids your stare as you reveal his bare chest, pose faltering a bit as if his strength succumbs to your hungry stare. He gulps under the intensity gaze, feeling so fucking vulnerable. It shakes him to his core, foreign to all this fuzzy things that make him sick.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his voice gruff and raw.

"Yeah…?"

"Perfect" you whisper out loud, his whole world crumbling down.

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest tightening with a mix of vulnerability and affection. Despite it, he feels self-conscious.

"Perfect…?" he teases, a hint of a dumb smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah" you hum. "So pretty"

A word that doesn't fit in Joel's world. Feels off-putting. He has never been called such, but once it falls past your lips, coated in adoration, it feels as if it's the only truth ever. His heart skips another beat, body responding to your words.

You can tell he can't believe you're saying those words about him by the hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Joel"

He lets out a gruff huff in response.

"Look at me"

"Pretty" Joel repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you believe me?"

Joel's heart skips another beat, the vulnerability growing stronger. He's still not used to hearing compliments about his body by you, by anyone at all. It's making his head spin a little.

He can't quite meet your eyes as he responds.

"Take it easy on me, sweet girl. I ain't exactly in m' prime"

"Joel. Look at me" your voice a little firmer this time.

Joel takes a moment, his heart racing. He can't resist your plea, even if he hates feeling vulnerable. Slowly, he meets your eyes.

His voice is almost quiet. "I'm lookin'"

"Good. Do you want me to know what I'm looking at?" you extend your hand to reach his face, brushing a strand of hair that's fallen to his forehead. "Your greys" then, you tug his bottom lip down, "your lips", you circle the wrinkles around his eyes, "your warm eyes" and afterwards, your fingers dwindle on his nose, "just... all of your face: scars, spots and wrinkles. It leaves me breathless"

Joel's heart races as you speak, your words sinking in. He feels seen, in a way he's rarely felt before. Its messing with his mind.

"You describin' what you seein'?" his voice hoarse with emotion. It sounds far away, as if it didn't belong to him.

His lips part as your hand moves down, grazing his neck and his chest before landing on his belly. The sincerity in your eyes is making him feel even more vulnerable, and Joel can feel himself crumbling under your intense stare and firm hands.

"No, I'm describing what I love"

He looks at you, eyes filled with vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Y/n"

It was like being peeled, layer by layer. He hated how he was built now. Rough. Too sharp around edges. Soft on ones he wished he wasn't.

"All of you"

He chuckles, but it's a defeated dying sound. Almost bitter.

"That's impossible, honey"

"What's impossible is not to love all of you"

He gulps, throat raw but unable to say anything.

"Please. Let me love you"

As if he hadn't already hand you his soul. Swallowed all of your words with a feverish desperation, placed them inside a space that had gone cold with time, now feeling like a warm home where he finally belonged.

"My sweet girl..."

You feel Joel pressing you up against the mattress, his bigger body pinning you in place with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your naked curves with a fevered intensity, a low growl of frustration escaping his lips when you break the kiss to take some air.

"You can do with me anything you want"

Joel's breath stops. With a trembling but sure hand, he reaches out, his calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh until your nipples strain against the cloth of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your stomach.

Joel leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers. 

"Anythin'?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire as you nod, desperate. 

But then, he's laughing, as if pleased with your eagerness. Amused.

"That much? Oh, baby, you that desperate for 'tis ol' man? That bad you want me?"

You whine, at loss for words, the throb too painful to think straight. Joel laughs again, but it's devoid of malice.

"No, don't just nod. I wanna hear you say it, y/n. Wanna hear ya' beg fo' me like the desperate sweet little thin' y'are"

You've never been one for begging, but something about the way he's looking at you, the raw, unbridled hunger in his eyes, makes you want to give him everything he wants and more.

"Please, Joel" you breathe, voice reduced to a needy tremor, "I need you so bad, Joel, please. I need you inside me. I want you filling me, claiming me, in every way possible"

"My sweet girl" he coos, followed by a flurry of heated kisses and desperate groping. You barely have a chance to catch your breath before he's pressing you up with more insistence, his body pinning you in place with a hunger that leaves you desperately aching for more. "S'pretty"

Joel's eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. He smirks at the desperation written all over your face, something wicked and tender circling inside his brown eyes.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers huskily. "Ts' it, doll. Keep on beggin'. Lemme hear how much y' need ma' cock 'nside 'tis tight little cunt"

You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as you feel his fingers slide down to brush against your sensitive clit, a wave of arousal coursing through you.

"Please, please, please, Joel" you whimper, your voice high and needy as you grind yourself shamelessly against his hand. "I'm so wet for you. Please, I'm begging you, make me yours"

He growls. "S'eager, huh? Who would've thought ya' were such'a dirty girl for 'tis ol' dick? Just had ya' bein' all lovey dovey a second ago and now y'are beggin' fo' me to ruin 'tis pretty pussy, baby?"

He quickly sheds what's left of his clothes, revealing to your wide eyes the thick, hard length of his cock, springing free and bobbing heavily against his soft belly. Alright, you had some thoughts about dating a much older man, even if Joel seemed the type of guy to be doted, given his energy. You're glad to be proven wrong in the very best way.

"Fuck, Joel" you breathe, licking your lips as you imagine the taste of him on your tongue. "You're so big"

His cheeks color a pretty pink, sweat beads adorning his forehead. The heat of his body envelopes you like a furnace.

"Now I truly believe ya' like what ya' seein'" he chuckles, "such'a greedy little thing" a beat. "S' fucken hungry for ma' cock. Don't worry, baby. 'M gon' give it to you, nice and slow, until you're screamin' fo' me to let you come"

Joel settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, effectively swallowing your needy whimpers.

"M' gon' take real good care of what's mine" in that southern drawl that drives you crazy. Hungry. Poisoned with a ravenous desire to possess every inch he can reach of your body. For everyone to see. Know. For all the prying stares. Judgeful. To appreciate in secret under the watchful gaze of the weak sunrays that filter through the courtains of his bedroom.

He then leans to take one of your nipples on his mouth, suckling and teasing the rosy peak, lapping the sensitive bud with his tongue, his hand kneading and squeezing the soft flesh of your breast. You arch into his touch, a symphony of moans and whimpers falling from your lips as he works your body.

At the same time, Joel begins to slowly, teasingly push forward, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking inch by tortuous inch into your tight heat.

"Joel!" you gasp, your nails sinking down on the soft expanse of his broad back as you take in his girth, walls clenching and fluttering around his size.

Joel's breaths come in harsh pants against your skin as he fights the urge to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Y'are so fucken tight" he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Don't wanna hurt you, my little fawn. But ya' feel s' good, sweet girl. S' perfect 'round ma' cock."

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, using the leverage to rock your hips up against his, taking him a little deeper with each desperate roll. He's impressed by your hunger, your desire fueling further his consuming own.

"Joel" you mewl, voice breaking with need, "I can take it, please, I promise. I just need all of you, Joel. Please, fuck me hard and deep until I can't think of anything but the feeling of your cock inside of me"

With a feral growl, Joel surrenders to your plea, slamming his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt inside you. A scream that sounds like his name tears from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of all of him devouring your from inside, your body convulsing with the force of his thrust.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that shake the bed frame and echo through the room. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the sounds coming out of your mouths.

"Please, please. I wanna come, please"

Tears well in your eyes at the insistence that rocks your body. Joel's eyes widen, perhaps in surprise, this new and strange, yet, his cock twitching makes this all the more intriguing. Arousing even.

"S' you cryin' over my cock?"

You deny it, but the salty trails have started to pool down your cheeks, your prettu fluttering eyelashes damp. Joel gulps, feeling blood rushing to his cock again.

"Don't worry, little fawn" doesn't know why but his tongue runs across your tear-smeared face, the taste of your damp skin, musk and sweat strong, make his mind go numb. "I think ya' look pretty when ya' cry"

Joel feels your velvet walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, signaling your coming climax. He doubles his efforts, slamming into you with a wild, primal intensity that steals your breath away.

"That's it, sweet girl" Joel growls, voice ragged with lust as he feels your body tensing beneath him. "Come for me, y/n. I wanna feel you comin' undone on ma' cock, screamin' ma' name as I fill you up nice"

You're a sight to savor in, like basking the first rays of sunlight on the morning. Like his bitter coffee on his favorite mug. But you're sweet on the inside and the outside, he thinks as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. Joel is lost on you, he's aware, as he leans down to capture your lips in a consuming kiss. He just wants to have all of you, day and night, body and soul, in and out, because just a taste, and he's gone down the deep saccharine trails of your neck and quivering heart.

Your back arches as the pleasure becomes too intense to bear, your body convulsing uncontrollably as your climax crashes over you. You scream his name, you think, lost in a sea of desperate pleas and incoherent whimpers spilling from your lips.

Joel hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm and milk his cock, your release triggering his own, followed by a grunt akin to surrender, perhaps. To you, now fully his. This is the end, he thinks. Now, he's truly yours. God help her, the townsfolk say when you tell them Joel's your man, but when a hoarse shout of your name comes out of his mouth, pulses hot and hard as he grinds against you, you think this is all you need.

Fuck it.

This is what it feels like.

Joel collapses onto you, his bigger softer body blanketing you as he struggles to catch his breath.

"My sweet girl" he coos, peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves with a gentle, reverent touch. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, when he whispers, voice low and sated. "Mine"

You can't help but laugh in awe. "Yes, Joel. Yours"

He props himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the delicate line of your jaw.

"I know I said I was scared, before. That I've tried to push you 'way. God, y'are stubborn, know that? 'M just glad you ain't a quitter"

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss that makes your heart leap. It tastes bitter like grains and whiskey, but sweet with love and devotion. It's not only a spark between your lips, another of many, but a promise, burning with the same intensity the old coffee pot heats his coffee in the morning.

"Y'are my everything, y/n" your name pronounced like never before. Now ever since.

A heart. A home.

"So are you, Joel" his name in a fervent whisper. Born to be said like a prayer.

And for the first time in so long, Joel Miller feels the same thing he felt when he held Ellie close. I've got you, babygirl.

Hope.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @pedgito / dts: @joelscowgirl ⋆˚✿˖°

[pandapetals]

The Glasses Stay On

Summary: A quiet evening turns into something far steamier when Joel catches you teasing him while he's wearing those damn glasses he swore he didn’t need.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Content warnings: smut, no plot, joel keeps the glasses on, blowjob, face riding, pet names, no y/n used, established relationship, teasing, banter, not proofread

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. i am feeling feral after seeing joel in glasses. it's my first time writing oral sex (blowjob) so...hopefully it's good? also inspired by elliespuns answer on joel asking for eye contact when he eats you out.

All thoughts scattered the moment you stepped through the door.

Joel sat at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, sleeves shoved to his elbows. He didn’t look up, too focused on the mess of metal and wire in front of him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his lower lip was caught slightly between his teeth.

But it wasn’t the project that caught your attention.

It was the glasses.

Thin, silver-framed and slightly crooked—he always refused to wear them around you, brushing off your teasing with a stubborn, "Don’t need ‘em." But here he was, home alone, caught in the act. A quiet, unguarded moment. And for some reason, it hit you low and warm.

His hands moved with surprising precision, thick fingers maneuvering the pliers with rough delicacy that made your mouth go dry. The edge of his brown jacket was rolled to the midpoint of his forearms, a smear of grease trailing across one vein-lined wrist. He looked like something out of a dream you didn’t realize you’d been having.

You didn’t mean to stare. You certainly didn’t mean to feel like this—heart kicking up, thighs pressing together before you even crossed the room.

Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. Shoes were toed off. You padded closer, heat rising up your neck.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you teased, voice lighter than you felt. Your smile curled slowly, eyes drinking him in.

Joel let out a low grunt, not lifting his head. “Don’t start.”

You chuckled under your breath, stopping beside the table. “But you look so cute,” you cooed, hand reaching out before you could stop yourself. Your fingers brushed his jaw, gentle but insistently coaxing his chin up.

He finally looked at you, his eyes slowly lifting just above the rim of his glasses. They were darker now, narrowed beneath furrowed brows, unreadable… but there was something there. A flicker. A tension. Heat coiled low in your belly at the sight of it.

His voice was low and hoarse, scraping at your spine like sandpaper. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “don’t distract me.”

Your lips parted, breath catching how he said it—gritty, quiet, like a warning—only made your pulse faster.

“Me?” you whispered, placing a hand against your chest with exaggerated innocence. “Distract you? Never.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head, but his hand faltered slightly as he adjusted the wire he was working on. You saw it—the smallest stutter in his movement. Not much. Just enough to know he wasn’t unaffected.

You stepped closer, just enough for your knee to brush the edge of his thigh under the table. His hand stilled completely.

He didn’t look up this time. Just exhaled slowly through his nose, nostrils flaring. A vein in his forearm twitched, like he was holding something back.

God, he was so handsome like this—jaw tight, lips pressed in a firm line, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. His shirt clung in places from the house's heat, damp at the collar. One more minute of watching him like this and you would lose it.

Your voice dropped, barely above a hum. “You know,” you said, tilting your head, “if this is what you look like when you’re focused, I might have to start leaving you little projects more often.”

He froze for a beat. Then slowly, he set the pliers down with a quiet clink.

Joel turned in his chair, eyes dragging up your body—deliberate, slow, heat simmering behind his stare. He pushed his glasses up with one finger, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he muttered, “and you’re gonna find yourself bent over this table ‘fore I even finish fixin’ this damn thing.”

You shook your head slowly, lips curling into a wicked little smirk. Then, without breaking eye contact, you sank to your knees between his legs.

“I’ve got other plans,” you murmured, voice silk-soft, threaded with heat.

Your hands found his knees first—broad, warm, solid beneath your palms. You slid them upward, slow and teasing, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch as you traced the line of his thighs.

Joel’s breath hitched. Barely audible, but you caught it.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice gone gravel-deep. His hands flexed where they rested on the edge of the table. “You ain’t gotta do that, honey.”

He said it like a protest, but there was no weight behind it—no real resistance, just that familiar Joel reluctance, that soft spot he tried to hide behind rough hands and gruff words.

“I want to,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. Your fingers were already at the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “You just keep working.”

You winked, dragging the zipper down slowly. The rasp of metal filled the quiet space between you, and you felt the way his thighs tightened beneath your touch—his whole body coiled like a live wire.

Joel cursed again, one hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose, half in disbelief, half trying to hold himself together. But his hips shifted, just slightly, a silent surrender.

He still hadn’t looked down at you.

The challenge of it made your pulse race.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the waistband of his boxers, your lips lingering against the warm skin.

Joel’s breath came sharp through his nose.

“Keep your hands steady, handsome,” you whispered, your voice low and playful. “Don’t want you messing up that wiring.”

His answer came through clenched teeth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t in a rush.

You wanted to savor this—to savor him. Every slow, deliberate motion was part of the tease, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans and dragging them down inch by inch. The fabric scraped rough against your knuckles, and you could feel the heat radiating off his skin before you even reached him.

Joel’s breath came unevenly, his hands gripping the table's edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

When his boxers followed, his cock sprang free—already half-hard, heavy, and twitching slightly in the cool air. You let your eyes linger on him, licking your lips without shame. Then you wrapped your fingers around him, dragging your fist down the thick length once… twice…

Joel groaned, deep and guttural. His hips jerked forward against your hand like his body was acting on instinct, chasing more.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your strokes lazy, teasing. Just enough to drive him mad. You were in control now, and he was already starting to unravel.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched tight. “You’re gonna kill me.”

A smile tugged at your lips. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath the head, then another to the base, watching the muscles in his thighs tense and flex beneath your touch.

You adored him like this.

Unraveling. Wordless. Tension bleeding out of that tightly-wound body because of you.

You dragged your mouth up the length of him, slow as sin, your breath hot and heavy against his skin. Joel’s hand shot out, fingers curling tight into your hair, but he didn’t push—just held, like he needed the anchor.

“I love watchin’ you fall apart for me,” you whispered against him, lips brushing the sensitive ridge.

Joel finally looked down at you, eyes dark and glassy, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven pulls like he’d just fought his way through a storm.

“Jesus,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

The words hit you low and deep, lighting something hot inside your belly. You beamed at him, lips parting in a slow, satisfied smile because you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Knew he could barely hold himself together.

You leaned in and finally took him into your mouth without breaking eye contact.

The warm and heavy taste of him on your tongue made your thighs press together. You kept the pace gentle at first, hollowing your cheeks just enough, letting your lips glide over the sensitive skin as you drew him in.

Joel groaned—deep and rough—and his hips shifted, his body fighting to stay still. One of his hands was still tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding like he didn’t trust himself not to lose control.

You hummed around him, loving how he twitched against your tongue in response. His breath stuttered. Another soft sound escaped him—a whimper, barely audible, but it sent a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

God, you lived for this. Watching Joel come undone, letting you see the cracks in that hard exterior. Every ragged breath, every broken sound, was a gift—a secret he gave only to you.

Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in for leverage as you took him deeper, the stretch making your eyes water just slightly, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You wanted all of him. Needed it.

His voice came out strangled, wrecked, and desperate. “Fuck—sweetheart, you keep goin’ like that, I ain’t gonna last.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, letting your tongue flick against the tip before sinking again, taking him deeper this time, allowing your throat to relax as far as you could. His hips bucked, involuntary, a hiss tearing from between his clenched teeth.

Your hands smoothed up his stomach beneath his shirt, feeling his belly tensed under your touch. You could feel it—how close he was—the tremble in his thighs, the low groan vibrating in his chest, the way his fingers gripped your hair like he was hanging on by a thread.

You looked up at him again, eyes wet, lips swollen, mouth full of him, and smiled the best you could.

You wanted him to come apart. To feel it. To lose himself in you.

Joel’s voice cracked low and rough above you. “That’s it, darlin’... fuck.”

His hips jerked, shallow and restrained at first, but then a little deeper and needier. He was trying to hold back, trying not to thrust too hard, but his control was fraying with every flick of your tongue, every slow pull of your mouth.

You let him. 

You welcomed the way he started to fuck into your mouth, hips rolling forward in time with the wet slide of your lips. He was breathing hard now, one hand clenched in your hair, the other braced on the table behind him—his whole body taut, vibrating with the effort of staying upright.

“Shit—sweetheart, I’m—I’m not gonna last,” he gritted out, voice low and broken. “Fuck, you feel too good…”

Your hands smoothed under his shirt again, fingertips brushing his stomach, feeling how it flexed under your touch. You moaned around him, soft and encouraging, and that was it—that did it.

Joel’s breath hitched, his thighs tensed beneath your hands.

“Fuck—fuck,” he choked, voice strangled as his hips snapped forward one last time, his release hitting hard and fast. You felt the twitch of him on your tongue, the warmth spilling into your mouth as he gasped your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

You didn’t pull away. You took every bit of it, swallowing around him lazily, like you had all the time in the world.

When you finally drew back, a thin string of spit still connected your lips to the head of his cock. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, blinking up at him with that same wicked smile.

“You’re trouble,” Joel rasped, still catching his breath, voice thick and rough like gravel. “Sweet, dangerous fuckin’ trouble.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to where his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose with a slow, satisfied smile. Your fingers gliding down the inside of his thighs, just to feel the aftershocks still buzzing beneath his skin. He was flushed and sweaty, chest rising and falling, shirt clinging to him in all the right places. The sight of him like this—flushed, undone, still wearing those damn glasses—made your smirk deepen.

“You should wear your glasses more often,” you teased, dragging your nails lightly along his thigh. “Kinda makes you look like a professor with a filthy mouth.”

Joel huffed out a weak laugh, head tipping back against the chair with a groan.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You just about killed me and now you’re lookin’ to finish the job.”

You pushed yourself up between his knees slowly, hands braced on his thighs as you leaned in so close your breath tickled the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet,” you whispered, lips brushing barely against his.

His hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb stroking slow against your jaw. The heat in his gaze had shifted, less wrecked, more focused. Grounded. Dangerous in a different way.

“Is that so?” he murmured, voice still low but steadying, a challenge creeping back in. “Guess it’s my turn, then.”

You opened your mouth to protest—to tell Joel he didn’t have to, that he could sit back down and finish whatever project had his attention before you rudely distracted him.

But then he gave you that look.

That smirk. That slow, knowing curl of his mouth paired with eyes that dragged over your body like he was undressing you.

“Don’t act like you don’t want me to make you feel good, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice all gravel and heat.

His words alone sent a spark straight through you—low, heavy, and impossible to ignore. Your thighs pressed together, the aftershocks of your earlier teasing still lingering between them.

“Joel, you don’t—”

He didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he stood up, towering over you, then bent just enough to hook his arms around your waist. You let out a startled laugh as he lifted you clean off the ground and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Joel!” you squealed, half laughing and breathless, but your protest died when your eyes landed on the sight before you—his ass—still exposed from where you’d dragged his jeans down earlier.

You grinned, biting your lip, but the amusement twisted into something hotter the moment Joel’s palm came down in a firm, playful smack against the curve of your ass.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice low, barely above a rumble. You could feel it against your stomach where your body pressed against his.

Then, almost to himself, more thoughtful than teasing. “What should I do for you, honey…”

You shivered at the question—not because you didn’t have answers, but because it came out like a promise. Like he wasn’t just thinking about giving you pleasure—he was planning it. Mapping it out in that careful, deliberate way, Joel did everything.

As he carried you toward the bedroom, your fingers curled into the hem of his jacket, nails scraping lightly against his lower back.

“You’re such a caveman,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed. But your voice came out breathy, wrecked with anticipation.

Joel chuckled, one hand sliding up to grip your thigh.

“Yeah, but you like it when I drag you off like this,” he said, shouldering the bedroom door open. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you smiled when I smacked your ass.”

He dropped you onto the bed with a gentle thud, your back hitting the mattress and bouncing slightly. Before you could sit up, he crawled over you, glasses still somehow on, those eyes burning into yours like you were the only thing he wanted to see in the world.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he kissed a slow path down your neck, “lemme return the favor.”

Joel undressed you in a blur of rough hands and reverent kisses—fingers tugging at fabric, mouth tracing the skin he exposed, piece by piece. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t waste time either, like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being covered for a second longer than necessary.

By the time you were bare beneath him, chest rising and falling with anticipation, his touch softened—thumb and forefinger teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate rolls that had you gasping beneath him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes drinking you like something sacred. Then he dipped lower, kissing a slow, open-mouthed path down your stomach, dragging his stubble just enough to make you squirm.

You braced for it—for him to settle between your thighs, but instead, Joel pulled back.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat as he stripped out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the sweat-slick heat of him. Then, with surprising ease, he lay flat on his back and shifted you with him, guiding your thighs to straddle his chest, then higher, until you were hovering above his face.

“Joel,” you said, half-breathless. “What are you—? I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

He smirked, brow arched, the picture of smug, ruined perfection beneath you.

“I am, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise. His hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, and dragged you up a little higher until your knees were planted on either side of his head, your pussy just inches above his mouth. “You like riding so much…” His gaze flicked up, hot and hungry. “So ride my face.”

Your breath caught, stolen clean out of your chest.

You let out a quiet, stunned laugh, but it faltered when you met his eyes. He wasn’t joking. There was no teasing in his expression now—just heat, need, and the kind of patience that made your stomach flip.

“Joel,” you breathed, your voice trembling, your fingers curling into his hair for balance.

You’d done this before, but never like this. Never with him lay out like a man ready to worship. His hands coaxing you down, his mouth open, waiting, like he was the lucky one.

And fuck… maybe he was.

In this moment, as his grip tightened and he pulled you gently down to his lips, you felt like you were the one about to be worshipped.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, voice low and reverent as his breath ghosted over your skin. “Don’t be shy now. Let me taste you.”

You leaned down slightly, breath hitching as you reached for the bridge of his glasses, fingertips brushing the metal.

Joel gently batted your hand away, his voice low and commanding, but soft around the edges.

“Nah,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours beneath the lenses. “I wanna see you. Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”

The words landed like a punch to your gut—hot and heavy, straight between your thighs. Your body tensed in response, breath stalling in your chest. The idea of him watching—really watching—every twitch, every gasp, every moment of you falling apart on top of him?

It short-circuited your brain.

You barely had time to respond—no witty retort, no teasing comeback—before Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your skin in that possessive way he always touched you when his restraint started to slip.

And then he pulled you down onto his mouth.

You gasped loudly, the sound ripping from your throat as your hips met his face. His tongue was already there, already moving, hot and slow and devastating between your folds.

Your hands flew forward, scrambling until you found the headboard. Gripping it like a lifeline, your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

“Joel—” you choked out, but it was barely a sound.

He groaned into you in response, the vibration making your spine arch. His hands slid from your hips to your ass, holding you in place, guiding your movement—urging you to grind against his mouth.

He wanted you to ride. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to watch every second through those damn glasses like it was his favorite view in the world.

You looked down and nearly fell apart again.

Joel’s eyes were open, locked on yours—dark and intent, his lashes damp with sweat, the lower half of his face already glistening. He looked wrecked and entirely in control all at once.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rolling your hips without meaning to, chasing the pressure, the friction of his tongue dragging through your slick.

He groaned again, his grip flexing, his mouth working you with purpose now—slow circles, firm flicks, sucking gently on your clit before diving back in with messy, open-mouthed hunger.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Joel didn’t stop or even blink as he kept watching you. 

“Joel… oh, fuck, right there—” you moaned, voice cracking as your fingers dug harder into the headboard, knuckles white with the effort to stay grounded.

He didn’t let up.

Joel’s mouth moved with deliberate, devastating precision—his tongue lapping over your clit in slow, firm strokes, just the way he knew would push you over the edge. Every flick, every pull of his lips sent shocks through you, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his face.

He was relentless. His hands gripping your ass, holding you down against his mouth as if he knew you were close, as if he could feel it in the way your body started to twitch, to quake. His stubble scraped deliciously along your inner thighs, raw and unfiltered, the kind of burn you’d crave after it was over.

You were sweating, skin flushed and damp, the air thick and heavy around you. Every nerve felt on fire. Your back arching, hips rocking helplessly against him, chasing every bit of friction his mouth offered.

Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing against the cool wood of the headboard as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter, impossible to contain.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice barely recognizable—hoarse, wrecked. “Joel, please—right there, don’t stop—”

He groaned beneath you, the sound sending another ripple of heat through your core. One of his hands slid between your legs, two fingers slipping inside you with ease—thick, perfect, curling just right as his mouth stayed locked on your clit.

The sensation shattered you.

Your entire body seized, hips jerking forward as the orgasm slammed into you. A cry tore from your throat, as wave after wave rolled through you, pleasure sparking like electricity from your core to your fingertips.

Joel didn’t stop.

He kept working you through it, drawing out every last twitch, every helpless moan, until your legs went weak and your grip on the headboard loosened.

When you finally opened your eyes, panting and dazed, Joel was still beneath you—his lips wet, beard damp, and those goddamn glasses still on as he looked up at you like you were his favorite sin.

“Pretty when you beg,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

You took a shaky breath, your body still trembling with the echoes of release as Joel guided you down onto the bed. His movements were deliberate. He hovered for a second, eyes scanning your face, like he needed to make sure you were still there, still okay.

You were. You just felt like you’d melted into the mattress.

His hands smoothed over your hips, then your thighs, grounding you with his touch. You could feel how gentle and attuned he was to every little shiver running through you. Like he didn’t just want to hold you—he wanted to protect whatever fragile thing had bloomed between you in that moment.

“So goddamn pretty,” Joel murmured, voice hoarse and low as he leaned down to kiss you.

The kiss was soft and slow. You could taste yourself on his lips, the faintest salty-sweet tang, and instead of embarrassment, it only made your stomach flip again.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, curling into the damp hair at his nape, stroking gently. His weight was warm above you, comforting, and you let yourself sink into the feeling of him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

When he pulled back, you caught sight of his glasses, still clinging to his face, slightly fogged from the heat radiating between your bodies.

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, reaching up to nudge them crooked on his nose. “I think I bent your glasses.”

Joel gave you that slow, lazy smirk, eyes still dark with the afterglow.

“Worth it,” he murmured.

He peeled them off with one hand and set them aside on the nightstand, not bothering to look at the damage. Then he rolled onto his side, tugging you until your head rested against his chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your back.

He kissed the top of your head, his scruff scratching lightly against your scalp.

“Y’alright?” he murmured into your hair, voice softened now, more Joel than ever.

You nodded, pressing your nose to his skin and breathing him in.

“Better than alright,” you whispered.

He hummed low in his throat, content and quiet, fingertips tracing lazy circles along your spine like he never wanted to let you go.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it’s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

[bluetimeombre]

☽｡⋆ If you need my love ｡⋆☽

. You were growing up in a house with little love, but luckily Joel Miller was living across the road and he was always there to pick up the pieces.

this is a long one, 8k but i had so much fun writing it, might do a part two. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut, fluff, angst. neglectful parents, obsessed Joel, needy Joel, no outbreak au, oral (f! receiving) older joel, younger reader, drinking, p in v sex (unprotected) language

When Joel opened the door to you one cold evening, your arms wrapped around yourself, you drenched in rain, he only sighed.

"Oh honey," he shook his head.

Your teeth were practically chattering. "Nobody's home and I-I don't have a k-key."

A crack of thunder sounded behind you.

Joel looked over his shoulder at your house that was cloaked in darkness. It did look deserted, like nobody had touched it in years. "C'mon in, hun." He held the door open and stirred you inside.

Even if you'd been in the house more times that you could count you still shuffled inside, as if you didn't know where his living room was.

It was a small town in Texas, everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew Joel Miller and his daughter Sarah. Joel knew everyone too. He knew Jimmy a twenty minute drive away, his farm where anyone nice enough could get the best fresh eggs.

There was Bess who ran the bakery. You could get the best fresh bread and every year Joel always got Sarah her birthday cake from her.

There was Dave, coach of Sarah's soccer team. There was Louis next door who always had a issue with his hose leaking all over his garden- even in the drought.

Then, there was you.

You lived across his street with your parents. You who'd moved in ten years ago. A few years Sarah's senior, she'd been over the moon to have another girl to hang out with.

Apparently just hanging out with her dad was becoming a lost trend.

But even though you were a few years older, probably had your own teenage things to be getting on with, you treated Sarah like a best friend.

"You don't have to you know," Joel remembered saying years ago after you'd stayed up late with her, watching movies, only for her to fall asleep with her head on your lap- trapping you.

"It's no bother."

Even Joel had offered to pay you, acting as if you were a babysitter for his kid. You'd denied, almost offended.

You'd insisted you enjoyed it, that his house was nicer than yours.

Joel didn't get it. He was always behind on laundry, hardly had any healthy food- only takeout in the fridge- and dead plants on the windows, compete to your own house.

He'd seen the way you tenderly cared after anything and everyone, it didn't make sense. He assumed you were just sweet, or too shy to say anything different.

He remembered the day he discovered just why you liked his house.

Joel had only gone over with Sarah to talk to you about a sleepover. His brother, Tommy, was taking him out of town, insisting that he needed a 'guys weekend' and that Sarah at fourteen was fine to be left alone. Joel disagreed and he'd only meant to ask if you were around, would be willing to just hang out like you had hundreds of times before.

At the door he lingered, shouts and the shattering of glass sounding behind the door.

"Dad?" Sarah looked up to him un-sure.

Joel was already pushing her down the porch. "Go back to the house."

"What is that?"

"Not our concern."

But it was. It was his concern.

The shouting dulled but there was still a harshness hidden out of sight.

Sarah made her way down the porch, back to the Miller residence and Joel was following on un-sure feet when he heard the door swing open and shut.

Joel looked just as you hurried down the porch steps, keys swinging in your hand. "Woah hey-hey."

You looked aghast, stopping in your tracks when you spot Joel in front of you, hands out and reaching for your forearms.

"Is everythin' alright?" he asked, nodding back to the house.

In the afternoon sun your cheeks turned pink, the colour creeping up to your ears and down your neck. "Yeah, yeah everything's fine." You grinned but it was like a crack in an otherwise well structured wall.

Times like that started to happen more often.

Joel would always find you leaving the house in a hurry, getting in your car and driving off like escaping a crime. Or you'd be on the porch, sitting with a cup of coffee if it was early in the morning or tea late at night. He'd watch from his bedroom window that conveniently over looked your front porch.

Some nights he'd join you, pretending he didn't know why you were hiding out, pretending he didn't hear the shouting.

He'd make up some excuse.

"Neighbourhood watch, you never know who's out here..."

"Was gonna go for a drive, fill the tank if you wanna join..."

"My coffee pots bust, spare a sip?"

It was obvious what he was doing.

Yet you always entertained him.

You were standing like a statue in Joel Miller's living room. Granted- a chattering statue. You'd started shaking sometime an hour ago and you'd yet to stop.

The living room- the entire Miller house- was bathed in a warm orange glow. The tv was on mute, some film that was Joel's favourite Sarah had told you once. Curtis and Viper.

Joel had gone up stairs shortly after he told you to 'make yourself comfortable' but you didn't want to make his couch wet. You were already dripping on his carpet.

Had you woken him? God, what if you had?

What if he'd gone to bed and just assumed you'd wait until your parents get back? If they did.

You wouldn't have knocked and asked if you weren't desperate. But you'd only gone to go grocery shopping, you'd been hardly an hour and neither your mom or dad had mentioned leaving.

You wouldn't be surprised if they'd booked a last minute trip to try to salvage whatever was left of their failing marriage. Or if one had gone to the bar and the other to the arms of another.

Either way, you left the grocery's on the step and your key inside.

You'd called and got nothing from either of them.

You would never have annoyed Joel by knocking as night drew in if you weren't desperate.

Perhaps you could huddle on the porch, eat that chocolate you'd gotten.

You were just forming a plan in your head when Joel Miller practically tripped with how quick he came down the stairs.

"Here-" there was a small pile of clothes in his arms, what looked to be black jogging bottoms and a checked shirt. "I'd offer you some of Sarah's but she's already growing out of everything." He rubbed the back of his neck as you took the clothes.

"You don't have to," you said though you held the clothes close. "I'm sure someone will be home soon."

You really weren't certain anyone would be back for the weekend approaching.

Joel looked at you sternly, his hand on yours that was cold and trembling. "Change."

His eyes raked down the clothes that stuck to you.

He must have thought you looked a mess.

"Shower. You'll probably wanna get warm, c'mon." Joel led you up the stairs, this time slow. His arm was out, ghosting your back as he showed you into his room.

The one room that you'd forbidden yourself into entering.

Joel opened the door like it was just another room of his house, not his room where he spent quiet nights, where he slept among other things.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he chuckled dryly, kicking away a pile of clothes that looked a lot like trousers and boxers. "Here, my bathroom."

It was cleaner than his room objectively. One or two cheap colognes and a good one littered the counter. A bar of soap and a watch that you remember Sarah showing you she'd got him for his birthday.

"Let me-" Joel slowly peeled the clothes from your arms and nodded down at you. "I'll put these to heat up, you get yourself warm hun. I'll be just down stairs if you need anythin' else."

You nodded and gulped down all your objections to his kindness. "Thank you, Joel. I won't be long."

He smiled at you, a gentle smile. It was the kind you'd never seen before. "Take all the time you need, darlin'. And then some. I imagine it's been quite the night."

You scoffed and averted your gaze.

"I'll be downstairs."

You took your time in the shower. Not because he'd told you to but because you were frozen from cold and from trying to keep every small detail in your mind.

It was not right to think about Joel in his bathroom, bowing his head under the steady warm shower, naked. No matter the circumstance it wasn't right for your mind to wander what Joel looked like naked with droplets of water running down his chest, his sternum and lower.

You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

But you knew as soon as you could get back into your room you'd be dreaming about him again.

By the time you were done with the shower, condensation had covered the mirror and made the walls slick. You wrapped a fuzzy towel around you and tried not to think about other parts of Joel it had touched.

You sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, ignoring the way it dipped. You tried to calm yourself, your nerves and think of a solution. You could hop the fence, break down the back door.

Maybe you could even book a hotel for the night?

You had no doubt Joel would be gracious enough to offer you the sofa, but you didn't want to take over his kindness. You were already there as much as possible with Sarah.

You liked the kid of course, but you also liked the smiles that were always around the house, accompanied by the peace.

A gentle rattle of knuckles on the door broke you from your search of solutions.

"Hey."

Joel slowly opened the door and paused when he spotted you. On the edge of his bed, draped in his towel.

You realised, as you were drying, your hair was dripping. You were getting his bed wet. "Sorry." You got to your feet.

Joel held up his hands. "I jus' wanted to check you were alright. Needed anythin'."

"I'm good, thank you, for all this," you said, clutching your hands in front of you.

"You don't have to thank me, at all," he said, leaning on the door frame. "You saved me from a boring evening alone."

"Sarah?"

"Gone for the weekend. Tommy took her on a fishin' trip."

Your lips tilt up. "You're not a fisher?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm afraid all that talent went to Tommy."

"Well I'm sure you're good for other things." You hadn't meant the words to hide some sort of hidden comment but as soon as you'd said it all you could think about was his 'other' talents.

Maybe Joel could tell you were being filthy, taking his hospitality for granted. He looked down and grabbed the handle. "Change. I'll be waitin'."

When the door clicked shut behind him you dropped back onto his bed, hiding your face in your hands and groaning.

What were you doing?

By the time you'd peeled the towel from yourself and folded it up, changed into what you assumed were Joel's old clothes (you'd had to roll the waistband of the joggers over several times and roll up the sleeves to) and made your way down stairs the credits were rolling on the movie.

The sofa was hidden under cushions and blankets.

Joel was leant over it, punching the pillows till they seemed fluffy enough. "C'mon, damn you."

You cleared your throat.

Joel whipped around. His lips parted, ready to speak but instead he got an eyeful of you. You in his clothes.

For a second you were delusional enough- and exhausted enough- to believe that he liked seeing you like that. Draped in him. But he was probably realising he liked that shirt and wanted it back immediately.

"You didn't have to do this, really," you said, gesturing to the makeshift bed he was making. "I don't want to put you out."

"You're doin' no such thing, I already told you. I was havin' a borin' evening."

"Well I'm glad me getting locked out and soaked amused you," you teased.

Joel's jaw ticked, his tongue running slowly over his bottom lip as his gaze fell lower. "Yeah," he hummed.

It seemed like an excruciatingly long moment that you let him stare.

Joel realised and cleared his throat. "You must be hungry," he walked by you, leaning away to avoid your touch. "Can't say I've got anythin' much good. Some pizza, maybe."

"I'm ok, thank you though."

Joel glanced back at you. "You've eaten?"

"I had lunch, i'm good."

Joel frowned at you, confused. "Lunch? It's dinner time, we'll order somethin."

"You've done too much-" you protest but Joel was already reaching for the phone and pulling at the draw of take out menu's.

"You like it plain, right?" he asked, already dialling the number and wedging the phone.

You walk to him. "At least let me pay-"

Joel held up his hand. "No, stay," his voice was low and gruff, eyes watching you darkly as you paused in place. "Good girl- hello, Jo? Yeah, it's Joel you son of a bitch."

Joel had sat down with you on the sofa and re-played Curtis and Viper while you ate pizza. He'd insisted you had to watch when you said you'd never seen it before. He'd mumbled something about not living till you had seen it, he wasn't even sure what he'd said to get you to sit and watch it with him.

It had worked.

He should have sent you to his bed, told you to rest because you were giving him challenges after challenges and you moved like you didn't even know it.

When you'd told him to come in when you were only in a towel, sitting on the edge of his bed like you didn't know what to do with the space. Wearing his clothes like you weren't giving him images that he'd keep locked up somewhere deep and dark in his mind for weeks to come.

You'd eaten pizza, asked him about every scene and slowly come out of you cold.

You'd become warm again next to him and it was driving Joel into a hot mess.

When the credits started to roll for the second time that evening Joel could tell you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You wanna sleep?" he asked. His arm had stretched out along the sofa, conciously to get closer to you.

You shook off your sleep. "Sorry."

"You needa stop apologising, you know," he teased, finger prodding at your shoulder.

You stretched. "Is it bad if I say sorry?"

Joel chuckled, spreading his legs out. "Right, you take my bed. Sofa's mine."

You woke up at that, all sleep gone from you. "What?"

Joel looked at you again in confusion. "Can't have you takin' the sofa after the day you've had."

You scoffed. "And I can't kick you out of your own bed."

"You ain't kicken me outta anythin', i'm tellin' you."

Joel would never be this kind to anyone else except his own kid. If any other neighbour of his found themselves in this situation he'd never have offered them his own clothes, wouldn't have sat down and watched a movie he'd seen a dozen times before.

But it was you. Joel was good at saying no to you cause you were always unfair to yourself mostly.

You were gorgeous, intelligent, kind and self-dependant. A treat dangled in front of Joel, constantly nibbiling and never taking. If he took he'd never be able to spit you back out your system.

Either you knew what you were doing with your coy smiles, gentle shuffles into him and sweet words and wanted to torture him or you didn't know and that was worse.

He couldn't pretend the idea of you in his bed wasn't driving him mad but he also could see the droop on your eyes and the slug in your body. You needed rest. You needed someone to look out for you.

Joel would kill to be that man.

"Joel, I can't," you protest.

"I'm not takin ' no for an answer, sweetheart," he said.

"The couch is more than fine- the floor even."

Joel shook his head. "C'mon, it's gettin' late. Head up."

He stretched further out, his foot now against yours.

You were watching him, brows pulled together and eyes focusing on him. "No."

Joel's brows rose. He'd perfected the stern look of a father but it didn't seem to be workin' on you. "No?"

"No, I want the sofa."

In a move he didn't anticipate, you threw yourself down, your hair fanning out on the pillow and you pulled the blanket up to your chin, kicking out your legs till they were draped over Joel's lap.

For a moment all he did was stare, his lips parted and a soft breath falling from him. You closed your eyes like you were already drifting off, un-aware the effect your cat-like stretch was having on him. His nerves had been shattering since he saw you wrapped in his towel.

You were giving his patience a good try.

Joel chucked under his breath, calling your name.

Your sly smirk did things to him, especially as you ignored him.

Joel's hand fell upon your shin, trailing up slowly as his body slowly leaned over. He'd never known anyone to have an effect on him like this. Never been so allured and so ... needy like he was a damn teenager again.

All he wanted was to press his body into yours, to kiss your hair and assure you he would look after you, no matter what, no matter where.

Your body stilled as his, heavier and larger, caged you on the sofa.

His arm stretched over your head and your eyes opened, flickering to find his gaze.

"Jus' get comfortable," he'd reached over and flicked the lamp off.

But he didn't move. No, Joel was stubborn.

Once the soft glow of the lamp had gone and he'd turned the tv off the living room was put into darkness.

Joel wedged himself in, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around himself to stop him from teasing with a touch.

"Joel what are you-"

"Shh, i'm tryin to sleep," he grumbled. He tried to push himself into the back of his couch that was falling under both your weights, rolling you into him.

He tucked his head in and closed his eyes as he felt you turn, questioning him. Heck, he was questioning himself. He'd promised some easy down time while Tommy took Sarah out, not this. Not his own battle of temptation.

"If you ain't takin' the bed then i'm not neither," he grumbled.

Your body pulled back and Joel thought he'd done in, over stepped. That the walking in on you in a towel, wearing his clothes, an arm too close around you while the film played had been too much.

Instead he felt a warmth brush over him and your body close to him.

You'd shared his blanket that was too small for the both of you.

In all of Joel's wants to take care of you, perhaps there was a bit of you that wanted to take care of him.

They weren't back.

It was the Saturday and there was still no stirring in the house, no cars outside. Not even a damn text.

You were still draped in Joel's too big clothes for you, staring at the house that was still.

The sun had risen long ago but Joel still slept on the sofa.

Where you'd both slept. You woke with his arm around you, strong and un-yielding as he held you into his chest. It had taken you a near ten minutes to free yourself from his warmth but you'd finally gotten free and his little snores continued.

Only for two minutes did you stare at him, smiling to yourself before realising it was wrong. Wrong to want him so much and wrong to wonder why he'd insisted he share the sofa.

Either he was the most stubborn man you'd ever met.

Or he wanted to be close.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

But now you were faced with small other options.

What did you do now? You couldn't stay with Joel for another day, heck you still only had your clothes that were still damp on a chair in Joel's room.

Maybe you'd go out of town yourself.

Call a friend?

There was a stirring on the sofa.

Joel woke in confusion. Not at the sleeping on the sofa. His fist was clenching at the empty space in front of him and his gaze still blurry with sleep looked for you.

When he spotted you at the window his body visibly relaxed.

And it set your body taunt.

"Morning'." His voice was hoarse, lower register than you'd ever heard.

"Hey," your arms fold over your chest.

Joel was still watching you, throwing an arm behind his head. The blanket slowly fell and his shirt rode up. "You sleep alright? Didn't snore, did I? Sarah says I do sometimes."

You smile and shake your head.

Joel huffed as he sat himself up. You still weren't moving, body his but mind elsewhere. "Everythin' alright?"

You sighed, looking down at your feet that just about peeked over the joggers. "My parents, they still aren't back."

You couldn't meet Joel's gaze as he huffed in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," you apologised. "I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I'll drive around, meet a friend or somethin'. I won't trouble you anymore."

"You ain't troublin' me, honey, not in the damn slightest," he grumbled.

It did nothing to settle your nerves.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel must've noticed your hesitation, your worry that you were too much. He was moving across the room before you could register it. "Stay."

"I shouldn't, you've done so much and you were supposed to have a break this weekend. I'm already ruining it," you ramble.

Joel's hands are steady as they settle on your forearms, thumbs soothing you. "Stay."

You eyes flickered up to him. It always shocked you how stern his face could be, the wrinkles dawning at his forehead and the creases when his mouth moved, but his eyes were soft, always calm like warm coffee. "Joel-"

"Whatta do I gotta say to make you stay, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Promise of more shitty movies and even worse food? My sorry-ass company?"

You chuckled. "It wasn't a shitty film," you said. "And your company is the best i've had in months. Sarah exculded."

There was a glimmer of pure joy in Joel's eyes as he laughed. His hands squeezed your arms once before he walked to the kitchen, leaving you to look at your house once more time before following.

"So what do you say I get some coffee goin' and then we can see what groccery's of yours we can salvage?" he said.

You nodded to whatever he said because leaning on the doorway, watching his shirt ride up every time he stretched, you weren't sure you could ever listen to anything he was saying.

Tommy: So, you resting up?

Was he? Was Joel using his weekend to rest.

No, he was using his weekend like a test.

When he woke without you in his arms he was close enough to whining. Whining! It took his body seconds to grow cold without your warmth and for him to wake.

And then it took every ounce of himself not to smile when he heard your parents still weren't back.

First he wanted to yell, wanted to beg your parents home so he could give them a peace of his mind. But he quickly thought about what was presented. You. You and him for a whole un-interrupted day.

Joel thought about the things he could do. Keep you next to him, cook you breakfast- whatever you wanted even if it meant he'd have to break speeding laws to get to the shops.

You in his house, wearing more of his clothes.

After coffee he'd dismissed himself to the bathroom quickly to get filthy thoughts out of his head before they could manifest lower. You in his house, all to himself, desperate for warmth and love. Everything he could give you.

Joel had called Sarah just to distract himself.

No, Joel was not resting up.

You'd spent the day with him cleaning his kitchen, insisting you needed to do something for him.

There was plenty he thought you could do.

Then Joel showered, it was already mid day. He'd stepped out the shower and pushed his face into his towel to dry off when he inhaled and smelt you.

He groaned into the towel, diving in again, almost slobbering at the smell of you on his towel.

It drove him mad.

And it drove him back into a very cold shower.

By the time evening had dawned you insisted to leave the house. Not because his company was boring, but because you wanted to take Joel somewhere.

"I could always break in through a window to get some clothes," you suggested as you gestured to the attire you were still in. "You're in that building way of work. You can repair a window?"

"Can't glue glass back together," he said, leaning over the counter. "I'll see what Sarah's got." Maybe yesterday he'd lied just a bit about her clothes and growing out of. He'd just seen an opportunity to have you draped in him and took it.

He found some of Sarah's things, a bag of clothes that were supposed to be donated last year and left you with them.

When you came back down the stairs Joel's pulse shot.

You'd put those jeans you had on yesterday back on, but they'd been cleaned and dried and now they were snug on your hips and backside. The top you'd picked was from one of Sarah's old favourite band but it was too small on you, tight on the sleeves and showing a healthy slither of your skin.

Fuck.

Suddenly Joel regretted giving you that bag, hated that he'd promised you a night out of his house. He hated everything in him that wanted you.

How could your parents leave you? How could anyone not want to be in your company always.

"Is it ok?" you asked.

Was it ok? Everything was far from ok?

"Let's go, darlin'."

The two of you went in his truck, going to a simple bar for some cheap and good enough burgers and drinks. You were over twenty-one, just, but you'd assured Joel you were a regular at the bar. That it was the hottest place for everyone to go to.

When he walked in and the two of you got a booth, Joel wasn't so happy with the old guys staring at you. Or the younger ones too. As if he wasn't ogling you when you got the chance.

He just liked that you hardly noticed any of them, eyes only on Joel.

You'd gotten burgers and beer, talking about anything and nothing.

Joel did not broach the subject of your parents.

He watched you talk about anything you wanted, watched the way your lips moved with words he could just about make out.

"You staring at me," you laughed, nursing another beer. The burgers were half eaten, fries gone. Your body was turned into Joel's as he curled into you.

"Starin'?" he repeated with cheek. "Am I?"

"You are."

Joel hummed and let himself stare a little longer. You'd already caught him, what was the harm of anymore.

You shied under his gaze, looking away. "I don't have to stay tonight, Joel," you said. "I could get a hotel, easily. We're in town anyway."

He was already shaking his head. "Not happin'."

"You don't have to do this just to be nice."

"Who's to say i'm not gettin' anything out of this?" he said.

Your brows rose as you lifted the bottle to your lips. "Are you?"

The teasing was laid out bare on the table like a meal.

"Maybe," he said, taking a swig of his own. "You're good company."

You smiled, a small pink to your cheeks coming again.

Joel wondered what else could have you blushing like that. If he was to dip his head low and trace whispers in the skin of your neck, would he be graced by your bashful look. Or would you crane your head back for more?

His eyes drifted at the skin of your neck at the thought.

You shuffled, leaning back in your seat, edging him on.

If you knew his thoughts would you take the reigns?

"Gotta take a leak." Joel did not have to piss, he needed to give himself a stern talking to in the mirror, splash some cold water on himself and move on, shake off his want.

You had come to him for solace, not to be the victim of his pervy thoughts.

"Get it together, Joel." One weekend without his brother and kid supervision and he was reverting back to a horny teen.

By the time he'd shook himself out of it and was walking back to the booth, his seat had already been taken by a man probably his age. John. The scoundrel.

"You're very pretty mind," Joel heard him mumble, saw you look down but not smile or thank him for the compliment.

Joel's hand was clapping down on his shoulder. "Everythin' alright here, buddy?"

"Joel, man," John greeted with a grin as if he wasn't taking his seat and his girl. "Where've you been hidin this young little thing? You know, sharin' is carin'."

"Excuse me?" your voice sounded, startled and disgusted.

That was enough for Joel to pull John out the booth.

"We don't care for your business here," said Joel, standing tall on guard over the booth.

"Oh come on-" John tried.

"Out!" he yelled, gaining looks from the people around.

John scoffed, a glare in his dark and cold eyes as he still took time to scan you.

Joel was watching him go, counting his steps and assessing anyone else in the room that might want to speak to you. He'd tell them to beat it to.

It wasn't until he felt your hand on his bicep that he looked at you.

"Hey," he could hear his own voice softer than the growl he'd used with John. His arms rose, hand holding yours. "I'm sorry."

"No don't be, don't be," you said. Your eyes drifted around the bar as his were still down on you. "Can we go back to yours?"

It had been ruined. The night you'd wanted so bad crumbled. Still, Joel couldn't find it in himself to deny he didn't hate hearing you ask to go back to his.

"Course, of course, darlin'. Come on." He led you out the bar, throwing dollars on the table and leaving your half eaten food and half drunk beers.

The night air ran shivers over your skin as he escorted you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you.

You stood there, hair brushed back in the wind and arms crossed over your chest. "Thank you, for back there."

Joel rested his arm over the opened door. "Don't thank me for that. Guy like that shouldn't have been talkin' to you like that."

You nod and gulp. You took a step closer to him as Joel watched. "You've done so much for me, Joel," your voice was low, with no need to speak up. "What can I do for you, please?"

Joel's breath stuttered as he saw you come closer, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss and grab and hold and- he cleared his throat and looked past your head. It was not a step to take tonight. Maybe ever. "Get in the truck."

The night hadn't gone as planned. Granted, none of the weekend had gone as planned.

Joel's truck pulled up in front of his house slow enough for you to catch the lights on in your house, the car back at front. Someone was home and suddenly that made your weekend all the worse.

You and Joel both got out the truck silently and walked up to his porch but both of you were looking at your house, alive.

"Someone's home."

Joel sighed heavily next to you. "Yeah."

So the weekend would be done. You'd go back to whatever new and tense atmosphere was created. There goes your time with Joel that you hadn't realised could do so much for you.

"Well," you started. "I'll get Sarah's shirt washed and dried for you and get it back. Thanks so much for putting up with me and-"

"Don't go," said Joel.

Your head rose. From the silent way he drove you both back and the way he'd been in the bar, you thought he'd push you back to your house.

Joel's tender gaze shone under the dim porch light. "I know you have shit goin on in that house and I can't stand the thought of that. Can't stand to think you're upset. I want you to stay. For tonight. For always. Just-"

You kissed Joel.

You surged up on your toes, held his cheeks and kissed him.

And his lips felt better than ever imagined. They parted under you and you got your first taste of the man you'd dreamt about. Beer on his tongue, desire on his lips and a thousand wants in the back of his throat.

Joel's arms were strong and urgent as they scooped you up and into his chest, moving until he had you pinned against the wall and his body. He surged you up, feeling into your mouth deeper, pressing his body against yours.

He pulled back, lips kissing under your jaw and trailing down your neck. "Oh baby," he cooed, peppering kisses along the skin.

"Joel," you whined, hands grasping at his shirt and pulling.

He nipped at the skin at the base of your neck and licked over the red he'd created. "Fuck. Say my name again," he muttered. He pulled his head back enough to look at you. "Say it."

"Joel."

He kissed you hard, mouth open and tongue discovering your every angle. His hands wasted no time in falling into your hair.

"Stay tonight," he mumbled against your lips as if he couldn't take himself any further away from you. "Please. Let me show you love. Let me... let me take care of you, baby."

His eyes looked at yours, his head nodding like he could coax that same nod from you. He was still mumbling under his breath, a series of please.

There was nothing in the world that could take you from that moment.

"Yes."

Joel kissed you again, face in yours, tongue finding easy triumph over yours. He kept you into his chest with one arm, the other blindly reaching out to unlock his door.

He threw it open and it banged against the wall.

Joel carried you through the threshold, arms secure around your waist. One hand cupped your ass, dragging over your thigh and encouraging you to wrap a leg around him.

He groaned when he felt the warmth of you on him.

He kicked the door close behind him and was still kissing you, was still stealing your breath when he got to the stairs.

It was slobbery, it was wet. You could only hear the ticking of a clock and the sound of your lips as Joel set you on the stairs.

"Need you," he mumbled, kissing down your neck. "Needed you so long now, you have no idea."

"I do," you moan, throwing your head back, eyes squeezed shut to focus on the heat between your two bodies. "Dreamt about this."

Joel looked up at you. "Yeah? When? When you were in my shower?" his hand dragged down your neck, watching it go. "When you were wrapped in my towel? Wearing my clothes." His hand disappeared under your shirt.

Your breath caught as you felt his rough hands drag up and cup your breast. "Joel," you gasp.

"Wanted to have you so bad, baby," he said, speaking to himself as he tugged up the top. "Smelt you on my towel and had to fist myself thinkin' 'bout you."

You mewl at his words, a needy and pathetic noise.

Joel pulled the top off you and threw it somewhere behind. Your breasts were spilling out of your bra, begging. "Shit."

There was no time for you to speak, to gage yourself as Joel hid himself in your breasts, un-clasping your bra and throwing it aside.

It was needy.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at the roots. You could feel Joel everywhere, his lips dragging against each boob, jumping between the two as if he couldn't decide where to start. His hands were running all over you, down your hips, between your thighs, desperate to feel it all.

Your breathing was erratic, your mind foggy with only one thing. Joel, Joel, Joel.

"Don't- don't stop," you beg.

"Never, never wanna," his voice was muffled as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them together. His tongue darted out and dragged over the skin, hands squeezing.

Your leg wrapped around his hips again and pushed him into the heat between your legs.

Joel groaned.

He pulled back enough to look at you. His hand cupped your cheek, brushing your hair back. "Please... wanna treat you so good.... want you to feel."

"I do," you nod, empty without his lips.

Joel could tell, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. At odds with the hardness that he unconsciously thrust between your legs. "Wanna treat you so good.... gonna be so good for you. Wanna show you love... let me take care of you."

You couldn't make words. The promises in mumbles was driving you mad.

Joel's hand was gentle on your neck but there enough to stir your gaze to his. "Say yes, baby. Say yes."

"Yes, Joel, yes," you weren't even sure what he was asking for. To use you, to fuck you, to take care of you? It was all a yes.

"Let me... let me do everything to show you love," said Joel. He pecked your lips. "Let me eat your pretty pussy. Let me make you tremble on my fingers. Want it. Need it."

You gasp at his words as his hands fall to your jeans, popping the button and pulling them down. "Joel, we're- we're on the stairs." Was this about to happen, your parents over the road? Was Joel gonna take you however he wanted on the stairs leading to his bedroom?

"Yeah we are baby," he said, "need you. Can't wait. Fuck, might die if I don't get your pussy on my face."

You moan aloud at the words.

Joel looked up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Stand up for me, baby."

How you got onto your feet, you had no idea. But you stood steps ahead of him, wearing nothing but soaked panties and a breathless expression.

Joel knelt before you, jeans tight and strained at the front but he moved like it wasn't there. Like his own need wasn't driving him mad as his hands cupped the back of your thighs.

His eyes weren't warm coffee but a dark night as he kept his eyes on you, tongue darting out to lick a strip over your panties.

He hummed. "You're wet. You're so wet. Been needing me? Been needing attention?"

"Ye-yes," you gasp, eyes closing.

"God what a pretty sight, coulda had this, honey," said Joel. His finger followed the path his tongue created. He prodded your panties, watching the material dampen under his touch. Joel pushed it and watched your pussy take it.

"Joel!" your hands flayed, unsure were to put them.

Joel kissed over your bundle of nerves hidden from him once more. "Can you take them down for me? Please?"

You nodded and realised he'd asked you to do something.

Quickly, you slid them down your legs, exposing yourself without a second thought while Joel tore his shirt off.

Before you could throw them with the rest of your discarded clothes but Joel was quick to take them from you.

The material bunched in his fist first before he brought it up to his face. You watched in wonder, noting the quick rise and fall of your own chest, as Joel's tongue darted out and got a taste of you on your panties.

It was obscene and almost had you kneeling over.

Joel's gaze flickered back up to you, dropping your panties when he noticed your pussy weeping. His hands pulled at your thighs, groping the skin until he had you spread on his stairs. "Gonna eat you out now, ok, honey? Gonna have you trembling. Need you on my face, all over me... fuck."

Joel went in like a man starved. He practically sat himself under you legs, holding your thighs apart and spreading you open.

Your moan beat in your own ears as you braced yourself on the wall and banister.

His tongue was sloppy as he went up and down your folds, gathering your juice and swallowing it. He moaned into your pussy.

"Gonna-" he kissed over your folds, wet. "Eat you up, yeah?" he was talking to himself, or your pussy.

The pleasure was all yours as it escalated up your body, leaving you in moans and pathetic whines.

Joel took no notice of anything else but his face in between your legs. "Eat you out till you forget your name. Till you only know pleasure and want," his tongue flattened against you and slurped, drinking everything you had for him. He whined into you, lost in need. "Fuck, baby, this so good."

Your breathing was un-stable, loud. "Joel, you're-you're-"

One of his hands fell to his crotch, squeezing the thick indent of himself. "Don't try and speak baby, know you can't. Just feel. Just feel me and cum when you want. Want you to cum on my face, all over me. Know you can... Want..." his voice was lost in moans and making out with your core.

If he went anywhere to your nerves... If he so much as looked at your clit you feared you might make his wishes come true.

Like he knew your thoughts, Joel's large palm sprawled out on your sternum, thumb circling your clit as his tongue fucked up, dipping in and out of your juice.

"Joel- Joel!" you yelled, gripping the banister like it was the only thing tying you to the earth.

Joel groaned, thumb applying pressure. He knew every part of you already, knew buttons to press to get you a squirming mess. "Come, god baby, please come all over my mouth. Let me... need it," he begged.

He pushed his face flush into you, nose nudging your clit even more as he moaned into you.

You were screaming out as you finished, thighs shaking so hard Joel had to hold them as he took what you gave him, all of it, licking up the mess and cleaning your thighs only to smear more of it over his face.

"So good..."

"Baby, your pussy the best thing I ever had..."

"Feel good, honey, I feel so good. So damn happy right now..."

He was still talking to himself by the time your eyes had opened.

You found his hand down his own trousers, the tip of his cock flush and pink and weeping. You leaned over him, desperate for your own touch.

"No, baby, no." Joel grabbed your wrist and stirred your wanting fingers into his mouth.

He sucked on them (just how you wanted to on his cock) he took them like it was his own favourite treat. He was still moaning, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat he'd created from his own need.

"Wanna.... want your cock, Joel," you whined.

Joel looked up to you, taking your fingers from his mouth with a trail of saliva. "I know baby, he wants you too. God, does he want your mouth."

Joel got to his feet, tugging your still shaking body into his. He kissed you, open-mouthed, tongue licking in. "But I wanna take care of you more than anythin'."

It took a while to get to his room. He carried you up, had your body on his and he couldn't have his lips without yours for more than a second before he was chasing after you for more.

It was like being a teen all over again. It was like tasting the first forbidden fruit, it was like a drug that you never wanted to quit.

It was enough to kill you, but have you living in bliss.

Joel flicked his light on in his room and closed the door behind him. "Gonna fuck you now, ok baby?"

His hand cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

You nodded, head brushing his.

"I'll be gentle, I will, but I need you open, I need you ready," he kissed you. "Need to fuck you into my bed. Want your body indented there. Want to smell you on my sheets for weeks in case."

In case he never got it again.

You cupped his cheek, fingers ablaze from the feel of stubble. You implored him to look at you. "Won't be the last time."

"No?" his eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas.

Your tongue darted out, flicking his lips. "Gonna need you, always."

"Always," Joel repeated.

While distracted, you slid to your knees, dropping down with a thud.

You didn't even bother freeing Joel from his trousers and boxers, you just wet him over it with your mouth. You dragged it up, tasting the denim but feeling the twitch of satisfaction he gave you.

Joel groaned, hands hovering in the air around you as you made quick work. "Baby, no, what did I... fuck... what did I say?"

You moan against the denim, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "But want you, Joel, want to feel you."

"Arg- you will baby," he grunted, jaw clenching. "Go on then, play a bit."

You smiled and pulled down his jeans and boxers in one. His cock sprang out, beads of pre-cum already trailing down.

He had length but it was the thickness that had you swallowing. The veins that had you reaching out with spit on your hand to work him up and down.

You tried to go slow, you really did, quickly you picked up the pace as Joel moaned.

You kissed his tip and then around it before your tongue licked around him, collecting his pre-cum and savouring the taste. It was so him.

"Oh baby, enough to bring a man to his knees."

You sensed you didn't have much time, darting your head low to engulf his balls in your mouth- or at least one of them. It was heavy on your tongue, warm with him.

As suspected, Joel groaned loudly before dragging you up.

He tossed you down on the bed, stepping out of his pants.

You expected to feel his cock trace your entrance, to be prepared for the burning and passion inside of you.

Joel had gone in with his tongue again fist. He really was on his knees, holding your thighs open and licking up and down, getting your taste again like he'd forgotten it in the time it took to get to his room.

Your hand flew to his hair, tugging at the roots. "Joel!"

"Whatever you want, baby," he mumbled, kissing at your thigh.

"Fuck me! Fuck me, please!"

His tongue left you alone and you felt the bed dip as he crawled over you. Your legs fell flat and wide, accommodating him. He hovered over you enough so you wouldn't feel him. "You want it?"

"I do," your eyes stung, you were close enough to tears.

"Want all of me splitting you open?" he asked, "once you have me baby, that's it. You can't have anyone else."

"Don't want anyone else, just please."

Joel tested himself on top of you, head in the crook of your neck, nipping and licking. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel.... so good!" He broke off in a groan as he led his cock into you. "Shit! You're so ... so tight."

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slowly inched himself in more and more. "Joel..."

He brushed your hair out the way, still over you. "This ok? You feelin' me? Feelin' all of me."

Your eyes screwed shut at the initial burn but your own need pulsed and had you begging for more.

"Don't wanna hurt you, my pretty girl," he mumbled.

You shook your head. "Won't. Just move!"

Joel could never say no to you.

His hips rocked slowly, until all of him was sunk in. He was still a moment longer, panting above you.

"Joel, move, please," you begged, holding onto him.

"Baby if I move now i'm coming inside of you and i'm spent," he chuckled. "Trying to make it good. Trying to make it last."

There was earnest in his voice. A true desire that went beyond touching, that went beyond proving he could love you and take care of you.

He wanted you. All of you. Forever.

Your hand cupped him, thumb tracing over his bottom lip as his eyes opened to yours. "It's perfect."

Neither of you blinked. Neither of you dared look away to where he slowly sank in and out of you. You looked at each others eyes, watched every wince and flicker of pleasure. Watched the darkest of desires and the purest of desires flicker with every twitch and move of him.

It grew to more.

Joel's hands went from your neck to your hips to rock you into him, to guide each thrust. Every time he slowly left you he entered you with force, needing to stabilise you.

He wasn't just talking when he said he'd fuck you into the bed.

Soon enough he was bottoming out in you with every thrust and you could only hear the slapping of skin and the words tumbling out his mouth.

"Made for me. My god, where you made for me..."

"Pussy feels just as good as it tastes... can't believe it...."

"Gonna finish inside of you, and you're gonna finish on my cock. This is it. It's us now, ain't nobody ever takin you from me..."

"Yours," you moan, nails scratching down his skin. "Oh, i'm all yours."

"Prove it to me," he all but growled as his thrusts became quick and hard. "Come on my cock and show him how good it feels. He needs it, he wants it. Needs.... wants..."

"Joel I- mmh- want you to come."

"So kind baby," he chuckled. "But I will, god will I. But only once you've come. My cock needs it now, baby, now!"

You didn't think it could get better, that his thrusts could get harder and stir you into a craze but he proved you wrong.

As you mouth hung open in a moan, Joel held your jaw open and had his fingers in there, gathering your saliva before he moved those fingers down your body and onto your clit.

The deftness of his fingers and the quick thrusts had you finishing and pulsing on his cock, screaming his name until the whole damn street could hear.

Your walls were wet, your pussy clenching around Joel until his hips were stuttering with his groans.

"Oh i'm gonna cum.... oh, i'm gonna... fuck- fuck!" his words trailed away into groans from hell as he hit one last thrust, balls against you.

You were still riding your high when you felt his warmth inside you, marking you, becoming you. Both of you climaxed and moaned, every twitch and touch sending trembles through you.

Every little pulse had more of Joel spluttering inside of you until he had nothing left.

He fell on top of you, cock twitching. He kissed your skin, licked away the sweat rolling down your temples until he could find it to move out of you.

Joel rolled onto his side, pulling the covers over you as you both caught your breath.

Once you had enough air in your lungs, you turned to Joel. He was already scanning you like he was ready for round two.

"Thank you," you didn't know why you said it. All you knew was you'd never felt so cared and loved before.

Joel smiled. "You're so welcome, baby. But don't think i'm done takin care of you yet."

[aurorawritestoescape]

BE MY GUEST

No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: working as a hotel housekeeper, you meet a handsome guest under quite unexpected circumstances. An awkward conversation leads to a friendly relationship that grows into something none of you expects.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lots of fluff, a bit of angst, age gap (the size is up to you, Joel is in his late 30s-early 40s, reader is younger), Sarah is alive (7 y.o), pining, strangers to friends to lovers, soft Joel, insecure reader, accidental flashing, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, m/f masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, aftercare, phone/video sex, pet names, swearing. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a uniform dress.

Word count: 12k

A/n: I’m finally posting this story and I’m sooo excited. It took me a lot of time, I love these two very much and I hope you all will like them, too. It’s written for @yxtkiwiyxt ‘s Never Have I Ever Challenge. My prompt was ’never have i ever booked a hotel room just to go have sex‘. Thank you for the fun event, Kiwi!💞 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and supporting me through the journey aka writing this fic lol ILY❤️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Housekeeping!” you announced yourself loudly when you came up to room 605. Following the protocol, you’d knocked three times before that, waited for two minutes and the silence was your invitation to enter. You rolled your housekeeping cart closer to the door and opened it with your master key.

When you walked through a short hall and into the living area, you expected to find anything. Having worked as a hotel housekeeper for only a year, you’d already seen your fair share of messy beds, spilled drinks, broken furniture, completely trashed rooms, so nothing could surprise you.

Nothing except for a man lying naked in bed with his cock out. Even a glance was enough to realize that he was busy stroking himself, a mobile phone in hand.

Everything happened lightning fast— you gasped, hands clasped over your mouth — the man cursed and hastily covered himself with a sheet — you squeaked a timid ’sorry’ and ran out of the room.

A string of curses was leaving your mouth as you were hurrying away from room 605, pushing the heavy cart in front of you.

***

Minutes later you were in the staff locker room, panting, sweaty palms pressed to your chest, your heart racing.

‘Why?’ You were asking yourself, ’why didn’t he hear you announce yourself and knock?’‘ First, you thought that he wanted you to see him— during your time working in the hotel you’d met a few creeps, but that man seemed genuinely shocked, when you appeared in his room, and embarrassed when your eyes landed on his exposed member.

He must have been wearing headphones. Probably. Hopefully. For some reason you didn’t want him to be a perv. He was too handsome, too hot. And his cock was… ahhh it was amazing— long and thick, fat tip angry red and glistening in the bright light of the sun. He must have been close to coming.

Your eyes were still widened, hands shaking, but your lips curved into a little smile, thinking about him, a heat rising in your belly. You started bringing any detail you could to mind - his dark disheveled hair - he’d probably just woken up, his naked chest, broad and strong, a happy trail on his tummy, the big hand, wrapped around his —

”Hey, babe!”

You jumped, scared to death, your heart, that was slowing down after the incident, was pounding again.

“Hi, Max,” you breathed out, greeting your colleague and friend who’d just entered the room. She was your age, funny, kind and extremely nosy.

You turned to the lockers, away from her, embarrassed by the tingling between your legs, but also worried that she’d notice your flustered face.

”What’s wrong?”

Fuck!

“Nothing,” you lied, trying to calm down. Silence filled the room. When you glanced back at Max, she was staring at you, her eyes narrowed. Obviously, she wasn’t buying it.

“Ok. I’ll tell you,” you sighed, reluctant to talk about it at first, but Max was always reliable and loyal so you thought ‘why the hell not’ and started talking, “Something happened.”

“Yeah?” She immediately lit up, anticipating something juicy.

“I was working on the 6th floor and I entered this room and — shit— I saw a man, you know, naked and —“

Max opened her mouth exaggeratingly wide and was waiting for you to go on.

“That man — he was ehm— watching something on his phone and —you know?”

You were trying to find the right words, but Max was not the one to beat around the bush.

“Jacking off?!”

“Shhh, Max!” you hissed, raising your hands, begging her to speak quieter with your pleading eyes. “What if Ms Hewitt hears?!”

“Ms Hewitt hears what?”

You wanted to drop dead at that moment. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when the housekeeping supervisor, a tall blond middle aged woman, appeared behind you.

“Ehm, nothing,” you replied with a fake smile.

Ms Hewitt looked you up and down as she always did, checking if everything was perfect in her staff’s attire, then her eyes focused on your face. Her piercing gaze was enough for you to crumble, especially when she said,

“Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

You had never been a good liar so you took a deep breath and decided to come clean. You were sure that you’d done nothing wrong but anxiety was still churning your stomach.

You cleared your throat and started talking a mile a minute as if it would make it sound less bad.

“I was on the 6th, was about to clean the 605, and I knocked three times, waited for two minutes. No one answered so I opened the door. I announced myself! I did everything by the book, I swear, but somehow the guest didn’t hear me and he was naked in bed and… and…”

Max’s high pitched ‘jacking off’ almost flew out of your mouth but you shut it just in time.

Miss Hewitt's poker face didn’t reveal anything for a few long seconds until she pushed,

”And?”

You shifted on your feet nervously, cleared your throat and exhaled,

“He was pleasuring himself.”

Max burst into giggles, you flinched and quickly made big eyes at her. She clamped her palm over her mouth and shook her head, apologising with her eyes.

Ms Hewitt was less entertained by your story. She kept looking at you with the same expression and you felt like time had stopped.

“Ms Harmon, don’t you have the 3rd floor today?“ the woman asked Max sternly.

Your friend mumbled a disappointed ‘yes, ma’am’ and dragged herself out of the room.

When you two were left alone, Ms Hewitt’s face softened, and she asked you with her voice lowered. “Was he inappropriate with you, honey?”

“Oh, no-no-no! No!” you hurried to assure her, “he was embarrassed— said sorry. I apologised too and ran out. It was just an accident. Maybe he was wearing headphones or something,” you added fumbling with your fingers. “I’m sure he didn’t want it to happen.”

The supervisor was slowly nodding, listening to you.

For a few moments she was standing there in thought until she spoke.

“I suppose you should talk to him and apologise.”

Your jaw hit the floor.

“What? Talk to him? Why? I did nothing wrong!”

“Yes, probably, but if he feels like you did, he might go to the manager and tell him that you committed an invasion of privacy. And what does Mr Stewart always say? ‘A guest is always right.’ You’d be fired in a second.”

You shook your head.

“I don’t think he’ll complain.”

“Why?” Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up. “Has seeing his penis given you an understanding of his whole personality? We don’t know that person. I don’t want you to lose your job over an accident. If you want I’ll go with you.”

Now you were completely terrified.

“Oh no, no, it’ll be even more awkward.”

“Ok, but tell me how it goes,” the woman said on her way to the door, then stopped and added. “Do it today.”

When she left, you plopped on the bench and stared at your palms. How could you talk to him? After what you’d seen. After what you’d felt. You hoped that he was the man you thought him to be and prayed he wouldn’t make it hard for you. Hard, you murmured and hid your smiling face behind your hands.

You knocked on Joel Miller’s hotel door a few hours later, making sure that the sound was loud enough. Your throat dried up and you cursed under your breath, praying that you wouldn’t have to talk for too long.

To prepare for the conversation l, you had asked for the guest’s name at the reception and learnt that he had booked the room for a week.

Mr Miller opened the door fully clothed this time. He was wearing a white tee and a pair of grey sweatpants. You noticed that he swallowed loudly when he saw you and his expression showed

that he definitely recognised you.

“Mr Miller, can we talk? It’ll take a few minutes.”

“Oh, of course, come in.” He gave you a little smile and stepped aside, letting you enter. You walked into the room and he followed you.

He stopped a few steps away, giving you enough personal space, and you were grateful— it was easier to talk that way.

You dropped your eyes to the floor at his bare feet and said the speech you’d rehearsed a hundred times by now.

”I’d like to apologise for what happened earlier. I assure you, it won’t happen again. I’ll knock harder and announce myself louder next time.”

“Oh no, no, it was my fault,” he said hurriedly and you looked up at the man. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks blushed. It seemed that he was embarrassed just like you and it made you feel better.

“I had an earbud in my right ear,” Mr Miller began explaining. “Noise cancelling.. damnit,” he mumbled under his breath. ”And my left ear is really bad…a work accident. That’s why I didn’t hear you.”

You were glad that your theory turned out to be right and sighed with relief.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It must’ve been horrible to see…damn, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s ok.”

That ‘sweetheart’ made you tingle all over and you smiled to yourself, thinking that it wasn’t a horrible sight at all.

“It was an accident. I’m glad that you’re not angry at me, sir.”

“Angry? Of course, not. I’m embarrassed and very sorry for what you had to see and — wait, please.”

Mr Miller walked to the nightstand and bent over to grab something. Your eyes immediately slid from his broad muscular back, straining his tee, to his ass, looking absolutely sinful in those sweatpants. His body made you feel hot all over again. You quickly snapped your eyes back to his face when he turned to you.

"Oh no, Mr Miller, you don't have to—.”

You shook your head, having noticed a wallet in his hands.

"I insist.”

He walked up to you and pulled a few bills out. He stopped in front of you, leaned closer, took your hand and placed the cash into your palm.

"I'm really sorry."

You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, his smile was warm and timid, and it was a fleeting moment, but the time seemed to feeeze for you. You drowned in his honey eyes, his gruff voice reached the deepest parts of you and a scorching fire licked at your core. Your chest swelled with a feeling so overwhelming and strong that it almost knocked you off your feet.

Trying to hide the tornado inside you, you lowered your eyes and glanced at his hand, so big in comparison to yours. Suddenly, an image of Mr Miller's palm wrapped around his cock flashed in your mind. Your breath hitched, you pulled your hand away, squeaked "Thank you, sir” and rushed to the door on shaky legs.

“No, thank you for your work. And call me Joel. Please. If it’s ok with you,” he added, following you.

”Yes, of course, Mr M—- Joel.”

He smiled widely, when you called him that, and trying not to scream at how handsome he was, you opened the door.

“Oh,” you stopped and turned to him again. “I’ll ask them not to assign me to this floor anymore. So you don’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Hey, no, please.” Joel raised his hands and shook his head. “I don’t mind seeing you again. I— I’d love to, actually. And I promise to be clothed next time we meet.”

You laughed with him gleefully and said ‘goodbye’. Walking through the hallway with a giddy smile on your face, you thought that you’d love to see him again, too. Clothed or not.

You told Ms Hewitt about your conversation with Mr Miller and she seemed satisfied with the way you handled the situation.

All day you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel — he had been so charming, so apologetic and kind to you, that the awkwardness of the morning incident faded out of your heart, and all that remained was a bright, exciting feeling of meeting someone wonderful, someone you wished to get to know better.

Yet not only your heart and mind were occupied by your accidental acquaintance. You felt tingling between your legs every time you remembered Joel’s body, a scorching fire igniting your core.

***

When you came home in the evening and went to take a shower to wash the tiring day off, you found yourself fantasising about the guest in room 605. In your mind the rivulets of water turned into Joel’s strong arms, snaking around your body. You closed your eyes and imagined him standing behind you, naked and gorgeous, just like you’d seen him in the morning. The vision was bright and vivid behind your eyelids, and a needy moan escaped your parted lips.

You could finally quench your thirst. Your hand slid from your neck to your chest, down to your belly and when it reached your mound, you gently massaged your wet folds, envisioning that it was Joel touching you, his fingers were tracing your seam and then pushing inside. In your mind his pads began rubbing your hardened clit, he was the one twitching and pulling your pebbled nipples, and your needy whimpers and moans reverberated in the small bathroom. Joel praised you for your lustful serenade, whispering into your ear,

“Yes, sweetheart, need you to be loud for me. Show me how much you’re enjoying it.”

You were imagining his hard cock push and slide between your thighs, slippery and hot, hotter than the water running down your body.

“Ahhh, Joel,” you whined, as an upcoming climax was licking at your body. Edged by your memories of Joel during the day, it was craving a release. You heard Joel’s gruff ‘sweetheart’ in your ears and came hard, shaking on your trembling legs, holding onto the cold tile wall, trying not to collapse.

Before going to bed you thought of the handsome guest again, wishing to see him in your dreams, to talk to him, to touch him, but your mind didn’t give you that chance, and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Without any effort on your part, you began seeing Joel often. When you two ran into each other in the hallway, he always gave you a warm smile and your heart skipped a beat every time you heard his ‘Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You were good at your job, but when you worked in Joel’s room, you tried to do everything perfectly. You wanted to make his stay as pleasant as possible and dreamed that he would think fondly of you. Every day you left him more shampoo and conditioner bottles than one man could need in a week and put a little flower on top of his fresh towels.

He seemingly felt your care because every day he would leave you a tip. It was nice but you never needed any money from him - the fact that he thought about you was enough.

You had never snooped around guests’ belongings, it was going against your principles, as well as a big no-no in any hotel, but whenever Joel left anything in the open - on the nightstand or on the desk, you meticulously studied ‘the thing’, not touching it but simply looking, eager to get any information about the man.

Once on his desk you saw a flyer that said ‘Small Business Contracting Expo’. He must be a contractor, you thought. You sighed dreamily, standing in the middle of his room with a turned on vacuum in hand. You found his job incredibly sexy.

But not all the discoveries were pleasant. One day you noticed something that upset you. It was a photo, lying on the nightstand - a Polaroid of him with a 6 or 7 year old girl. She was very pretty and had a beautiful smile. His smile.

‘He has a daughter. He’s married,’ you thought and your heart dropped. Of course. How could such a handsome and sweet man be single? That moment you shared… He was just friendly and your head was full of stupid fantasies.

All the rules and regulations forgotten, you plopped on his bed and tears flowed down your cheeks as you were staring at the photo of the happy family man.

The next day you were in the hallway, rummaging your cart for the right cleaning detergent, when you saw Joel exiting his room. He was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. At first, your eyes feasted on the sight of his strong back, straining the shiny leather, and you bit your lip, admiring his broad frame, but then you remembered the photo you’d seen on his nightstand - happy Joel with his little daughter. You hastily averted your eyes from the guest — you’d never be a homewrecker.

Not that you had any plans to win his heart but in your mind Joel had been single and it was fine to daydream about him, yet after seeing the Polaroid, your dreams had been crushed by reality like a glass butterfly by a hammer.

Avoiding Joel, you quickly crouched behind your cart, hoping he wouldn’t see you and his warm ‘sweetheart‘ wouldn’t cut your heart like a blade.

You were cleaning off a non-existent spot on your shoe when you heard a soft ’Hey there’ over your head.

“Are you hiding from me?” Joel chuckled as you sprung up on your feet, your heart racing in your chest.

“No,” you lied with a nervous giggle. “I was just looking for —ehm.” You shoved your hand into the cart and retreated the first thing you touched— a roll of toilet paper. “This. For the room.”

“Yeah, ok.” Joel was standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his jeans pocket, and his lopsided smile and a twinkle in his eye told you that he wasn’t buying it.

Then he raised his hands a little, palms towards you.

“I hope I don’t weird you out. You know? Because of… the way we met.”

Your breath hitched when he said that but you tried to keep your cool.

“No. I was really just looking for the paper.”

“Ok,” he mumbled, rubbing his scruffy beard. ”I’m heading out and I need help.”

“Yeah?” You were lost in beautiful eyes for a second and then your gaze slid down to his thick neck, his strong arms, covered by the leather. You locked eyes with him again - beautiful and deep they seemed to stare right into your soul, bringing you comfort and torment at the same time.

“What do you think?”

Fuck! You got completely mesmerized by Joel while he was talking and asked you for help. Help with what?! You had no damn idea.

“I’m sorry, could you say it again? I got lost in thought for a second.”

“Yeah, I see”, Joel smirked, a playful joy glinting in his irises, but kindly repeated himself.

“I need a gift for my daughter. I promised her a souvenir from the trip. Do you know any nice stores nearby? I don’t think she’d like a magnet from the hotel shop.”

“Yes, daughter,” you uttered, your face falling at the reminder of your discovery. Trying to hide sadness in your quiet voice, you asked,

“How old is she?”

“7.”

You thought for a few seconds and smiled when an idea came to you.

“There’s a store on the opposite side of the street. It’s next to a bank, you’ll see it right away. They sell these super cute handmade plushies. They’re adorable!”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up as he nodded.

“Yes! She loves plushies.”

“Oh, and they have all kinds of pretty stationery there too. Kids love that, right?” you asked with a little smile.

Joel took a step closer to you and put his warm palm over your hand, which was resting on the cart.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll be the world’s best dad when I get home.”

“I’m sure you already are,” you said quietly and dropped your head, your heart heavy.

“Are you ok?” You heard Joel’s lowered voice.

You looked up at him and lied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

***

The next day you hoped not to see him at all. Your feelings were cruelly scratching at your chest, making your smile fake, your work day longer. Every minute felt like hours, and to make matters worse you started plucking at your own soul. You were single and lonely, saving up for college and dreaming of a career you probably would never achieve. Why would you want something if all you got at the end was disappointment?

Usually cleaning helped you to put your mind and heart at ease, to organize the thoughts swirling in your head like a bunch of stinging bees, but not that day. That day you wanted to dump all your hopes and dreams in one giant pile and set the useless trash on fire.

***

You decided to skip Joel’s room that day and was on your way to the neighbouring one when his head popped out of the door and he called for you.

”I thought I heard your cart. Sorry, can we talk, sweetheart?”

You smiled weakly at the pet name, and walked up to his room.

Joel motioned for you to step inside and you followed him. He was wearing a white Henley and jeans and you couldn’t help but ogle him. So stupid of you to think that a man like that was available. Especially for you.

Involuntarily you took a deep breath of his scent that was filling the room, piney and fresh with something so him. You felt at ease right away. He was almost a stranger and an emptiness inside was swallowing you bit by bit but his presence made you calm and relaxed.

“Look what I got for Sarah.”

Joel grabbed a toy sitting on his pillow - a cute fluffy bunny, wearing blue overalls, and brought it to you.

“I think she’ll like him.”

“I’m sure she will,” you assured him, petting the plushie, before giving it back to him. It was soft and pretty.

“And I bought her a bunch of pens and stickers and stuff. Thank you so much for your advice. Oh, and..”

Joel walked to the drawer and pulled something out.

“This one’s for you. A little thank you gift for your help.”

He was handing you a cute plushie cat, fluffy just like the bunny. “Had to hide it in case you’d come to my room.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said, accepting the present with a smile.

“I wanted to. Thought about you when I saw it.”

“Why?” you giggled.

“I don’t know. It’s beautiful and you’re—.” A slight blush appeared on Joel’s cheeks and he cleared his throat before adding, “Jus’ thought you might like it.”

“I love it.”

You didn’t lie. His gesture was so sweet that you had to take a deep breath, fighting an urge to cry.

“You’re a great father, Joel,” you said with a shaky voice, your eyes set on the toy, and then added,

“And I’m sure a wonderful husband.”

The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. It seemed that the despair you’d been carrying in your soul made you bolder, more numb. It was easier to talk to him when all your feelings for the man lost a taste of sweet hope, leaving only bitterness.

“Thank you,” Joel uttered, placing the bunny back on the bed, ”but it’s just me and Sarah.”

Your eyes snapped back at him, and you stared at him in surprise. Your chest swelled with hope and joy. That man was single, but now it sounded almost impossible in your head. How could he be single?

Joel was completely oblivious to a whirlwind of thoughts inside your mind and kept talking,

“Well… there’s also my younger brother, Tommy. She’s staying with him now. Frankly, I’m not sure who’s looking after who,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly and too happily, but it was hard to keep your emotions contained.

“I'm sure they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“Yeah. I call them every day and they haven’t burnt the house down yet — so — it’s great.”

You giggled and Joel seemed to notice your sudden mood uplift. His eyes narrowed as he asked,

“What about you? Husband, boyfriend?”

You bit your lower lip, hiding a smile that would be too revealing of your feelings - his interest flattered you greatly.

“No, none of those.”

Joel hummed and unlike you, didn’t hide his smile.

Your eyes connected and something electric appeared between you two. It started hard to breathe and the tingling warmth spread all over your body. Joel’s gaze slid from your eyes to your lips and you took a sharp breath, scared of the strength of your feelings. Panicking, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind,

“Where are you from?”

As if having forgotten where he was, Joel looked around the hotel room and cleared his throat before replying,

“Austin, Texas.”

You felt flustered by the moment you two had shared, your legs felt like they were made of cotton.

Joel noticed you shifting on your feet and offered you to sit down. You chose to take a chair at his desk, as sitting next to him on the bed could be inappropriate.

“Are you on business here?” you asked, trying not to think about the last time you had seen him on that bed.

“That’s right, ma’am,” Joel bowed his head with a smile and the gesture made your heart flutter. “Tommy and I are starting our own company,” he continued. “Contracting. Very small for now. There's a big expo here this week so we thought it’d be useful to meet people, do some networkin’.” Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and gruffed, “if that’s what it’s called. I’m still learning all the business lingo.”

In spite of the visible self-doubt, Joel’s eyes were glinting with excitement when he was talking about their plans. Then he leaned forward, placed his elbows on the knees, and asked,

“What about you? Do you like working here?”

His soft baritone was caressing your ears and sending heat to your core. His piercing eyes set on you weren’t helping either so you took a deep breath to calm down and replied,

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m saving up to go to a law school. Next year I hope.”

As you were sharing your plans with him, Joel was listening to you attentively, nodding and asking questions from time to time. It was easy to open up to him and the conversation flowed smoothly until you heard someone talk in the hallway and remembered that you were supposed to be working.

“Oh my God, Joel, I’m sorry I need to go.”

You got up, pressing the plushie cat close to your chest, and headed to the door.

“I hope you're not gonna get in trouble because of me,” Joel said, following you. “Some old man lured you into his room…”

You opened the door and walked to your cart, giggling, and then turned to him, smiling widely.

“You’re not old. And you can lure me anywhere anytime.”

Joel scratched his bearded chin, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“Goodbye, Joel,” you purred, and feeling bold, gave him a playful wink.

“See you, sweetheart.”

You felt his eyes on your back and - hopefully - on your ass as you sauntered to another room as gracefully as you could, pushing your cart forward with the cutest plushie cat, sitting on top of it.

***

It was difficult for you to fall asleep that night. You were tossing and turning, hugging the kitty Joel had gifted you and thinking about his smile, his eyes, his hands, his body, his voice. You kept replaying your conversation over and over, your face aching after smiling so much. You were used to the constant tingling between your legs when Joel was on your mind and it wasn’t surprising - he was a handsome man, big and strong, but what stole your sleep that night was the feeling in your stomach. Something warm filled your belly, it was pushing up against your lungs, stealing your breaths away again and again. The sensation was so encapsulating, so pleasant and exciting that you had no doubt what it was. You fell in love with Joel. You fell in love with a guest.

***

The next day you were assigned to a different floor, but your head was full of Joel Miller. You were yawning because of the lack of sleep the previous night and yearning for the culprit of your insomnia. You wondered if he thought about you, too, if he liked you, if he wanted you. An idea to visit him popped into your head but you brushed it off, not wanting to impose and still feeling a little insecure. What if the spark you felt was one sided? What if it all was only in your head?

You were scheduled to work on the sixth floor the next day, so you were looking forward to seeing him soon.

That day everything went wrong. You overslept, probably because you managed to close your eyes only at 4 am, love-induced insomnia to blame again. On top of that, the traffic was horrible, so you missed the morning briefing.

Ms Hewitt looked at you sternly when you came to her office to get your assignments for the day but your genuine apologies and sorry puppy eyes softened her and she gave you all the info you needed.

“Oh, and it’s final cleaning for the 605.”

“What?!” Your heart plummeted into your stomach when you heard the number of the room. Joel’s room.

Trying but absolutely failing to hide your shock you squeaked,

“He—they‘re checking out today?”

“Yes,” Ms Hewitt's puzzled expression told you that the panic in your eyes was evident. She put her hand on your shoulder and asked,

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

Sweetheart

The pet name was ringing in your ears but it sounded like Joel. A scary thought flashed in your mind, ‘Will I ever hear it again?‘

”What time is it?” You exclaimed.

Ms Hewitt’s brows shot up, before she glanced at her watch.

“Ehm. 10:45.”

“Oh god! I need to go— to clean!”

You excused yourself hurriedly and ran to the elevator.

***

A minute later you were at room 605, knocking loudly. No reply. You didn’t stop, remembering Joel’s hearing problem, but there were no heavy footsteps of the man you so foolishly fell in love with. The realization pierced your heart - he was gone, he was gone forever.

Breaking all the rules you opened the door with your card and went inside.

“Joel!” you called, desperation loud in your voice.

He didn’t reply.

It felt empty, lifeless. Just another standard hotel room. The biggest sign that he had even been there was his scent, still lingering in the air.

You took a deep breath of him and tears welled up in your eyes. Your loud sob shuttered the deafening silence.

“Joel,” you mewled helplessly.

There was something on the bed. You walked there and saw a note with your name on it. You lifted it with shaky hands and started reading.

Sweetheart, I hope you’ll get this note. I couldn’t find you but I’d like to thank you for everything. Meeting you was a highlight of my trip. I hope all your dreams come true. And sorry again for the way we met. Joel

On the bed there was also a big tip and a bouquet of red roses.

Your chest swelled with a myriad of different emotions - it was nice of him to leave you a message and the flowers but it was a goodbye. A farewell forever.

A tear fell on the note in your hands. You wiped it off and smudged the writing, leaving a blue streak.

He wrote it not so long ago. What if you could still catch him?

You dropped the note and ran out of the room. Pressing the elevator button several times with a rushed hand, wiping your tears with the other, you were praying to all the gods to let you see him at least one more time, to hear his husky voice, to feel his warm eyes on you.

Joel—Joel—Joel

His name was booming in your head and your heart on your way downstairs.

On the first floor, not wanting to alarm the guests and other personnel, you walked fast to the reception.

“Birtie, hi, could you tell me when Joel Miller checked out? Please,” you asked the receptionist who furrowed his brows at you, having noticed your teary eyes.

You didn’t care about his concern, your gaze was glued to the entrance. Through the glass door you saw him.

Joel was standing outside, his back to you, his suitcase at his feet.

“Is everything ok?” You barely heard Bertie, your heart was making somersaults in your chest. He’s still here!

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but a wide smile wouldn’t leave your face as you hurried to your most precious guest.

***

“Joel?” you called softly, standing behind him.

He turned to you and his face lit up. All of a sudden he hugged you and you stopped breathing altogether. Feeling his body so close to yours made your head spin. To your dismay, Joel pulled away in a moment and took a step back.

“Fuck. Sorry. I thought you weren’t here today. But you’re and … I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you smiled at Joel, still feeling his strong arms around you. “I’ve just found your note and came here to say goodbye and— .”

“Yes?” Joel’s puppy eyes were darting between yours as you paused with your mouth open.

What now? Are you going to shake his hand and let him disappear from your life? The thought made you feel sick.

“There’s a problem. With your room. I’m afraid you have to go back up with me.”

Joel furrowed his brows, looking confused.

“What problem?”

Yeah, what problem?

“Ehm.. Can we talk in your room, sir?”

You added ’sir‘ to sound more formal so he wouldn’t think that you were making shit up.

“Of course. No problem. I have lots of time.”

Joel grabbed his suitcase and followed you inside.

You felt Bertie’s eyes on you as you were walking past the reception with the guest who had already checked out but you didn’t care.

When you stepped into the elevator, Joel turned to you.

“What’s wrong with the room, sweetheart? Tell me you didn’t get in trouble because of my note or the roses.”

“Oh, no,” you replied, nervously fumbling with your sleeve. “It’s— ehm—-it’s the hangers. Some are missing.”

“The hangers?”

“Yep.” You averted your eyes, feeling your heart in your throat. You could feel Joel’s confusion. Then you heard a low chuckle. Was he laughing at your stupid lie? You wouldn’t blame him.

“I didn’t steal the hangers, sweetheart,” he snickered, as you were walking to the room. “I promise.”

You felt bad about lying, but when you glanced at his smiley face, you couldn’t help but giggle along. Your excuse was ridiculous, but it was the first thing that came to your mind and, what was more important, it worked.

You opened the door and Joel and you entered the room. The room where you met. The room where you saw more than you were supposed to. Felt more than you were supposed to.

Joel left the suitcase at the door, followed you to the living area and stopped a few steps from you, as always giving you personal space. You didn’t want that space now. A few minutes ago you’d thought that you had lost him forever so you took a step closer to him, basking in the warmth his smile was giving you, his honey eyes mesmerizing you.

Joel followed your lead and inched closer, too. Now one tiny step was separating you two. He lowered his voice and asked, almost whispering,

“It’s not about the hangers, is it?”

You looked down at your hands and shook your head, nerves, excitement, love churning your stomach. You opened your mouth to talk but didn’t find any words. Why have you brought him here? What do you want? What do you want?

The answer to that question came like a flash. You were seeing it clearly then, fears and worries pushed into the corners of your mind, only your desire in the spotlight.

You took the final step towards him and pressed your lips to his. It was a soft little peck, timid and fleeting, but the feel of him flush to you, his warm lips, his heady scent drew you to kiss him again. Joel didn’t pull back but instead put his hands on your waist. His touch was gentle, careful but it set your whole body on fire. Feeling overwhelmed you broke the kiss and looked into his eyes.

You had just kissed Joel Miller. Your brain switched off completely as you were ogling his handsome face up close, his hot breath fanning your lips, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

“I wanted to say ‘goodbye’,” you lied, looking into Joel’s darkening eyes. You’d never want to say goodbye to that man.

“Do all the guests get a goodbye like that from you?” he asked as his lips curled into a smile.

You dropped your head and whispered ‘no’. Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily and his sigh tickled your nose.

“Am I special then?”

A shiver ran down your spine when you heard his question. You looked him right in the eye and your voice didn’t waver when you replied,

“Yes.”

Your boldness seemed to touch him deeply, his face lit up as if he’d just gotten the best compliment in his life. His reaction warmed your heart but your eyes still were puffy from the tears, the pain was still fresh in your chest.

“I was afraid you’d left forever. Thank you for the note but, frankly, I hoped you’d leave your number,” you said, sadness coating your words. Joel sighed again and his puppy eyes made your heart flutter.

“I did. In the first note. But then I threw it in the trash.”

“Why?” you mumbled, blinking at him in confusion.

Joel inched closer and took your face into his big warm hands.

“Because you’re young and beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down, and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

“You have your whole life ahead of you.” – he kissed the corner of your eye,

“I’m a single dad.” — He kissed your nose, your other cheek, until his lips grazed yours for a fleeting moment.

Then he pulled away, his eyes glossy.

“And I live in another state. I didn’t have a right to leave you my number.”

Joel was still holding your face and it was heavenly but his words squeezed your throat with a tight grip.

“Why are you kissing me then?” you murmured, searching for the answer in his sparkling eyes.

Joel sighed again and croaked,

“’cause I can’t help it.”

That was when he kissed you. If your first kiss was like a soft breeze, a gentle caress to the skin, his was like an ocean, heady, overwhelming, you both drowning in it in seconds.

Joel’s arms bound you to him, your bodies flush against each other, and when he licked into your mouth, the taste of him made you dizzy, the ache between your legs grew and you bucked your hips against his thigh.

Joel growled, feeling your need, and your wet arousal leaked into your panties when you heard that he craved you, too. You broke the kiss and panted,

“When’s your flight?”

“In six hours.” Joel’s blown out eyes were darting between yours as he offered, “Can I spend this time with you?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, having never been more sure about anything in your life.

Joel was beaming at you, his grin wide and happy. His hands were running up and down your arms as he mused,

“We can have a walk. Or we can stay here. What do you prefer?”

You dropped your head, contemplating your answer, and in a second you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You had about three hours to spend with the man of your dreams and you decided to use them to the fullest. There was no time to be shy.

“Can we stay here?” you asked quietly and Joel eagerly nodded.

“Yeah, sure, sweetheart. I’ll call the reception, see if I can have this room for today. Ok?”

“Yes! If it’s not booked, it shouldn't be a problem.”

Your belly was full of butterflies, your core was on fire, and it was hard to think straight, but suddenly you remembered that you had work to do.

While Joel was talking to Bertie, you pulled your phone out of your dress pocket and quickly texted Max.

Need to leave. Cover for me pls. I’ll explain later.

She sent you back an ‘ok’ just as Joel hung up.

Judging by his wide smile, the room was available.

“We can stay here.” He took your hand in his and you whispered a breathy ‘good’, already under the spell of his dark eyes.

He pulled you into his embrace and kissed you. His lips were moving gently against yours until they travelled lower to your neck, his moustache and beard deliciously tickling your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, your whole body was buzzing, craving him, your heart was beating fast.

You couldn’t wait any longer, your poor pussy was crying and begging for him, so you took his hand and led him to the bed.

“Thank you for the roses,” you purred, looking at the flowers, their crimson colour a bright contrast to the whiteness of the sheets. “They’re very beautiful.”

Joel barely glanced at the bouquet, he had eyes only for you.

“You’re beautiful, baby.”

***

A few kisses later you were making out, sitting on the edge of the bed, you’re on Joel’s lap, straddling his thighs, your arms wrapped around his thick neck. Joel’s hand was gently cupping the back of your head, the other, pressed to your lower back, keeping you close. You were softly whimpering into his mouth, your tongues tangled in a passionate dance.

“Ahh, Joel,” you moaned and began grinding your burning pussy against the big bulge in his jeans. Timidly at first, but the growing desire gave you courage to take what you wanted.

“I’m here,” Joel breathed out. “My needy girl.”

He broke the kiss and dropped his head down to watch your hips move, the hem of your uniform dress inching higher, exposing more and more of your tights-covered thighs.

“I need you too, sweetheart,” he confessed but then his hands left your hips and flew up to your face. He searched for your eyes and asked,

“You sure you want this? We can just kiss, baby. You don’t have to—“

“No, please, I want you,” you panted, surprising even yourself. You weren’t hiding your feelings anymore, you were begging him to give you more, to put down the fire burning you on the inside.

“Ok,” he nodded, his lips in a lopsided smile. “I needed to make sure.”

“I’ve never done this,” you mumbled, nervously chewing your lower lip. “Never been with a guest— like this.”

Joel brought his hand to your mouth and glided his thumb over your lip to stop you from hurting yourself.

“Me too, sweetheart. Never got a hotel room to —. He paused and you noticed a light blush painting his cheeks. Joel ran his hands down your neck and traced your neckline with his knuckles, lightly grazing your skin and sending chills down your spine.

“Can I undress you, baby?”

His voice was low and raspy, gorgeous and alluring, and you swallowed a moan when you heard his question. You replied with a sultry ‘yes’ and got off his lap.

Joel’s hands were gentle and slow. Standing behind you he unzipped your dress on your back, pulled it off your shoulders and helped you to step out of it. He slid the tights down and off your legs.

His fingers were gliding up and down your arms, his breath fanning your shoulder before he pressed his lips to the crease of your neck. You moaned, melting in his arms, turning into a puddle when his hand slid down your neck to your chest. You looked down and just then remembered what you were wearing that day- a simple flowery bra and unmatching black panties.

“Shit—,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up. “Wish I was wearing something sexy. Lace or something…”

Your voice was small, your head downcast. Joel walked around you, took your chin between his fingers and gently lifted your face. A pair of dark-as-night eyes met you, there was a bright fire in them, a desire that echoed deeply in your own body.

”I don’t want ‘lacy’. I want you.”

He cupped your covered breast with his big hand and began kneading it. Even through the padding the sensation sent lightning of pleasure to your core, and you moaned shamelessly watching him caress your other breast.

Then his hands snaked behind you.

“Can I…?”

You uttered a needy ‘yeah’ and Joel unclasped your bra, letting it fall on the floor.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, looking at your naked breasts, and you smiled, taking it as a compliment. ”You’re gorgeous.”

You were standing in front of him topless while he was still dressed. It was turning you on but you couldn’t wait to see him naked. Again.

“My turn,” you purred and grabbed the hem of his tee. You took it off him and ogled his golden skin, his toned shoulders, his muscular arms and a happy train on his soft tummy. Your hand impatiently flew to feel his broad chest, but having dreamed of it all week, you feared that he would disappear like a mirage.

“Joel,” you whispered his name like a spell, binding him to you at that moment, making it real in your mind, you and him there, exposed to each other, needing each other desperately, ready to dive into something beautiful and exciting.

You pressed your thighs together and a lustful shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mere, baby.” Joel probably thought that you were cold and caged you in his warm embrace. Your nose found its home in the crease of his neck, your heart close to his heart, your arms around his torso. It felt like his body was meant for you- to bring you comfort, to warm you up, to caress you, to make love to you.

You kissed his collar bone and Joel pressed his lips to the top of your head.

You two stood like that for a few moments, simply relishing the feel of each other's skin, sharing warmth of your bodies.

Then Joel’s hand slowly slithered down your back, covering your skin with a new set of goosebumps, and cupped your asscheek. He squeezed it gently and you moaned.

“Get on the bed, baby.”

He knew what you wanted, there was no uncertainty in his words, it sounded like a command, and you were happy to follow it.

You put the roses on the nightstand and climbed onto the soft bed. Your back against the pillows, you were watching Joel discard his jeans.

When he was only in his boxers, your jaw involuntarily dropped at the sight of his huge bulge. Apparently your memory wasn’t kind to him, because in your mind his cock was smaller. In reality he was hung like a god, and as handsome as one. A part of you got scared that he would split you in two, but the heady mixture of desire and love erased any doubts in your heart and head. You desperately needed him. Starved to have him inside you.

Joel lay down next to you and dived into your arms right away. As you were kissing, his hands were exploring your body, caressing your soft skin, gently squeezing your breasts, twitching your hardened nipples. You were hungrily feeling him too— with a soft drag of your nails down his arms and his back, with your fingers running through his silky curls. Your legs intertwined, you began rubbing your covered pussy against his hairy thigh.

“Joel— please,” you begged and with a fast hand he pulled your panties down. Now he could see all of you and you’d have probably got shy, but Joel’s eyes full of hunger and need, gave you the courage to throw your legs apart, to invite him to the most sacred place of your body.

”Jesus, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” Joel growled as his fingers were tracing your slicked up seam before pushing inside. With the pads of his two digits he drew a circle around your clit and you almost came, shuddering against the crispy sheets and his body. Joel noticed your reaction.

“Been needing it for some time, baby?”

“Yes, Joel, since the moment I saw you. Here, on this bed.”

You paused, scared that the memory of the incident would embarrass him, but Joel smirked, brought his lips to your ear and whispered,

“Did you like what you saw?”

You opened your mouth to reply but Joel made you gasp, when he slowly inserted his middle finger into your soft hole. He began thrusting it in and out, and you quickly turned into a moaning, dripping mess.

“I take it as a ’yes’”. His voice was strained with lust as his lips brushed against your cheek. “Did you think about me after that? About my hard cock?”

His soft husky voice, his words, his finger caressing something delicious inside you - everything at once was overwhelming and your eyes fluttered shut, your mind begging for any respite.

“Yeah, Joel, so— so much,” you slurred, unable to speak clearly.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel lightly nibbled on your earlobe, a satisfied growl rumbling in his chest, and then added another finger to penetrate your sopping heat.

Your moan was loud and shameless and Joel echoed you with a groan. His lips drew a path from your cheek, down your neck and soon he kissed your pebbled nipple. Your hand flew to his curls, legs opened up wider and your eyes rolled back, when he began sucking on your bud, while his fingers were opening your cunt up for his thick cock. Joel hummed at the taste of your skin and his low grunts made your pussy drool more around his digits. He parted from your tit and asked, breathing heavily with arousal,

“Tell me what you wanted me to do to you. When you thought about me, baby.”

“Wanted you —to fuck me.”

“Oh, baby. I thought about you, too. Fuck.. non stop, all these days.”

“Really?“ You panted, searching for his eyes.

“Yes, sweetheart. I thought— what if you’d stayed— would you wanna watch me?”

You bit your lip and purred,

“I would.”

Joel licked his smiling lips, his eyes blown out, and gave you a wink before saying,

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”.

Carefully, so as not to hurt your pussy with his fingers, he sat up and kneeled next to you on the bed, then using his free hand, the hand that wasn’t fucking you, he pulled down his boxers and let his stiff cock spring free. It was as gorgeous as you remembered, thick and long, curved up at the top, glistening in the sunlight, leaking rivers of precum.

“Now you can watch, sweetheart,” Joel groaned, wrapping his palm around his member with a sigh and beginning to jerk it.

You were watching him fuck his fist, while his fingers were fingering your wet pussy, until your plea interrupted your moaning.

“Can I do it? Please.”

“Yes, baby.”

Joel let go off his cock and your little hand immediately replaced his. You could barely circle your fingers around his girth but you applied all of yourself and began pumping his fat cock. Joel’s grunts were making your head spin. His pleasure was giving yours an ecstatic, exquisite, divine taste. You were revelling in the feeling of bringing ecstasy to him, your hand pulling up and down the soft skin stretched over the hot steel of his cock.

“Joel…what else did you think about? Tell me,” you moaned, tilting your hips up to give him more access to your crying pussy. His fingers were curling inside you and an upcoming climax overshadowed your shiness.

”Everyday I dreamed about pulling you close and kissing you, baby.”

“Just kissing?” you teased.

“Hngg, ‘course not. Wanted to tear your cute dress off, throw you on the bed and lick your little pussy.”

“Oh my god, Joel.”

“Then fuck you on every surface in here.”

His confession drew a needy whine out of your mouth and you began squeezing his fingers with your pulsating cunt. A hard orgasm was shaking your body, your pussy bursting with pleasure and wetness against his hand. You stopped jerking Joel off and just held his cock in your hand, too focused on the waves of euphoria rippling through you.

“Yeah, like that, baby,” Joel growled, watching you explode on his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. So sweet and beautiful. I’d give anything to bounce you on my cock, to kiss your pretty tits.”

His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, his fingers were still massaging your g-spot, prolonging your orgasm.

When you relaxed and your hand fell off his cock onto the bed, Joel carefully pulled his drenched fingers out of your stretched hole.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he whispered, taking you in his arms, and kissed you again, slowly and sensually, letting you rest in the warm ocean of his caress.

You were in heaven. Basking in the afterglow of the climax, relishing Joel’s embrace and his soft kisses, you couldn’t be happier.

He pulled away and looked into your hazy eyes.

“You ok?”

“Yes,” you murmured with a smile, tracing his handsome features with your gaze, mesmerized by him once again. Then you averted your eyes and bit your lip.

“What is it, baby?” Joel furrowed his brows and you heard a trace of worry in his tone.

You cupped his cheek and he melted against your touch.

“I want more, Joel. I need you inside me.”

Joel’s body shuddered at your words, his cock twitched, and you had no doubt that he desperately wanted it, too.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart. But— I don’t have condoms. Do you?”

You shook your head and hid your face in his neck, too shy to look at him, as you whispered.

“Can we do it without them? I’m clean, I promise.”

Joel stroked your head and kissed your temple.

“Me too, I haven’t had—, " he cleared his throat and continued, “had anyone for a while.”

“Ok.” You smiled, raising your eyes at him.

“Ok,” he echoed you.

***

You sat up and carefully straddled Joel’s thick thighs. His cock was engorged, crying and ready for you. But were you ready for it?

You swallowed loudly, fear noticeable in your expression, and Joel rubbed your thighs with his palms.

“We’ll go slowly, sweetheart. And.. if you’re not ready — I can kiss your pretty pussy instead.”

His words made you gush more, your head spun at the image of Joel’s lips on your cunt, but you shook your head with determination.

“No. I want you— want you to bounce me on your cock,” you quoted him with a timid smile and Joel half chuckled-half groaned. His cock twitched and you saw a drop of prefuck juice bead on the reddish slit.

“Baby, if you keep talking like this… I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.“

You playfully bit your lower lip, his words giving you much needed confidence. You felt desired, sexy and beautiful.

You got up on your knees and moved forward until you were hovering over his cock. It brushed against your folds and you impatiently gripped it at the base and glided his tip over your seam, before teasing your puffy clit with the bulbous head.

Your lustful whimper rang loudly in the room, fusing with Joel’s moan. Your palm planted on his hairy chest, you slid his tip down, and when it notched the source of your wetness, you began lowering your hips, slowly sinking on it. The sounds you both were making seemed like an epitome of pleasure, a beautiful melody of two bodies becoming one. They weren’t lewd, they were pure and sincere.

You seemed to lose an ability to talk or think, your whole being was overtaken by the feeling of Joel filling your core. The stretch sent shivers down your spine, but the dull pain got overshadowed by the bliss in your body. Joel’s palm was gripping your hip when the other slid up from your lower belly to your sternum, then to your chest until he surely could feel your heart, beating loudly in unison with your pussy, that was hungrily swallowing his length.

”Oh, baby, oh, yes,” was everything that Joel could muster when you took all of him. His eyes were dark with desire but the affection and warmth within them pulled you to him. You leaned down, lay down on his chest, uniting your heartbeats, and your lips met. Your eager tongues tangled with passion, your fingers ran through his curls, damp with sweat, his palms were exploring your body.

When Joel squeezed your asscheeks and gently lifted your hips up, you mewled, realizing what he wanted. Making out with him, you began slowly moving your hips up and down, your walls massaging his shaft, your mouth drinking his growls, that inevitably turned into moans. You smiled against his lips, happy to be giving Joel so much pleasure, but also getting an immense amount of it as well.

No one had ever made you feel so sexy in your life and the elation in your heart gave you the courage to break the kiss and sit up proudly on Joel’s cock, letting him see all of you again. With his mouth slightly open Joel looked completely drunk on you. His gaze slid over your body and he panted,

”Look at you, baby. Wish you could ride me like that every day till I die.”

You smiled and took his hand, that was kneading your breast, and kissed his palm. The next moment Joel sat up and you moaned at the position shift, feeling his cock even deeper inside you like that. He cupped the back of your head, and holding you close, kissed you hard. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you stilled, pierced by his member, melting in his arms.

His cock was thumping in your heat, your pussy was crying more and more around it, begging for a release.

“Joel,” you whined and, as if having read your mind, he grabbed your asscheeks in his strong hands and started lifting you up and down on his cock, moving your body easily, bringing you both closer to your peaks.

Your sensitive clit was deliciously rubbing against Joel’s hairy lower belly and soon you felt heat rise in your tightening core and your pussy started fluttering around Joel’s length.

“I’m coming,” you mewled and dug your nails into his broad shoulders, grounding yourself to him.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praised you, his eyes focused on your face, and then groaned through his teeth,

“Gonna come, too. Where d’you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please,” you begged, still trembling with the second orgasm.

“Yeah?” Joel grunted, “wanna be full of my hot cum?”

“Yes—yes—yes,” you chanted, bouncing on his cock, prolonging your pleasure.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I want it, too. Want your pussy wet with me for days.”

Pushed over the edge by the image and your walls gripping his member, Joel roared and began filling you up. You greedily milked him of every drop, pressing your body to his, burying your nose in his neck, relishing the scent of his heated skin.

Joel was jerking with every squirt of his load, holding you so tight that it was hard to breathe, but you’d have rather suffocated than left his arms at that moment.

***

“Thank you,” Joel murmured as you two were lying covered by the white sheets, face to face. Your legs were tangled, arms wrapped around each other, your nose against his neck. When you heard his soft voice, you raised your eyes at him.

“What for?”

“For being here with me. For letting me kiss you, touch you…”

His fingers glided over your arm and your skin erupted with goosebumps.

“You’ve done more than touching, sir,” you smirked and he groaned, pushing you over and pinning you to the bed with his body.

”Keep calling me ‘sir‘ and I’ll do it all again.“

“Promise?” you purred, feeling helpless, caged between the bed and his broad torso and your clit twitched again.

“Bad girl.”

Joel’s words reignited fire in your belly, but you felt like behind the playful banter there was something else that he wanted to tell you.

You cupped his cheek, your eyes darting between his, and whispered,

“I’m happy to be here with you.”

Joel sighed with a smile and leaned in to kiss you gently. Then he pressed his forehead to yours, his hot breath kissing your lips.

“What I wrote— in the note. You being the highlight of my trip— I meant it.”

A happy smile shone on your face, when you heard sincerity in his voice, warmth spreading inside your body. Joel lay down next to you and continued, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all these days— wanted you the moment I saw you but that’s not all. You’ve been so kind to me. So sweet. I haven’t felt cared for like that in a long time.”

“I was simply doing my job,” you uttered, drawing patterns on his hairy forearm.

“No, I mean, yes, but — every time I thought of you, I felt something — “

He paused, searching for words. You felt emotions in his voice and you took his hand and pressed it to your lips before whispering,

“I know, Joel. I felt it too.”

”Oh, baby,” Joel pulled you into his chest and you pecked his lips before your eyes locked and you said everything to each other without words, your hearts speaking for you. His warm gaze glossed over and your vision got blurry with your own feelings.

“Joel,” you mumbled, opening your eyes. You woke up from a wonderful dream, where you fell for a handsome guest, who later kissed you, made you see the brightest stars with his lips, his fingers and his cock, and then you fell asleep, cuddling with him.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a dream.

“I’m right here,“ you heard a soft baritone of the man next to you. You wrapped your arms around Joel and he gave you a gentle kiss.

“Had a bad dream, sweetheart?”

A tsunami of emotions flooded your heart - excitement, affection, joy stole your breath away. He was really there. He was really yours. At least for now.

“No,” you croaked, sleep heavy in your voice. “It was the best dream.” You crashed your lips against his, hunger for his caress waking up with you, but a sudden memory flashed in your mind - you had been given just a few hours to be together.

“How long have I been asleep?” Panic was loud in your voice.

“About an hour.”

“Oh no! You should’ve woken me up. We don’t have much time.”

Joel hugged you tightly.

“Shh, we have time, baby. You were sleeping like a little kitten next to me. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to stare at you like a creep.” You two laughed, your nerves seeping you out of your heart.

Joel kissed you and then began leaving open-mouth kisses over your neck, your exposed breasts and a few moments later you were dripping your juices onto the white sheets while he was licking and sucking on your sensitive nipples.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbled against your tits. “Can I have a real treat now?”

“What?” you slurred, already drunk on him.

“You pussy, baby, can I taste her?”

“Oh,” you moaned and nodded with a timid smile.

You had never been eaten out that well before. Joel’s hands were pinning your hips to the bed, holding you open for him as he was feasting on your blooming flower, his hot tongue lapping at your folds and your clit tirelessly. His mouth was gentle but he gave you enough pressure to make your pussy pulsate and explode on his tongue in a few minutes.

You were practically crying with euphoria when he climbed up the bed to let you lick your own nectar off his lips.

***

The rest of the time together you spent naked in bed, talking, laughing, eating the food you ordered to the room, kissing and cuddling. At the back of your mind you kept thinking about how lucky you were - to have met someone you clicked with spiritually, sexually and emotionally. There was no doubt in your heart that Joel was your person and he looked at you like you were his.

Inevitably the precious time ran out and Joel needed to leave for the airport. It took everything from you not to burst into tears, when you imagined saying ’goodbye’ to him, but the day you had shared, the pleasure he had given you, eased the pain in your soul.

When you two were talking and sharing your past, Joel kept mentioning your future. Your future together. He promised to introduce you to Tommy and Sarah, to take you to his favourite places in Austin, and in your dreams you saw yourself forever by his side, getting to hug and kiss him every single day for the rest of your life. It seemed like the most amazing fairy tale, and although you knew by now that life was far from perfect, his enamoured eyes, his gentle hands, his kind words gave you strength to let him go, because your heart was full of hope.

***

You covertly changed out of your uniform in the staff room and sneaked out of the hotel to take Joel to the airport in your car.

When you two arrived, you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. Joel gently wiped them away with his thumbs but his own eyes were glossy and reddish.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land, sweetheart,” he promised, holding your face in his warm hands, then wrapped his arms around you and kissed you like no one else before, passionately, sensually, claiming you as his, and you stored the memory of his body against yours deep inside your mind.

Many phone and video calls later

The next time you saw Joel again, not on the screen of your phone or your laptop, not in your dreams or fantasies, but in person, in real life, was at the airport as well. Now in Texas.

You spotted Joel first. His honey eyes were searching for you in a sea of people, his expression serious and concentrated. You wanted to run and kiss that deep crease between his brows, wanted to drop your bags and scream with happiness, but then you saw what he had in his hands and your eyes welled up with tears.

He was holding a sign with your name on it. It was sweet, but what made you cry were glittery hearts and flowers, decorating it. Joel definitely wasn’t the type to use glitter and draw pretty hearts and you realized right away. that they were made by Sarah’s hand.

***

Joel introduced you to Sarah a week after he’d flown back to Austin. You fell in love with his daughter right away, she was a lively and funny girl, excellent at trolling her dad, the talent of hers which always made you giggle.

Quickly she became a usual participant of your daily video calls with Joel. You never minded it, falling deeper in love with Joel, when you witnessed what a great father he was. Sarah often told you about her day, asked about yours, and when she shared only with you who she liked at school, you were touched by her trust. Soon you three had breakfasts and dinners together, Joel and Sarah joining you on the screen of your laptop, and it felt like you were a little family.

At night when Sarah was asleep in her bedroom, Joel and you had other types of calls. You quickly realized that the man was a menace. He loved making you needy and desperate with his husky voice whispering filth into your ear. He would tell you in great detail how exactly he would fuck you if he was there in your bedroom. Like a good girl you would be spread for him on the bed, your legs open widely, your fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping hole. You whispered his name again and again, your hazy eyes glued to the screen, where Joel was stroking himself, deep in the pit of desire just like you.

You lost count how many times he came watching you fuck yourself, how many times you unraveled in front of his hungry eyes. It was enough for you two. For the time being.

But your feelings grew and soon you felt like you were suffocating without being able to touch him, kiss him. Joel tentatively asked if you wanted to visit them in Austin and you happily agreed. One night you two were planning your trip, when Joel admitted. that he didn’t want you just to visit.

“Sweetheart... what if we lived together?”

“It would be amazing,” you sighed, smiling at him through your phone screen.

“So why don’t we?”

You were staring at him in disbelief for a few seconds, your heart in your throat, before you asked,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Joel replied and added, ”I love you, baby.”

His watery eyes told you that he wasn’t joking.

“I love you, too, Joel. So much,” you mumbled, already sobbing with happy tears.

***

It took you a month to quit your housekeeping job, sell the things you didn’t need anymore, pack the stuff you did, say ‘goodbye’ to your friends and family and take a big step towards your future. Future with the man you loved, the man who loved you.

***

Not being able to contain your excitement any longer, you dropped your baggage and ran to Joel, waiting for you at the airport. You were quietly squealing, trying not to alert the people around you, but when Joel noticed you and his face lit up with a widest grin, you finally screamed. He opened his big arms to you and you dived into his warm embrace. Your lips met in a fiery, long awaited kiss, and you didn’t care that people were staring at you two, making out like two horny teenagers, holding each other close. Joel was yours and you were his. Once your guest, now he was your home.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💞

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @tateypots @thundermartini @sawymredfox

[fallenbratfiction]

Bambi ~ Part one

series masterpost here pedro pascal masterlist

a/n: this is quite long, I hope it keeps you fed while I prepare the next part!! feedback is always welcomed!! i will be gnawing at the bars of my enclosure ok bye!

mentions: post-outbreak / apocalyptic setting, dubcon/coercion themes, blood mention, obsession/possessiveness, power imbalance, reader is of age (above 18), naive reader (soft/innocent/inexperienced), fingering, non-explicit violence & threats, gun use, manipulation & emotional control, possessiveness, praise kink, possible other kinks, punishments,, “daddy” kink, shared reader (Joel x Reader x Tommy), pet names (Bambi, sweet girl, good girl, our girl), domestic elements turned dark, mental confusion & emotional overwhelm, morally gray to fully unhinged dark Miller brothers

Reader discretion strongly advised. Dark themes throughout. Minors DNI ❌ This is a work of fiction and does not reflect healthy or ideal relationships!!! 

Do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own. 

⟡━━━ ✦ 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰 ahead ✦ ━━━⟡

The forest is quiet at night, too quiet for its own sake. There used to be more life out here. Crickets chirping. Frogs croaking. Birds or bats darting through the dark sky. Now there’s nothing. Just still trees and dead air, like the whole forest is holding its breath.

“You know what I miss the most about the woods?” Joel asks, voice low as he walks beside his brother, their shotguns slung across their backs.

 Tommy turns to him and huffs, waiting for his brother to respond to his question.“Deers” Tommy hums in approval, “Used to see ‘em all the time, this time of night.” 

“You miss watchin’ ‘em or huntin’ ‘em?”  Tommy snorts, Joel huffs a quiet laugh—

—and then it happens.

A sudden flash of motion cuts through the trees. Small, fast. Barely there.

Both of them stop. 

Silence. 

Alert. 

They are quick to grab their shotguns and scan the shadows with their guns pointed, expecting another movement. Eyes sharp, bodies tensed. 

Joel’s voice drops, almost amused. “Well, speak of the devil…”

Tommy steps forward, eyes narrowed. “You saw that?”

Joel is already scanning the brush. “Yeah. Could’ve been a rabbit. Could’ve been somethin’ else.”

Another motion. Left this time. Farther.

They both turn, guns half-lifted.

Joel mutters, “Whatever it is, it’s movin’ smart.”

Tommy nods. “Too smart.”

A beat passes. Then Joel speaks.

“Split?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, already turning to flank. “We circle the woods. If it’s still out here—we’ll find it.”

They part in silence, each splitting through the trees like they already know the drill, they’ve done this a hundred times by now. 

Joel moves through the right,  slow and deliberate, each of his steps deliberate. Meanwhile, Tommy veers to the other direction; his steps are lighter and his eyes cut through the dark like a blade, scanning everything in sight.

You’re out there moving fast, barefoot and running out of air. Your legs are tired and bruised from all the times you’ve tripped. You don’t know how far you’ve gotten by now, but you can’t risk it, you can’t risk being found by him. 

You’re trying your best, but panic keeps you clumsy, and every snap of a branch is louder than it should be. The leaves rustle with every move you make, which guides Joel closer to your location. 

You don’t know they are close. 

They don’t know if you’re a wild animal, a person, or just an illusion. 

They’re not here to hurt you, but you don’t know that. They are just as curious as you, and just as cautious. 

They keep circling you, it’s like a never-ending game. They move, you move, they move again. Joel on one side, Tommy on the other. Each move draws the noose tighter, but they don’t know how close they are yet; they just feel it. 

You’re not trying to be found, but you’ve been on the run for long enough now. Your body aches, and your vision is blurry from the adrenaline and the fact that, along the way, you had lost your glasses. You weave through the trees, ducking under branches and trunks of trees, your hands in front of you leading the way until your foot catches around thorns. 

You don’t scream or cry, but it’s evident you’ve fallen due to the solid thud of your body hitting the ground. The game is over; they’ve found you. Joel turns and runs in your direction. Tommy, though a bit further, hears the sound as well and freezes. 

Branches hit Joel’s body as he pushes forward through the forest, deeper into the darkness, with only his flashlight in hand, his shotgun lowered in his other hand. 

And that's when he finds you curled on the ground, legs smeared with dirt as well as your clothes, and your hair is a tangled mane with leaves. You stare at the figure of Joel like a deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes are wide, frozen. 

He just stands there looking at you, neither of you says a word. A part of him relaxes, you’re just a girl. His eyes then trail over your shape, too small, too soft, too human. 

“Huh, not exactly what I expected to find.” He murmurs mostly to himself. 

Joel keeps the flashlight on your face just enough to keep you stunned, your eyes don’t leave the light, too afraid to move, and quite honestly, too blinded to know what to do next, but your body remains tense, muscles twitching like you’re ready to bolt and run in any direction.

You watch him as he moves two fingers close to his mouth and lets out a specific whistle, alerting someone else that he has found you. Low and controlled, he repeats it for Tommy to hear and waits for his response. 

Tommy whistles back as he makes his way to Joel, and to you now as well. 

Joel crouches slowly as if he were face to face with a wild, wounded animal. You don’t move at all. You don’t know who or what he is or what his intentions are. Joel is checking to see if you were infected. Thankfully, your short dress allowed him to inspect your body without getting too close. He’s seen enough infected people by now to know what to look for and how they look alike. He also looks to check if you carry any weapons on you, investigating what kind of girl you are. 

Were you a savage? 

Were you running from danger? 

Were you lost? 

“You gon bite me if I touch you?” he asks in a low voice. You don’t answer, just shake your head, barely breathing. “Alright then, let’s see what you are.” 

He gets slightly closer now, you can feel his breathing close to yours, and the warmth that radiates from his body. Joel kneels right in front of you, flashlight set on the ground gently. He scans your body, not touching yet. 

“Were you hurt?” he asks softly, afraid to scare you off. “Can you tell me your name? Where you come from?” 

You don’t make a sound, just blink up at him slowly, your chest rising and falling like the adrenaline is coming down. He watches your face, tight with fear and filthy with dirt, and he reaches out to you with his arm slowly. His fingers are rough, but he remains gentle nonetheless. 

He moves the hair from your face, gently cradles your chin as he looks into your eyes, before lowering his sight to check for scratches.

Your eyes are clear. Not infected, checked. 

Lips are dry, but no blood or foam in sight. 

No signs of a bite. 

Joel shifts closer, now checking your arms, elbows, and shoulders as he scans for any wounds or shivers. You don’t move at all the whole time. Too scared to try anything or make him think you would do something. 

“My name is Joel,” he says, meeting your eyes again, “I’m not here to hurt you, understand me?” 

You stare at him for a beat too long, Joel wonders if you can even speak at all. 

You nod once, small but enough for him to catch. 

Joel exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. Encountering you feels like an encounter with a deer, wide-eyed, silent, frightened and too delicate for this kind of world.

Yet still alive, and perhaps willing to be led. 

The moment is interrupted by the appearance of Tommy. 

Branches crack under his boots as he pushed through the brush, eyes sharp and his gun still raised. His flashlight lands on Joel, then on you. 

“What the hell?” 

Joel lifts a hand. “Easy. Put it down Tommy” 

Tommy doesn’t move at first, his gaze set on your dirt smeared wide eyes as you stare back at him. 

“She infected?” he asks, voice low. 

“No” Joel says “Not infected, not hurt either. I checked” 

Tommy hesitates and Joel asks him to put down the gun again. He obligues, slow and careful like defusing a bomb. 

Joel turns back to you “C’mon sweetheart, let me help you up” 

He reaches for you, carefully. You hesitate and after a pause you take his hand.

Tommy watches your legs tremble as you rise, body sluggish, muscles weak from exhaustion but you don’t stumble. It’s like watching Bambi trying to stand. 

You move behind Joel. 

Your hand curls tight around the fabric of his sleeves, fingers digging into his forearm enough to anchor yourself. You watch Tommy as you hide behind Joel’s shoulder. 

Joel doesn’t flinch but Tommy watches you closely. 

“You trust him already?” he asks. 

You don’t respond, but Joel does. 

“She doesn’t know me,” 

Yet still you stand right there, behind a man you just met.

Joel feels the way your figure warms his back, looking for warmth yourself, your fingers digging into his arm and hears your staggering breaths. 

You don’t know him at all, but you know he’s not the one you’re running from. Neither is Tommy, although you’re just as skeptical as him. Your nose twitches slightly catching smells. The men scent, wood, sweat, trees and dirt.

They smell like the woods, like safety in a way that confuses you. 

You don’t know why you lean into trusting them, but you do. 

“Well shit, what did we just find?” Tommy mutters finally “What do we do about her?” 

Joel doesn’t answer. His hand rises, steady and low and rests over yours on his arm. You feel the calloused rough palm set on top of your frozen hand. 

It’s not spoken, but they both seem to have agreed to take you back to their cabin. 

They lead you through the forest path, Joel at your side while Tommy walks behind watching the two of you. His gun is still lowered but his arm remains tense. 

The flashlight leads the way and cuts forward, flickering over roots and moss. The arm that’s not gripping Joel presses against trees, guiding yourself through your senses like you don’t trust the flashlight enough. 

Joel keeps a close eye on you, glancing over in case your legs give out and he has to carry you himself at any given moment. The two of you are silent, but Tommy though, he’s certainly not quiet. 

“So where do you come from?” he starts, voice firm as he asks a thousand questions. “You got family out here? Camp nearby? You run off from someone?” 

You turn your head to look at him, your lips parted but you don’t emit an answer. You neither shake or nod your head. 

Tommy keeps asking questions. 

“Why were you running?” Still nothing. “You look like you’ve been out here for a while, someone chasing you?” 

You swallow hard, your steps falter and you almost trip. 

You turn your head forward, focusing on your steps that you barely see. 

“I’m talkin’ to you” Tommy says now louder. 

You flinch at the tone of his voice. Head ducking and your body curling to Joel’s looking for a sense of protection. 

“I–” you don’t remember a single thing, memories blur as you try to think of what to say. “I– I don’t know” 

“You don’t know?” He scoffs and stops walking. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don’t know?” 

You shrink back instantly. His tone, the pressure of his questions and the rapid fire of them banging at the door. If you weren’t holding yourself so tightly to Joel right now, you’d flee like a scared deer. 

“Enough questions now, Tommy” Joel cuts in, exhausted from the scene. “Let’s get her inside and we can keep going at this there” 

“Oh so we’re bringing complete strangers into the cabin now. That’s great” 

“Tommy–”

“What if this is a trap, huh? What if she’s not alone? What if there’s a group of people expecting for us to be at the door and storm in? What if they’re waiting for us to drag her inside?” 

Joel hesitates. 

He doesn’t want to believe a word he says, he doesn’t think any of it its true. 

They both turn to you. You’ve gone silent again with the tone of Tommy’s voice. 

Their flashlight catching your face again. 

Lips parted. Eyes glossy filled with fear. Trembling breaths.

Not the kind of fear you feel from hiding something, rather the kind of fear when you’re about to break. 

You’re a deer caught in the headlights. Too scared to breathe, lie or even run away.

If you knew anything or had any kind of information, you’d spill the second they push harder. 

“Let’s just get her inside first.” 

The door creaks open and you step into a bubble of warmth. Your leggs stutter as you cross the threshold. Fire crackles somewhere in the corner, inside a black box. 

Their scent is so much stronger inside the cabin, it smells of pine, smoke and whiskey. 

There’s a couch sitting under a large window, it’s covered with a few worn in blankets and a jacket lays in the arm rest. There’s a small kitchen good enough for both of them to make use of it  and a wooden table with four chairs. 

Tommy shuts the door behind you and stays near it. Joel on the other hand, moves slowly, guiding you over to the couch. 

“You can take a seat” he offers “You’re safe” 

You hover over to the couch but you don’t sit just yet. You’re not sure what to do with all this warmth, the cushions, the blankets. 

Joel sighed and heads to the kitchen, you watch as he takes a can and sets it on the surface. He pours into a bowl and brings it back to you. The smell of stew becomes more intense with every step he takes in your direction. 

You stare at the bowl in his hands like it’s a test. What even is it? Is it really for you?

“You should eat something” he says gently. 

You look up at him, then back at the bowl, then at him again before taking the bowl from his hands slowly. 

Tommy watches the whole scene and mutters under his breath. “Yeah, totally not suspicious” 

“Tommy” Joel shoots him a look, “She’s probaby  in shock” 

“She’s in something”

You flinch again and Joel catches it. He takes the bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

“Alright, you can eat when you’re ready” he murmurs “We will give you space.” 

He backs away, nodding toward the kitchen. Tommy hesitates, then follows—just a few meters, not far. Not out of earshot. Definitely not out of sight.

Joel opens the fridge with a soft creak, pulls out two beers, and offers one wordlessly. Tommy takes it, eyes never leaving you as he brings the bottle to his lips.

No one speaks.

The fire crackles quietly, casting dancing shadows along the floor. Somewhere outside, the wind brushes against the cabin walls like a whisper.

You hear your own breath, and then – your stomach growls. Loud. Desperate.

The sound feels foreign, you hadn’t heard it in a while and it seemed your body just remembered it needs something. 

Legs folding beneath you as you sink onto the edge of the couch, cautious and unsure. Your fingers reach for the bowl Joel left behind. 

You inspect the bowl before you take a bite, stirring the thick mixture—bits of potato, carrot, some kind of meat. You don’t care what any of it is. The stew hits your tongue, a warm salty flavour that seems to wake up a memory. It’s so distant in your mind that you can’t reach it. 

They both watch you as you eat from the bowl, Tommy leans on the counter, his expression unreadable. Joel is less obvious as he drinks his beer.

You finish the last bit of stew and the spoon clinks softly against the bowl. You set it back on the table and Joel takes it as a signal to move closer, perhaps you’re ready to talk now. 

You clean your mouth with the back of your hand and rest it on your lap, anchoring yourself to the couch. 

Joel’s boots step closer, slowly through the wooden floor. He crouches down beside you at eye level while Tommy watches from the kitchen. He’s still suspicious—but something in his gaze shifts. Just a little. Less predator. More puzzled. Curious.

“You remember anything yet?” 

You stay in silence and shut your eyes tightly. As if you could squeeze the memories, look through your skull for any piece of information. And it does, but its not what you want. It’s far too painful to open that door inside your memory lane. 

There’s a shotgun, your mother screaming, crying in pain and lots of blood. And then running endlessly. Your breath tearing through your lungs, your barefeet raw agains stone and soil. Your glasses fall somewhere in the middle of the road. 

You gasp and your eyes open – wide and glassy. 

Joel doesn’t move an inch. 

Tommy straightens, his jaw tightens. 

“What was it?” he asks gently. You shake your head. 

“I don’t…I don’t know” you whisper, your voice hoarse from not having spoken in so long. 

“Try” Tommy says from the kitchen, you both turn your heads to him and you nod. 

“There was…blood. And someone crying. I think—I think it was my mom” 

Joel’s gaze darkens but his voice stays at the same level as before. “You remember a name? Yours? Hers?”

You shake your head again, frustrated at the lack of memory. 

Tommy shifts his weight and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Jesus, what happened to you?” 

You look down at your lap, Joel interrupts. “You’re safe now, that’s what matters”

But are you really safe? With them? 

You want to feel safe, a part of the warmth allows you to. 

But there’s something left unsaid, something you quite haven’t figured out yet. 

Joel takes the blankets without saying a word and moves slowly over you. You’ve curled yourself on your side, he set a cushion under your head. He tucks the edges so the blanket doesn’t slip when you turn. 

You don’t move at all. 

Not when his hand pauses near your shoulder, not when he lingers too long watching your face in the soft flicker of firelight. Joel pulls back, leaving you alone on the couch and you heard the floorboards creaking under his boots. He turns to Tommy and signals to go outside to talk in private.

You can’t sleep. 

You should be exhausted due to all the running and the adrenaline rush, but your body remains alert. You hear them talking somewhere near the window, their voices low like the things they’re saying are not meant for your ears. 

Your eyes stay shut, breaths slow and steady. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Tommy murmurs. 

Joel doesn’t answer right away. 

“You saw her,” he says after a beat “She’s got no one. Not a memory, not even a name” 

“Yeah, not even a single survival instinct” he scoffs. Joel nods slow, agreeing with Tommy. 

The silence stretches long enough for both of them to sigh. 

“We’re keeping her” Joel says after a beat. 

“You serious?” Tommy turns to him “Joel, this isn’t some dog we found in the woods” 

“No, it’s not a dog, it’s a deer if anything. You saw her wide-eyes staring at our flashlights like a deer caught. She’s lucky we found her first” 

Your chest tightens as you listen to Joel’s voice. 

“The way she followed me, grabbed my arm. Like i was hers, like i was her anchor if something bad were to happen” he pauses “It means everything” 

“You like her?” Tommy turns to Joel, their eyes meet. Joel doesn’t answer. “I do too”

More silence. 

“We’ll take care of her” 

Joel flicks ash off his cigarette and says nothing, he turns to look at the cabin as if you could hear them through the walls. He wishes you could. 

You curl deeper under the blanket. The fabric still smells like firewood and soap and something faintly like him.

And behind your eyelids, all you can see is that shotgun again. The blood. Your mother’s scream.

And their voices now too. 

Eventually your body gave out. Not from safety but pure exhaustion that had clawed its way through your body. You didn’t dream of anything. Didn’t make it to the edge of a nightmare. 

Just completely blacked out. But before sleep took you, you’d felt them. 

The cabin door opened and you could hear quiet steps across the floor. You remained still with your eyes closed. Joel stood near you, close enough to feel. Then Tommy did as well. Neither of them touched you but you could feel their gaze before they each went to their rooms. 

Next morning 

You wake up to the smell of bacon. 

Salt and smoke and something almost sweet. Maple perhaps? Your eyes flutter slowly, vision still clouded with sleep. 

Joel is in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, a pan sizzling in front of him. The morning light cuts through the window in long slats casting a golden color over the room. 

Tommy is already awake. He’s sitting at the table, leaned back in the chair, a mug in hand. He’s not drinking, just holding it. Watching you. 

You sit up slowly and the blanket slips off your shoulder, pooling down your side. His eyes follow and look at your bare skin. He doesn’t look away, just looks harder. He’s not being subtle in the slightest and he knows it. 

Your throat tightens and you shift, you pull the blanket back like an armor and Tommy watches as you do. 

Joel glances over his shoulder as he serves the bacon in three different plates. “She’s up” 

“She sure is” Tommy’s gaze lingers for a moment before taking a sip. 

You feel uneasy, not unsafe but the way he’s staring at you like he could eat you right there and then was disturbing.Just yesterday, he didn’t want to let you inside the cabin. Now, you can feel it in his silence:He wouldn’t be able to let you out.

Joel, on the other hand, moves like nothing’s wrong.

He sets two plates on the table, one in front of the empty seat—yours. He nods at it casually, then looks down at you with a faint, unreadable smile.

“Here you go, Bambi.”

Your brows pull slightly. “What?”

“Figured since you don’t remember a name,” he says, setting down a mug of something warm—tea surely—“we might as well call you somethin’.”

You blink at him. Bambi. You should protest. But you don’t.

“That alright with you?” Tommy smiles at you. 

You just nod, slow, your stomach fluttering in ways you can’t explain.

The nickname clings to you like smoke. Innocent, sweet—and completely theirs.

You pull out the chair with a soft scrape and sit down, directly across from them. Tommy starts eating his plate of bacon while you stare down at yours as if trying to figure out what it is. 

“So we talked last night,” Joel starts as he takes a seat and relaxes back into the chair, chatting like its an everyday breakfast. You glance up at him, his voice is warm and calm.

 “You’re going to be staying with us,” he adds “if you want to, of course.” 

He lets the words sit there, lets you feel the kindness in them. Like you have a say.

But the truth seeps in anyway.

Where would you go?

Who would you find out there? Would you have food? A warm place to sleep? Would anyone keep you safe the way they would?

You hesitate.

Not because you’re unsure of the answer.

But because you know you’ve already lost the choice.

Joel watches you with a steady, comforting gaze—like he knows you’re working it all out. Like he’s giving you time to accept the truth.

And then Tommy speaks.

His voice is quieter this time. Measured. Different from the way he barked at you in the woods.

“Look,” he says, leaning slightly forward, elbows braced on the table. “I know I was... rough yesterday.”

You don’t meet his eyes.

He notices. He softens further.

“I get it. You’re scared. That’s fair.”

Tommy’s voice is lower now, softer than you’ve ever heard it. No edge, no sharpness—just quiet understanding. He offers the faintest smile. 

Trying to shape himself into something gentle. Something safe.

“But you don’t gotta be scared of us,” he says, eyes fixed on yours. “Ever.”

You glance away, uncertain.

He leans in just a little, voice dropping further—soothing, almost tender.

“We just want you to feel safe. That’s one of the many things we can offer you, if you let us.”

You swallow.

The words settle deep. Deeper than you want to admit. There’s no threat in them—but somehow, they still hold weight.

If you let us.

As if there’s a choice.

As if you haven’t already been folded into the center of their world without even realizing it.

Joel stays quiet, letting Tommy do the talking. But his eyes are on you, steady. 

The air feels thick.

You grip your fork tighter. Your eyes burn, but not with tears—just heat, tension, exhaustion.

And still—something in you wants to believe him. Wants to believe it could be that simple.

You nod, barely.

And your voice—quiet, hoarse, uncertain—slips out before you can stop it.

“...Okay.”

Just one word.

But Joel shifts when he hears it.

His eyes flick toward Tommy, then back to you. There’s something unreadable in his expression—something settled.

Tommy leans back slightly in his chair, but not far. Like he’s giving you space, but not too much.

Like he’s proud of himself.

Joel speaks next, quieter than before.

“Good, Bambi,” Joel says, voice low and easy. “Happy to have you on board.”

You give him a small smile—tight, unsure. But you offer it anyway.

And that’s more than enough.

He sees it. Feels it.

That flicker of willingness, of trust—however faint—is all he needs.

His hand brushes his thigh as he stands. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast,” he says, gesturing to your full plate, “and we’ll find you something clean to wear.”

You glance down at your clothes—mud-streaked, torn at the hem, dried blood in places you don’t want to think about.

You nod, quiet again. “Okay.”

Tommy stands too, stretching his arms, voice light. “Reckon we got some stuff she can use in the back. Closet’s got a few things.”

Joel takes his and Tommy’s plate and heads to the sink to clean up while you dive into your bacon and eggs. 

“How’s the taste, Bambi?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You pause, blinking at him. Chewing.

“It’s good,” you say softly, then add—because it feels expected—“Thank you.”

His smile deepens. Not smug. Not proud. Just… satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs under his breath as he turns back to the sink.

You’re not sure if he meant for you to hear that. But you do. And it settles deep.

Tommy returns from the hallway with a modest pile of clothes in his arms—folded, clean, and smelling faintly like cedar and something deeper beneath it.

“There weren’t many options,” he says, setting them down neatly on the couch, “but it’s more than I thought we had.”

You glance at the stack. An old flannel. A plain black hoodie. Two shirts. Pants. Sweatpants. Even a pair of underwear—too big, but clean.

You blink. It’s more than you expected. More than you’ve had in a long time.

Tommy takes a step back and gives you a quick once-over—not leering, but assessing. His gaze lingers just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Think you might wanna get cleaned up first,” he says, tone still easy. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

You look down at yourself—dirt-streaked skin, dried blood on your arms, your clothes stiff with sweat and earth. Your face grows hot.

You’ve been so focused on their scent. So taken by the safety, the fire, the comfort of not being alone—

You forgot your own.

Do you stink?

You shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious. You don’t meet his eyes. You just shake your head slowly.

Tommy nods once and gestures down the hallway. “Bathroom’s the first door on the right. Hot water still works. Use whatever you need.”

Joel speaks up from the sink. “We’ll keep your breakfast warm.”

You stand, hands curling around the blanket at your chest.

Still watching. Still being watched.

The hallway is dim, the floor cool beneath your bare feet as you move toward the door Tommy pointed out. You clutch the pile of clothes against your chest, the blanket slipping away behind you.

The bathroom is small but clean. A mirror above the sink, fogged slightly from earlier use. You can still smell them in here—soap, cologne, cedarwood.

You lock the door.

Not because you think they’ll barge in.

But because it’s the first time since arriving that you’re alone.

You exhale shakily and set the clothes on the edge of the sink. There’s a towel waiting for you, neatly folded on a stool. A bar of soap. A bottle of shampoo that smells vaguely like pine and smoke. And draped carefully over the hook behind the door— a shirt.

Too big. Soft cotton. Joel’s, clearly.

You know it before you even touch it. You’ve smelled it on him, in the air, in the kitchen. It's clean, yes—but it carries him.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the hem of your shirt. You strip slowly, peeling away the days-old clothes, layer by layer, like skin that no longer belongs to you.

You avoid the mirror.

You don’t want to see yourself like this—hollow-eyed, bruised, thin.

You step into the shower.

When the water hits you—hot, real—it almost breaks you. You brace a hand on the wall, forehead pressed to cool tile, body trembling under the weight of heat and memory.

You don’t cry.

You just breathe. Shallow, shaky. Like you’re still hiding in the woods.

When you finish, you dry off and reach for the clothes. You pull on the underwear—too loose. The sweatpants—soft, drawstring pulled tight. And then…

Joel’s shirt.

It slips over your body, down past your thighs, sleeves hanging low. You wrap your arms around yourself instinctively, inhaling the scent baked into the fabric.

You step out of the bathroom, warm skin wrapped in softness—Joel’s shirt, pulled from the hook behind the door. It’s not the one Tommy had folded for you. It’s not even one either of them offered.

You just… took it.

It hangs loose over your frame, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Paired with the sweatpants—drawstring cinched tight at your waist—you feel strangely small. Hidden. Safe.

You walk barefoot into the main room, fingers tucked into the hem of the shirt. Your hair is still damp, clinging to your neck.

Tommy’s sitting at the table, lacing up his boots. Jacket already on. About to leave.

Joel is leaning back in his chair, cradling a mug in one hand. His gaze finds you the moment you walk in—and stays there.

Not moving. Not blinking.

Tommy glances up at the sound of your footsteps. 

You hesitate, arms tightening around yourself just slightly. “It’s… all a bit big but…” you say quietly, eyes flicking to him. “Uhm… thank you, Tommy.”

His gaze dips over the outfit—familiar fabric. Joel’s shirt. “No problem, Bambi,” he says with a soft smile. “We’ll find you proper clothes real soon.”

Joel doesn’t say anything.

But you feel his attention settle on the shirt. The way it drapes over your frame. The way you picked his without being told. Something shifts in his eyes, he’s got that look again—like you’re already his, and now you’ve confirmed it.

He sets his mug down and rises to his feet slowly.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice calm. “We kept your plate.”

You nod.

And when he walks past you to reheat the food, his hand brushes gently along your back. Barely there.

You eat slowly, the warmth of the food grounding you more than you expect.

The cabin feels quiet this morning. Still. The kind of stillness that hints at routine, at repetition. You watch as Tommy zips up his jacket, slings a rifle over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

He moves with practiced rhythm. Comfortable. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

And you wonder—what is this?

What do they do all day?

How far do they go?

Where do you fit into that rhythm?

You swallow your bite, fingers tightening slightly around your fork.

“Tommy?” you ask, voice quiet, gentle—like it’s not even your place to know where he goes. 

He turns, halfway to the door. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for a moment.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses, then lets out a small breath, turning fully to face you.

“Just out on a run,” he says. “Checkin’ the perimeter, makin’ sure the traps are still set. Gotta keep this place safe.”

You nod, looking down again.

It’s not the answer that matters. It’s the fact that you asked.

Joel glances at you from across the room, something flickering in his expression. You don’t see it—but Tommy does.

“Joel’ll stay with you,” Tommy adds after a beat. “You’ll be alright.”

You nod again, smaller this time.

Joel, still watching, sets your reheated plate down in front of you and murmurs, “You can ask things like that, y’know.”

You blink up at him.

Joel’s voice is warm. Steady. But there’s a weight under it.

“You live here now, Bambi,” he says. “That makes this your place too.”

And something about that… feels final.

The door clicks shut behind Tommy, and for the first time since last night—it’s just you and Joel.

The quiet returns, thicker now. It settles in the cabin like fog.

Joel clears his throat as he moves to the sink, rinsing your empty plate. “You eat good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He glances at you over his shoulder. “You’re polite. That’s good.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

He dries his hands and leans against the counter, just watching you for a moment. Not in a way that makes you shrink—more like he’s thinking something he’s not saying.

Then, his voice lowers slightly. “You look better.”

You blink up at him.

“In clean clothes,” he adds, gesturing to the shirt you took. “In mine.”

Your face warms. You hug your arms across your stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it.”

He shakes his head, stepping toward you. “Don’t be sorry. I like it.” 

Joel’s closer now, only a few feet away.

The fire cracks gently. Rain starts tapping at the windows. The outside world dulls, disappears.

“You tired?” he asks.

You shrug. “A little.”

Joel nods toward the couch. “Wanna rest? I’ll sit with you a while. Won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”

You hesitate.

But you nod.

He sits first, leaning back on the cushions, legs spread. He pats the space beside him.

“C’mere.”

You sit beside him slowly, careful not to brush too close. But the couch is small, and your shoulder rests against his bicep.

His warmth seeps into you.

His scent as well.

You don’t speak. You just sit there, soaking in the quiet.

And then—Joel shifts slightly.

His hand lifts. Not fast, not forceful. Just rises and curls gently over the back of your neck. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw.

You turn your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now. Almost a whisper.

You nod. “Mhm.”

And you mean it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel okay.

Joel leans in just enough that you feel his breath against your temple.

“You don’t ever have to be scared with me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. Barely.

And it lingers longer than it should.

Joel's hand remains at the back of your neck, thumb brushing absentmindedly at your hairline, slow and steady. The kind of touch meant to soothe. But it does more than that.

It roots you. Tethers you. Pulls you closer to something you don’t quite understand yet.

You don’t think about it when you shift. Just a soft movement—turning into him, resting your temple against his chest.

You didn’t mean to invite anything.

But Joel took it as one. 

Then his arm wraps around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you the rest of the way in until you’re practically in his lap.

Your thighs straddle his. His palm spreads across the small of your back.

You freeze for a moment—not out of fear, but surprise. Your hands rest flat on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them.

Joel doesn’t move.

He just watches you. His eyes low. Lidded. Dark.

“You okay?” he asks again, voice like gravel and smoke.

You nod, slower this time.

“Good,” he says.

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. His gaze flicks across your face—your lips, your throat, your lashes. He’s not pretending to be subtle anymore.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You swallow.

His fingers trail along your jaw, then down to your collarbone—his shirt hanging off one shoulder, slipping just enough to expose skin.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push, but his grip on your waist tightens.

And when he leans in again—closer this time, his nose brushing your cheek—he whispers,

“Feel good, don’t it? Bein’ taken care of?”

You nod before you realize you’re doing it.

Joel smiles at that, knowing what he’s causing you while you’re sitting on him. The second your body suddenly starts reacting, he clocks it. 

Not to mock you or shame you. He uses it to train you. 

You feel… safe. Anchored.

But also— Something else.

A pressure. A warmth that’s begun to build under your skin. Between your thighs. Inside you.

You shift again, just a little.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him.

Hard. Solid beneath you.

Your breath hitches, and your thighs instinctively press together over his. Your body feels strange—hot, sensitive, like it’s humming. And you don’t understand it fully. But it’s there.

Joel doesn’t move. 

His voice cuts through the silence,  his voice—low, rough around the edges- curls into your ear like smoke. “Somethin’ bothering you, Bambi?”

You blink slowly, your brow furrowing.

You don’t want to lie.

So you nod. Just once. Tiny.

Joel hums quietly as his palm strokes slowly down your spine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I thought so.”

You shift again, uncomfortable, but not wanting to leave. Wanting something else. Something you don’t have a name for.

Joel tilts his head, eyes dragging over your flushed cheeks, parted lips.

“Need me to take care of that, Bambi?”

You glance up, eyes wide, searching his face for the answer—because you’re not sure what’s happening to your body, only that it feels overwhelming.

You’re hoping he knows the answer.

Because you surely don’t.

So you nod again, causing Joel to smile.

He takes your hand gently and guides it down, resting it over the hard line straining beneath his jeans. The heat of him throbs through the fabric, solid and undeniable.

“Feel what you do to me?” he asks, voice low, roughened with restraint.

You blink, fingers twitching slightly against the pressure. You can’t speak. You just look at him—uncertain, dazed.

Joel’s hips roll up, slow and heavy, grinding against your palm as his grip tightens on your wrist.

You gasp—sharp and surprised—and immediately drop your gaze, cheeks burning.

He catches your chin with two fingers, tilting your face back to his.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “No shame in that.”

You look up at him, breath shaky, and he smiles again—gently, reassuring.

“Your body’s reactin’ the same way to me. That’s a good thing, baby.”

His hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing over your bare stomach. Then lower past the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You’re not doin’ anything wrong. You’re just learnin’. I’ll teach you everything—nice and slow.”

He moves slowly. 

And when his fingers slip past the edge of your panties, you tense—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something pulling.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “That’s it. Just let me.”

His hand finds the warmth between your legs—already sticky, slick, and aching. And he groans under his breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You really needed this, didn’t you, Bambi?”

You whimper. Your hips twitch without your permission.

He strokes you slowly, just enough to build the pressure. Drawing circles with enough pressure.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers against your temple. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Your hands clutch his shoulders, and your voice breaks on a breathy plea:

“Please—Joel—please…”

And god, he loves it.

His lips curl against your skin.“There she is,” he murmurs, picking up the pace just enough to make your thighs shake. “Beggin’ so sweet. Didn’t even have to teach you.”

You press your face against his neck, trying to stay quiet, but every touch burns. Every movement tightens something inside you that you didn’t know was waiting.

Joel keeps whispering.

“That’s it, Bambi. Doing so good for me” 

His fingers slide lower—slick, wet, so sensitive that your hips jolt. He strokes you slowly, gently, like he’s memorizing your every twitch.

“There you go, baby,” he whispers, “You just stay with me. Let me feel how good you are.”

You make a sound, quiet and shaky at first. But when his fingers circle just right, a soft moan escapes before you can stop it.

Joel groans at the sound. “Goddamn.”

You press your face against his neck, biting your lip, but the sounds keep slipping out—wet, breathless, desperate little whimpers that only make him touch you deeper, slower.

And outside—

Tommy freezes halfway up the porch steps.

He hears it.

Muffled, but clear.

Your voice.

High and soft and needy.

A moan. Then another. The kind of sound no one makes unless someone’s got their hand deep between their legs—and Tommy knows exactly what Joel is doing with you

He stands there, jaw tight, heart pounding. Heat spreading beneath his ribs… and lower.

Joel beat him to it.

He fucking knew it would happen. Knew Joel was soft on you the moment you stepped out in his clothes, all wide eyes and soft thank-yous. But he didn’t think Joel would take it this soon.

And now, standing on the other side of the door, Tommy hears you cry out softly again.

He presses a hand against the wall beside the door. Breath heavy. His cock throbs behind the zipper of his jeans.

Fucking Joel.

A growl curls in his chest, low and frustrated. He wants to be the one inside. He wants to see your face. He wants to hear you say his name like that.

And next time— He will.

⟡──────────────⟡

Guess next time it's Tommy's turn...

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[andy-15-07]

hiii beautiful! i was wondering if you would write dbf!Joel confessing to his best friend? joel and reader spent the entire summer sneaking around and she went back to college. they caught feelings for each other and joel is planning on visiting her over the weekend, but not before he confesses to her dad. i’d be great if it was angsty, confrontational and had some smutty flashbacks maybe? idk, i want them to have a happy ending 😊

Call Me Baby, Then Call My Dad

PAIRING:Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1227| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Joel stood at the edge of the living room, hands on his hips, a little too aware of how wrong this felt. Not being here,but why he was here. The weight of it pressed on his chest, tight like a vice.

You were hours away, back at college, texting him every night. Sometimes sweet, sometimes desperate. And sometimes? Filthy.

But right now, the guilt won out. Joel stared at the family pictures on the mantle,your graduation photo, him beside your dad on a fishing trip. The Miller name wasn't blood, but your dad had treated him like family for two decades.

And now he was about to confess to betraying that trust in the most personal way.

“Joel?” came your dad’s voice from the hallway.

Joel turned, heart already hammering. “Hey, uh. Got a minute?”

Your dad nodded, stepping into the room with a beer in hand. “Sure, what’s up? You good?”

He hesitated. Then exhaled slowly. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Your dad cocked his head, chuckling. “This serious? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Joel’s voice came hoarse. “It’s about your daughter.”

The silence hit like a goddamn gunshot.

“What about her?” your dad asked, slower now, eyes sharpening.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “We… I,shit.” He paced once, then faced him squarely. “We’ve been… involved.”

Your dad just blinked.

Joel’s voice thickened. “This summer. While she was home. It started then.”

Your dad’s jaw locked. “You were fucking my daughter?”

Joel flinched. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t just,just sex.”

But he couldn’t stop the flashes, vivid and raw:

Your bare legs over his shoulders in the bed of his truck, breathless and giggling, skirt shoved up as you pulled him deeper, whispering don’t stop like a prayer.

Sneaking into your room, barely shutting the door before your body was on his, breathy moans into his neck, your thighs squeezing him as you came around his fingers.

The way you’d whisper, “Joel…” in the dark like it meant something.

Because it did.

“I love her,” Joel said finally. “And I think she… I think she feels the same.”

Your dad stepped forward, nostrils flared. “You love her?”

“Yes.”

“She’s half your age.”

“She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my daughter, Joel!”

“I know! And I didn’t plan it, alright? But we couldn’t help it. And I’m not here to hide anymore.”

Silence. Hot and thick.

Joel’s voice cracked slightly. “She went back to school, and it’s been killing me. We talk every night. I miss her. I… I want to visit her this weekend. For real. Not sneak around anymore.”

Your dad stared at him like he didn’t recognize the man in front of him.

“You were like a brother to me,” he said quietly. “And you,what? You were messing around with her under my roof? While I was here?”

Joel’s throat burned. “We tried to fight it. I swear.”

Your dad shook his head. “I oughta break your fucking jaw.”

Joel didn’t move. “Then do it. But it won’t change the way I feel about her.”

A beat. Then another.

“I’m not askin’ for your blessing,” Joel said, quieter now. “But I am tellin’ you: I’m not walkin’ away from her.”

Your dad stared, fury breaking into something sadder. “You better not hurt her, Miller. You hear me?”

Joel nodded once, slow. “Loud and clear.”

,

The drive to your college town was tense, stormy skies threatening overhead, but Joel didn’t care. He’d said it. Finally. Now he just needed to see you.

You hadn’t seen him in four weeks.

You’d felt the shift in your stomach when you left. It wasn’t just fun anymore. Wasn’t just heat or thrill or rebellion. You missed him like hell. Like the kind of missing that curled around your ribs and dug in.

Your phone buzzed.

Joel: “I’m outside. You alone?”

You practically flew down the stairs of your apartment building barefoot, cardigan slipping from your shoulders as you flung the door open.

And there he was.

Joel stood under the lamplight, a little older, a little tired, but still the man who made your heart do stupid things. You launched into his arms before he could say a word.

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “Missed you so goddamn much.”

You clung to him. “You came.”

“I told him,” he said, holding you tighter. “I told your dad everything.”

You froze. Pulled back just enough to see his eyes.

“What happened?”

Joel exhaled. “He was pissed. I mean, pissed. Said he should’ve broken my jaw. But I told him I wasn’t walking away.”

You swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

You kissed him. Hard. Like you needed him under your skin. Like every night of lonely phone calls and unsent texts was unraveling all at once.

He backed you into your apartment with urgency, kicking the door shut behind him. The cardigan slipped off your shoulder. Joel caught it with his mouth, pressing hot kisses to your skin.

“I thought about you every night,” he rasped. “Touchin’ myself like a goddamn teenager.”

You moaned. “I wore your shirt to bed almost every night.”

“Yeah? You wear anything else?”

“No.”

He growled.

Your dress came off in one smooth motion. Joel’s mouth trailed down your chest, hands rough on your hips.

“Fuck, I missed this body.”

“You missed me,” you whispered, pulling his belt open.

He stopped. Just for a second. Eyes locked on yours.

“Yeah. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Then his mouth was back on yours, hands guiding you down to the couch.

You straddled him, bare and burning, your fingers in his hair, grinding down on his lap while he cursed under his breath.

“Need you inside me,” you gasped. “Right now.”

Joel didn’t hesitate. Pants shoved just low enough, he sank into you in one slow, toe-curling thrust. You cried out, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel like home,” he groaned.

You rode him hard, messy and desperate, the couch creaking beneath you, both of you panting like animals. The sound of skin on skin, the wet, filthy noises of it, echoed through your apartment.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped. “Joel,oh my God,”

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered, voice cracked. “I got you. Always.”

You shattered around him, shaking and gasping, and a few seconds later, he followed with a grunt, holding you tight as he spilled into you.

You collapsed against him, both of you sweating, breathless.

“I’m not losing you,” he said quietly into your neck.

You smiled, still dazed. “Good. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

He kissed your shoulder, softer now.

“We’ll figure it out, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We’ll deal with everyone else.”

“Together,” he added.

You met his gaze. “Together.”

Later that night, tangled up in sheets and moonlight, you laid with your head on his chest, his arm around you. The silence was peaceful now, not heavy.

“I still can’t believe you told him,” you murmured.

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, me neither. But it was worth it.”

You trailed your fingers down his chest. “You were always worth the risk, you know.”

Joel leaned in, kissing your temple. “You’re worth the fight, baby.”

You smiled.

And for the first time in weeks, you both slept without the ache.