#joel miller x reader
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damneddamsy · 3 days ago
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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)
summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.
a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)
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Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.
But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.
Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.
And he fucking hated it.
Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.
Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring softly to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the shifting clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.
And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.
That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.
Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.
"Good morning, Joel," Leela greeted warmly.
Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. "Mornin’."
She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.
"Loose hinges?" she asked.
Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. "Mhm."
He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.
"You need anything else?" he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.
"No, I just..." Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you."
Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.
Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.
Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.
She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.
He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you."
She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. "I know that's not true."
Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.
He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.
She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.
So he didn’t.
Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You oughta get inside," he said instead. "It’s too cold for the kid."
Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the bandaid off a baby.
"Okay. Yes." She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—"It’s nice to see you around, Joel."
And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.
He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.
But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.
From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.
And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.
Mal.
Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.
At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.
It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.
More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.
Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.
Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.
He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.
And yet, he always saw it.
The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.
Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.
He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.
But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.
"You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?" Mal was saying.
Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course, he didn’t. Joel adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.
Leela snorted, light and dismissive. "Like dancing?"
"Exactly like," Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. "Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that."
Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.
"There's more pressing matters than romance," Leela muttered, but she was laughing.
Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.
"Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl," Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.
Fuck this.
Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm.
The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.
Because who the hell did this punk think he was?
Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—
He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.
Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.
Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.
He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, "Goddamn kid."
He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?
She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...
Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.
He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.
"Ain't my problem."
But the facts remained.
She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.
And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering slightly against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.
It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.
Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.
Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.
And he hated that, too.
X
Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.
But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.
Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.
Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.
Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.
"Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place."
Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.
Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. "Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl." He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. "Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see."
Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. Focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?
He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.
No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.
Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. "Nursery ain’t even done yet."
The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.
Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.
Maria lifted an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that, Joel?"
Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. "They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss."
Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?"
He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start, Ellie."
Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. "You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know."
"Ain’t nothin’ to act on," Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. "I helped her out. End of story. Moving on."
Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. "Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?"
Joel’s jaw ticked.
"Yeah," Ellie added, grinning. "Why’s your face doing that thing?"
Joel frowned. "What thing?"
She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. "The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise."
Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. "You could just go over there, you know."
Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. "Oh, c'mon. For what?"
"Dinner," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big."
Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.
"We don’t need to be doin’ all that," he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.
Maria ignored him. "She’s got that nice, big dining room. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party."
Joel didn’t respond.
"Come on, man," Tommy pressed. "What’s stopping you?"
That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.
Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.
But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?
Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, "Pass."
Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.
Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.
“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”
Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”
“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”
“Debatable,” Joel muttered.
“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”
Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”
Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”
Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.
Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.
“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each.”
Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Of course.
Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”
Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.
He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”
Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”
Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”
Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”
“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.
Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.
Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”
Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”
Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.
His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.
Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.
Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.
Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”
Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”
Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”
X
The house across the street was unlocked again.
Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.
It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.
His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.
Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.
And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.
The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.
He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.
Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.
“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”
Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light of the fire turned her edge golden.
Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.
“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”
Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.
“Just vitamins,” he played off.
She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.
“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.
And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.
“Sorry.”
“You should eat—”
A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.
Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”
But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.
"Eat," he said, firm.
She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.
Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.
“I got this,” he assured.
Leela chewed her lip. “But—”
“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”
A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.
“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.
Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. Two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.
From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.
The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.
This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.
"Good with his hands, my ass," Joel muttered. "What a fuckin' tool."
Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson.
Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall, thick with dust.
Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like a untouched display than her bedroom.
Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.
The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.
Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle at her soft cheek.
“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”
Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”
Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.
He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”
It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.
He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”
She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.
She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.
"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.
And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.
Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.
That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.
Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.
She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—
God help him, he wanted to be.
Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.
A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”
Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.
Joel frowned. “What?”
Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.
Damned baby spit-up.
Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.
He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”
Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.
And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.
Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.
Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.
It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.
It did something strange to him. Something he didn’t have the time to name. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.
“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.
Leela tried to sober up, apologizing, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.
She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.
"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.
Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.
His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.
Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.
Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.
Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.
Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.
For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.
Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.
She turned, offering it wordlessly.
Joel didn’t move to take it right away.
He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.
Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.
Leela cleared her throat. "It should fit. My father was a tall man."
Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.
While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.
On him.
Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.
Leela noticed with a small smile. "I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste," she mused.
Joel let out a dry snort. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it."
He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.
"Oh, man," he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.
He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, "Dad, just try it on."
It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.
The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.
And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.
He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,
His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.
He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.
But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.
But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.
Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.
He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.
Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.
And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.
Just muttered a quiet, "Thanks," and left it at that.
Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.
"Can you pass something to Tommy for me?" she asked, voice soft, controlled. "It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible."
Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.
She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.
"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.
Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.
"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.
Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.
Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."
She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"
Joel gave a slow nod.
"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."
Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.
"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."
Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"
Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."
He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."
"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."
Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.
It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.
She tucked the paper back into the stack, leveling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.
Joel raised a brow.
Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."
Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.
She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.
After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."
X
The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?
Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.
"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.
She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."
He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.
It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.
And then—the cars.
Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.
"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"
Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom made. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."
"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?
"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.
Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."
He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.
He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the knitting around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.
A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.
Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"
Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.
When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.
Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."
"You said it," he mumbled.
Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueler one.
Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.
Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.
It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.
"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"
Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."
Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."
"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."
A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.
"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.
"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed."
Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slow, one after the other before he could stop himself.
Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.
"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."
Joel felt something shift, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.
"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this beauty." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."
Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.
"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."
"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is amazing."
He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.
Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.
Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.
His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.
But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?
He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.
His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.
Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.
Shit.
He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.
For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.
"Didn't see it," she mumbled.
He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.
But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.
Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.
“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”
No response.
He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.
Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.
A long, slow breath in, too shaky.
Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.
Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.
And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.
That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.
But this time, she wasn’t hiding.
And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.
She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.
His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.
His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.
His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Just go.”
It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.
He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.
He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.
His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.
So he did.
He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.
As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.
It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.
This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.
He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.
His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.
He needed that fucking drink now.
X
The cold still lingered in the morning air, settling deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.
Didn’t matter.
What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking with something he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.
He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the space, grounding Joel in the moment. He clung to that.
“Tommy,” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”
Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.
"What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. "She really did all this?"
Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling settled in his chest—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled warm and solid in his ribs.
“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.
Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”
Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page is missing.”
Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”
Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”
Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.
“For real, Joel?”
Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”
Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”
“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”
Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”
Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.
Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”
Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.
X
[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]
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siriuslylantsov · 3 days ago
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afterglow
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pairing: joel miller x reader
description: in which, you spend an evening with joel on valentines day.
tags: MDNI! smut and fluff, established relationship, jackson!joel, fem!reader, sickeningly cute, so so much kissing, soft!joel (but hes also kinda dirty, i can't help myself), age gap (it was thought about when writing but it's not explicitly stated so imagine whatever), oral (f receiving, munch joel!! everyone cheered), fingering, unprotected piv (he pulls out), soft!dom joel kinda, aftercare, r and j's relationship is new but its implied that she already has a close relationship with ellie.
a/n: happy valentines day cuties!!! my gift to you. this started off super cute and soft and then two thirds of it became smut, idk where that came from. anywho, happy reading!!
wc: 3k
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“hi darlin’,” joel says as you open the door. 
the early evening sun casts a soft orange glow over the side of face, complementing his complexion perfectly. a shy, crooked smile tugs at his lips, the dimple on his right cheek deepening. one arm is folded behind him, holding something from your view and the other is planted against the frame of your door.
“hi baby,” you reply, giggling as you step forward to kiss him.
he accepts your lips eagerly, using the hidden arm to curl around your waist. you hear the faint crinkle of paper against your back. you hum sweetly into the kiss, pulling away to see what he’s got for you. a small bouquet appears between your bodies–a humble bunch of white and purple flowers that could handle growing in the cold weather, along with some that you suspect the gardeners had a role in providing. 
“maria went on patrol with me today and helped me pick some o’ these out,” he explains, watching you toy with a lilac petal of a flower he can't be damned to remember the name of. “d’ya like em?”
your fingers rake softly through his beard, coaxing his gaze upward until his eyes meet yours. tears gather at your waterline, and joel should probably be alarmed—but he’s grown used to it, having been there for so many of your firsts. apparently, getting flowers was one of them too.
“i’ve never got flowers before,” you admit in a hushed whisper, sickening adoration pooling into your body, making you feel warm all over despite the cold air that sneaks its way into your house.
joel takes note of the wind picking up and guides you inside, a solid hand at the small of your back. he takes your dazed figure all the way to the kitchen, grinning amusedly at how you continue to admire the bouquet. he looks through your cabinets for something tall enough, settling when he finds a mason jar that would be perfect. 
“i really like these, joel.” you smile up at him when he's in front of you again. he's holding his hand out expectantly and the jar filled with water in the opposite one. you give him the flowers with a reluctant pout, following him to the counter where he begins to set them up.
“‘m glad,” he expresses warmly, untying the ribbon that held the stems together. “damn shame i couldn't get you roses, the garden ran out pretty quick.”
you can’t help the fond smile that spreads across your face as you watch him try to organise the flowers nicely, carefully moving them around so he doesn't accidentally pull off a petal. when he's happy with his arrangement he turns back to you, neatly folding up the brown paper that wrapped the bouquet and placing it in your palm. “ellie made me promise to tell you that she helped with that so keep it in mind, i guess,” he says, nodding to the doodles of leaves that were peppered along the edges.
“noted,” you laugh, picturing her fiery, insisting nature with ease. you gotta fuckin’, i don’t know, make it pretty for her, joel. just ugh- give it to me. 
suddenly, you remember the muffins that were kept warm in the oven. you scurry over there wordlessly, causing joel to twitch confusedly. you take the tray out with quick fingers, holding a muffin out for joel. 
“it's a new recipe, cinnamon and pear,” you explain excitedly as he walks over to you. when he looks down at it, he sees you’ve managed to orchestrate two small slices of fruit to sit in a heart shape and it's awfully cute.
your eyes are trained intently on him as he takes a bite. it's instantly the best thing he's ever tasted but he chews thoughtfully for a few more seconds so it doesn't look like he's making his mind up on a whim. admittedly, he is but it's also just that good. the texture of the warm cooked pear complimenting the firm but soft spiced crumb of the muffin. he hums in approval when he swallows, shaking his head in disbelief. 
“sweetheart, this is really fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, his voice rough in appreciation as he dusts off muffin remnants that have stuck to his bottom lip. 
you beam, extremely pleased. you wait as he finishes eating. not that long, apparently, as two big bites later, it’s gone. he reaches up with his free hand and tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear, twirling it before letting it fall.
“so about today,” he starts and you hum attentively. “thought we’d take a walk around that part of town that you like and then go feed the horses. maybe go back to mine if there's time.”
-
the walk is perfect. you swing your joined hands between your bodies, smiling to yourself while joel complains about his brother. the air is solemn, the overwhelming scent and sound of love seeping out of every house you walk by. you never thought life could be this good again or that you’d feel this good again. you owe it all to the mumblin’ grumblin’ man beside you, the one softly caressing your thumb with his own, bringing it up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of your hand. 
when you reach the stables, joel pulls out the carrots he had tucked away in his large jacket pocket. (you’d made a detour at the greenhouse before coming here.) you divide the carrots into equal pieces for the animals, setting aside an extra chunk for a horse you remember ellie being particularly fond of–shimmer, if you recall correctly. 
joel takes in the sight, endearing eyes unable to part from you. your hand reaching out calmly, vegetable centred in your palm, you bring it to the horse's mouths, giggling when their tongues peek out and tickle you. he crowds in behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle. you squirm a little when he tilts to press a kiss to your neck, claiming his lips are cold. 
“well, let me warm ‘em up, sweetheart.”
-
you make it to joel's front door well after sundown, stars shining like diamonds spilled across the night sky. you make a mental note to go stargazing with him and ellie, if she wants, when the weather gets warmer. for now, you just want to be inside. 
“she’s with her friend dina tonight,” joel answers your unasked, looming question. you bite back the smile that the words ‘friend’ and ‘dina’ prompt, knowing a lot more than joel about his kids’ relationship status. she's just waiting for the right time.
you turn around to him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “so what you’re saying,” you muse lightly. “is that we have the place to ourselves.”
“mhm,” he smirks.
you twist the door open, often left unlocked, and let yourself through. “well then. come on in, mr. miller.”
he trails behind you up the steps, fingers lacing with yours. you walk into his room with a quiet sigh, taking off your shoes and watching as he follows suit. you love his room, a cultivation of who he is within four walls. you switch on the lamp on his bedside table, refraining from turning the main light so a faint glow encompasses the room, just enough to see the softness in his beautiful brown eyes.
“kiss me?”
he clicks his teeth before lowering his lips to yours, “don’t have to ask.”
his moustache tickles your upper lip and the coarse hair of his beard grazes your chin lightly, but it's not irritating. you welcome the sensation, it being a feature of his that you adore so dearly. proving this, your nails scratch the patch of grey at his jaw. 
his tongue slips out, tracing the seam of your lips. a low sound escapes you when you grant him entrance, licking into your mouth languidly. there's no rush, there never is. it's a luxury that three months ago you would’ve laughed at, disbelief evident.
his hands find your waist, pulling your hips flush together. he slips off your jacket and greedily tugs at the hem of your shirt. you appease by lifting your arms. he reaches behind you when he gets your shirt off, deftly unclasping your bra. he does this all while kissing you, but when he finally gets your top half bare, he pulls away. to look.
“beautiful,” he exhales a quick, amazed breath that whooshes past his lips. he admires you unabashedly, trailing his hands up your sides and down your front. he nudges you gently, guiding you onto the bed, his frame looming over yours as you sit down. 
you look up at him with dopey, half-lidded eyes, sneaking eager hands under his flannel and undershirt. your fingers trace over his skin, pressing into the soft warmth of his stomach, his body heat sinking into your palms. “back at ya, cowboy."
he takes this as a sign to peel off his layers, pulling them off with ease and adding them to the pile of discarded clothes. you spend a moment gaping at his torso before he lowers himself on top of you, dragging his lips up your neck as he does so. you whine when he begins sucking at your pulse point, teeth scraping your skin every so often. his kisses go lower and lower as he toys with the button of your jeans. 
he kisses at your belly, lips catching on the exposed skin of your hips, then upper thighs as he slowly pulls your jeans and underwear down, purposefully avoiding where you need him most. he strips off his pants and boxers and nudges for you to scoot up the bed. you sink into the pile of pillows, joel not far behind as he sits bracketed by your thighs. he runs his hands up and down them, calloused fingertips caressing your skin, squeezing in intervals and leaning down to kiss them, kiss your knees and your calves.
“joel, please,” you whisper, growing a little antsy, his hands all over your body aren't helping. 
“impatient,” he tuts, but there's no real reprimand in his voice. “jus’ let me take my time with you.”
“will you at least come up here and kiss me while you're at it?” 
he smiles, “what’d i tell ya?”
“don't have to-” your poor impression of his southern drawl gets cut off by his lips on yours. you sigh dreamily into the kiss; you'll never get used to that feeling. his hand cradles your jaw, tilting it to deepen this kiss. you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking it into your mouth. 
a needy sound rumbles in the back of his throat, and with a reluctant pull, he breaks away, shifting back to the space between your legs. he's lying on his stomach, cheek pressed against your inner thigh as he waits for your approval. when you nod, he dives in, no time to waste.
he licks a fat stripe between your folds, causing you to cry out. he hooks an arm over your hips to cease your writhing. you could say joel miller eats you out like a man starved, but right now, it's more like a savoured meal, slow and leisurely in its pace. he takes his time, measured strokes of tongue that are assuredly making you feel all the right kinds of ways. you thread your fingers through his hair, so soft, tugging lightly and he hums. 
you dare to spare a glance down. it's deadly–him with his mouth attached to you like a vice and eyes staring up at you, decidedly looking like he belongs there. you want to look away but the sight is so enticing. 
“baby, more,” you ask breathlessly. “please.”
“yeah?” he sounds equally out of breath, tracing a middle and ring finger around your entrance. “this what you want?”
you nod pathetically with a meek “yes.”
he pushes in slowly, met with no resistance. he finds that spot fast, pressing his curled fingers up. his fingers are longer and thicker than yours, reaching places you’d never been able to. he persistently rubs up, pulling out a little only to go back fast, just the way you like. all the while, he does this thing with his tongue–god, that tongue–where he flicks it from side to side over your clit, flattening it when needed, and it is earth-shattering. 
that well-known feeling starts to build and you repeatedly tug at joel's hair, mewling softly, trying to signal him. he’d already figured you were close, but still, he nods. he lifts his head to see you, his thumb replacing his tongue. 
“c’mon, sweetheart. give it to me,” he urges you on, kissing your hip bone with slick wet lips and his fingers working fervently like it's the most important thing in the world. joel would argue that right now, it is. “know you want to.”
“joel, yes, oh fuck-” you keen, shuddering violently as you finish. he keeps going, working you through it, lapping up the mess when his fingers slip out. he can't get enough of you. you weakly push at his head, “baby, enough. s’too much.”
suddenly, he's on top of you again, rubbing a clean hand over your hair. “okay, okay,” he coos, his voice low and lulling. he presses gentle pecks to your neck, making his way back up to your lips. you kiss him again, more sluggish than previously, whimpering when you taste yourself on him. fuck, you need him. 
you carefully drift a hand between your bodies, curling your fingers around his length. he hisses, inhaling a sharp breath. “shit, are you sure-”
you press him against you, guiding his tip to your slit. “fuck me, joel,” you whisper, using your other hand to hold his face.
that's all he needs to hear before he starts sinking into you, simultaneously groaning as he does. he curses low, though it sounds and looks more like a whine when you see the way his face has twisted up in pleasure when his hips are flush with yours. you feel addictively full, so you hug your arms around his shoulders to prolong the moment. he buries his head in your neck, breathing shallowly as you flutter around him.
“gotta move angel, i gotta-” he gets cut off when you squeeze, nodding against his shoulder. 
he thrusts greedily, pulling out almost fully until he somehow goes in deeper. it’s not fast but it’s not slow either, just enough that it leaves you reeling when he draws his hips back. the stretch of him is something you feel you won't get used to, it only just borders on pain that makes it feel deliriously good. all you can offer him are broken gasps as you find purchase on his back with your nails, digging into the flesh. 
“fuck you feel good, so so good,” he croons, his voice is soft, breathy, as he presses a lingering kiss to your neck, the words barely a whisper between your bodies. “can't believe you’re mine, this perfect fuckin’ body, perfect fuckin' girl.”
maybe it's the wrecked rasp to his voice or the way the base of his dick rubs against you just right but the high builds fast, record time even. you squeeze around him frantically, mouthing sloppily at his shoulder. 
“yeah?” he pants, lifting his head so he can look at you again, you’ve got the sense that he likes to watch. you like him watching you. “gonna give me another one? gonna cum for me?”
“mhm,” you hum, teetering on a sob as he starts fucking you harder, a determined look in his eyes. your face falls sideways into the arm that joel had pressed beside your head “oh god, ohgod-”
“there you go. good girl,” he gushes warmly as you finish. he speeds up urgently, letting your climax be the catalyst of his own, chasing something just out of reach. you pull his face to yours with desperate hands, clinging to him, needing to kiss him. his lips brush over yours messily, not quite kissing you and it drives you crazy. he cums with one more strong thrust, groaning loudly into your open mouth as he pulls out and spills over your stomach.
he slumps on you, heavy, as he comes to, smearing stickiness all over but you find that you don’t care much. you cradle the back of his head with gentle hands, murmuring sweet things. you can feel his soft exhales on your collarbone, sighing as you weave your fingers between his strands. his heart races against your own, almost in sync. 
the two of you stay like that for a moment longer as everything slows down. nothing else matters apart from the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through his sheer curtains, spilling in revered ribbons across the floor, or the soft, grounding weight of his body on top of yours. his fingers trace the skin within reach, absentminded circles over your hip bones, lines beneath the curve of your breast. 
eventually, he rolls off you, getting the sense that some of your limbs might be going numb. in the midst of your post-orgasmic haze, you don’t realise that he leaves, returning with a damp towel to clean you up. he wipes you up swiftly, murmuring a hushed sorry when you squirm away and joins you under the covers.
he pulls you into his side, letting you tuck yourself under his arm. he presses a kiss to your temple. everything is so serene you want to cry. your body has other plans for you when the dregs of sleep start to claw at your worn-down edges. joel feels the slow flutter of your eyelashes on his chest and he begins to rub a gentle hand over your back, attempting to coax you further. sleep offers its solace, and joel’s steady presence pulls you under, silently promising to keep you warm. 
before you drift off though, you hear him–unbearably soft, whispering against your forehead.
“happy valentine's day, angel girl.”
reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list
832 notes · View notes
stellamarielu · 2 days ago
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joel miller x female reader
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summary: you ask your dad’s best friend to give you a ride home after a night out, which leads to you teasing him in the backseat of his truck as he watches you in the rearview mirror.
content: nsfw, 18+, cursing, dbf!joel, no outbreak!au, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel being chivalrous, but also being a down bad freak, heavy voyeurism, female masturbation, praise kink out the wahzoo, basically joel just watches you finger fuck yourself in the backseat of his truck
author’s note: listen i’m no better than the rest of you, i’ll fold for a dbf!joel miller fic. i’m sorry to all the joel miller/pedro pascal girlies for having to deal with my ass infiltrating your fandom BUT i come bearing gifts of filthy, depraved smut!!!
You were standing out on the curb with your arms crossed over your chest. The faint music from the bar behind you filled your ears and the February wind had goosebumps raising on your skin. You were beginning to regret your decision to forgo a jacket. The choice felt right when you were bar hopping earlier, free from lugging around an extra layer of clothing, but now it was coming back to bite you in the ass as you stood out in the cold clad only in a skimpy little dress.
Thankfully you didn’t have to wait long as you watched a familiar truck pull up in front of you.
Joel Miller’s dark grey pickup came sliding up on the street and you could see the man behind the wheel smiling through the driver’s side window, amused at your poor choice in inadequate clothing. 
Without missing a beat, you pulled on the handle of the door behind him, sliding to the middle of the spacious backseat. 
“What the hell are you doin’ kid?” His voice was a low chuckle as he turned his head back to look at you. 
“You know you can sit in the front? Pretty sure you’re old enough.” He sounded entertained as his eyes met yours.
“It’s more fun this way.” You were giggling out.
“It’s like we’re in an uber.” You were leaning forward with your eyes still on him, your chest practically falling out of your dress. 
Joel was fighting with himself not to let his eyes wander to your exposed skin when he decided to face forward again. 
Jesus you were hardly wearing any clothes. He was starting to question why he had agreed to come pick you up in the first place. Oh yeah, it’s because his dumbass made a comment weeks ago about being able to give you a ride if you were ever too drunk to drive. And judging by the way your words were falling from your lips in a carefree giggle and how your body was folded forward over the middle console of his truck, you were definitely in no shape to drive.
You were in college and still living with your dad in an effort to save up some cash. Sure, it was nice not to worry about rent, but living under your father’s roof came with its downfalls– like him being far too aware of your whereabouts.
That’s when you and Joel shared a whispered conversation about him being there if you ever needed a hand sneaking around your dad’s constant need to be in your business.
He had joked about being your designated driver if you ever needed one, and tonight after a few vodka sodas and your friends not wanting to end their fun, you had taken him up on his offer. It was no surprise that he agreed to come get you, Joel was always so nice to you– a perfect gentleman.
You met him last year after him and your dad worked on the same construction site. Their friendship started with shared beers after work and quickly turned into Joel and his daughter coming to your house every weekend for Sunday night football and dinner. Your two families had gotten pretty close, and you began to look forward to seeing Joel every week.
He was a friendly guy, always cracking jokes and drumming up conversation, not to mention he was incredibly attractive. In fact, you had developed quite the little crush on him. You would act calm, cool, and collected every time you spoke with him, only to go on losing sleep at night thinking about how dreamy he was. It was just a bit of harmless fun, a teeny tiny unrequited crush on your dad's best friend. That was until you caught him watching you a few months ago, like really watching you.
If it had been anyone else you might’ve found it creepy, but it was Joel. Joel who was undeniably single, and funny, and handsome, and older. Joel who was raking his eyes down your body inch by inch when you had skipped downstairs in the world’s tiniest pajama shorts and an equally teasing crop top. You weren’t expecting to see him standing in your kitchen that early on a Tuesday morning yet there he was, gawking at your ass cheeks that couldn’t be covered by the barely-there material of your shorts. He saw you watching him as he stared at you. He didn’t even try to hide it. Both of you frozen in your kitchen and the tension palpable before your dad came into the room muttering something about his car not starting and Joel giving him a ride. 
After that day your little crush on Joel Miller turned into a full-blown obsession.
You wanted to have his eyes on you like that again. You dreamed about him staring at you. The scenarios that you conjured up about him late at night could land you in the loony bin, but you didn’t care. This new desperation to fulfill the fantasies plaguing your brain were all you could think about, and you were determined to do something about it. 
“I don’t understand how you’re wearin’ that when it’s so cold outside.” Joel’s eyes were staring straight ahead as he began to drive you home, pulling his car back onto the road and moving with the traffic on the busy street.
“Well you’ve obviously never been a girl on 6th street on a Saturday night.” You were still leaning forward in your seat making sure to push your cleavage together with your arms now that you knew he was looking at your outfit.
“Obviously.” He was mocking you with his response, eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror. 
“What’s Sarah up to tonight?”
Your question was harmless as you leaned back in your seat peering out the window and admiring the bright lights of the city around you. 
“She’s staying over at a friend’s house.” Joel’s eyes were back on the road, focused on the route back to your house.
“Probably for the best, don’t want her knowing I’m picking up your drunk ass at 2am.” 
You were shooting him a glare that he couldn’t see while he chuckled under his breath. 
“Don’t need you lookin’ like a bad influence.” He was peeking at you through the mirror again, a smirk on his lips. 
“Oh please, I’m an angel.”
You were responding in a sugary sweet voice, your eyes holding as much innocence as you could muster, only drawing more attention to the way your tits were pushed up against your arms. 
It was such a sinful image, one that Joel let his eyes linger on for a little too long as he stared at you through the mirror. 
You were addicted to the way he was looking at you.
Quite frankly, you were addicted to everything about him.
You could almost feel the liquid courage still coursing through your veins as you relaxed against the leather seat, arching your back slightly and looking up at him through your lashes.
“You could just take me back to your place.” Your voice was hushed as you watched Joel’s expression fill with confusion, his eyes finding the road again. 
“And why on earth would I do that?” He may have been confused but his voice remained playful as he questioned you.  
“Because maybe I want you to finally do something about that wandering eye of yours.” 
There it was– the words you had been holding back for months. I see the way you look at me, I’m into it, and I want you to fuck me. 
“Don’t know what your talkin’ about angel.”
His voice was mocking as he used the title you had given yourself moments ago. He was tip toeing closer to the blurred line of whatever unspoken tension had been building between the two of you.
Oh, game on. If he wanted to tease you, two could play at that game. 
“C’mon Mr. Miller I know you can’t keep your eyes off me.”
The use of his surname had Joel’s eyes snapping up to the mirror to meet your gaze. As soon as his eyes were on yours, he regretted it. You looked downright drunk, but not from whatever alcohol was left in your system– no, you were drunk off desire. For him. 
“I know you like to watch...” The words were leaving your lips in a disgustingly sweet tone and your hand was ghosting over your chest. 
“Don’t.” His voice was stern as he spoke, but his eyes were still on yours in the mirror all big and needy, telling an entirely different story. 
“Don’t what?” 
Your hands were teasing the lowcut neckline of your dress as you spoke. 
“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on the road? You seem a little distracted.” The flirtatious words falling from your lips worked in tandem with your hands that were now cupping your breasts and trailing down your torso.
You searched for his eyes in the rearview mirror again, only now they were focused ahead instead of on you. 
“You’re drunk, I’m not doin’ this with you right now.”
Oh so he wanted to parade around on his high horse? Not happening.
“I’m not drunk. I had a few drinks hours ago. I’m of sound mind Mr. Miller.”
There it was again, Mr. Miller. You had never called him that before, not once. But now you were sitting in the backseat of his truck with your hands all over your body saying it over and over again and he thought he was going to combust. 
“And what if I hadn’t been drinking tonight? Then would you watch me do this.” 
What little alcohol that was left metabolizing in your body must’ve given you enough confidence to spread your legs, the movement hiking your dress all the way up your thighs. You hand was sliding down your body only to stop when it found the thin material of your lace panties.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ.” Joel was groaning out when his eyes flickered to the mirror to watch you all spread out in his backseat like that. 
“Knew you liked to watch.” You were whispering as your fingertips danced at the hem of your underwear. 
“What do you want me to do?” You were teasing as you let your fingers wander closer to your core, legs still wide open.
“Want me to stop Mr. Miller?”
You could see the way his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was squeezing. 
He was holding on as tight as humanly possible while he debated his next move. Did he get serious and put a stop to this, or did he let himself have a little bit of fun and surrender to the pretty young thing all needy in his backseat. 
“Want you to keep touchin’ yourself angel.” His voice was gruff, muddled with lust and bad decisions as he finally gave in to temptation.
You hummed out a quiet moan of victory as your hand met the wetness of your panties, your fingertips tracing up and down your clothed center. 
Joel’s eyes were a constant boomerang going back and forth between the road ahead of him and the reflection of you playing out in the mirror above him.
He knew it was wrong to let you do this right now. He was the older more mature one in the situation, he should be telling you to stop. Only he couldn’t. He had been fighting himself on this for far too long. The once thick rope that was holding him back from giving into his desire had been thinning since that morning months ago when you had your ass on display for him before 8:30 in the morning. The restraint had become a single, tiny strand keeping him from pouncing on you and now that you were in his backseat with your hands between your legs, he had given up entirely, cutting the string with his own pair of shiny, perverted scissors. 
“C’mon baby, keep goin’.” He was encouraging your filthy movements when your eyes met each other in the rearview mirror.
His brows were furrowed and the look in his eyes was completely primal. That glare alone made you pull your panties to the side, giving him a glimpse of your slit, all swollen and glistening– excited by the spontaneity of being half naked in the back of his truck.
“Fuck.” The groan that fell from his lips had you wanting to shove two fingers as deep into you as they could possibly go, but instead you decided to spread your arousal over your opening, taking your time and teasing the man sitting in front of you. 
“I always think about you Joel.” Your voice was timid now as you preened underneath your own fingers.
“Think about you when I’m touching myself.” The words were a breathless hum as your fingertips found your clit, rubbing gentle circles over it and allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the sensation.
“That right baby?” You could tell Joel was holding onto what little composure he had left as he continued to prompt your self indulgence. 
“Show me” 
Each time his eyes found the mirror again you could feel the heat spreading throughout your body. 
“Show me what you like. Show me what feels good.” 
Fuck. You had a feeling Joel would be good with his mouth, but you didn’t anticipate him being this good with his words. The filthy things he was saying were driving you further into a place of utter insanity. He had you on the edge of going feral as you nearly forgot you were in the backseat of his car, your fingers working faster on the bundle of nerves at your center.
The moans bubbling out of your throat were evidence of your dazed headspace and you weren’t sure what felt better; the way your fingers were stroking your clit or knowing that Joel was watching you, his dick probably rock solid in his jeans.
The idea of him being turned on was enough to have the pressure coiling inside your core, but you needed more. You ached to feel some sort of stretch, some semblance of fullness. You needed something inside of you, and if it couldn’t be Joel, you would do it yourself. Without a second thought you slipped two fingers into your entrance, slowly dragging them in and out.
A low grunt left Joel’s lips, and you could see one of his hands leave the steering wheel and fall into his lap as he adjusted himself through the denim holding back his growing erection.  
“That feel good sweetheart? Nice and slow like that?” His voice was strained, and his eyes were darting between the windshield and your reflection. 
“So good. Wish it was you instead.”
Oh that was it. He had officially lost it upon hearing those words. 
Shit, he wished he had taken you up on your offer to go back to his place. He also wished you hadn’t been drinking tonight. He reminded himself that although you claimed sobriety, he wouldn’t be able to live with it if he did something he couldn’t take back and you regretted it tomorrow.
So, for now, as deprived and questionably moral as it was, he would just let you finger yourself while he sat back and watched. You were an adult that could make your own decisions to possibly regret in the morning; and who was it hurting if he gave you a few words of encouragement? 
“I know baby, but just keep playin’ with yourself.” 
His voice was reinforcing your already overwhelming pleasure as you arched your fingers, hitting just the right spot. That familiar curl mixed with the featherlight touch still circling your clit had you bracing yourself for the orgasm that you knew would be hitting any minute.  
“Doin’ so good.” His voice was a whisper from the front seat and you could’ve sworn he was on the verge of whimpering. 
“Gonna make yourself come all over my backseat- shit.” He was mumbling out his words and you could practically hear the sexual frustration building within them. 
Both of you were losing control and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about your surroundings as Joel’s truck was coming to an abrupt stop. 
You were home.
He was careful to park on the curb a little further from his usual spot as he quickly took the keys out of the ignition and shut off his headlights. You had never been so thankful for the cover of nightfall and the invention of tinted windows. 
“C’mon baby show me how you come, wanna see it.”
Joel was now leaning his body over the console to face you. Finally getting to see you all spread open before his very eyes instead of a reflection. The bulge in his pants grew tenfold at the sight; Your dress was bunched at your waist, your cheeks hot and pink, your eyes were fighting to stay open, and your delicate little hands were working overtime between your legs. Watching you like that had Joel ready to finish in his pants like a teenage boy.
“Come back here.” You were all but begging through moans as you kept working to bring yourself to the edge of release.
You wanted him to join you, to use his fingers instead of yours, or his dick– you’d take whatever you could get right now, and you wanted it all. 
“No sweetheart, not tonight.” He was refusing your invitation, and your feelings might’ve been hurt if it weren’t for the way he reached out and placed his hand right above your knee.
He was spreading your legs further apart with his grasp on your leg and rubbing his thumb back and forth on your lower thigh. His gentle touch had you seeing stars.
“Let go baby.” His eyes were burning into you as he watched your fingers carefully curling at the knuckle with each thrust. Your moans were incoherent as the tension pulling inside your body threatened to snap. 
“I need it, show me.” 
Joel’s words were carrying you to the finish line as your chest heaved. 
“Give it to me sweetheart.” With his hand caressing the soft flesh of your thigh and his eyes watching your every move, you came apart for him. Profanities and moans spilled from your mouth as your release washed over you. 
You kept your eyes screwed shut for a few seconds as you forced yourself to take a handful of long deep breaths working your way down from your high. 
As soon as your eyes opened, you were met with Joel’s stare. His pupils were dilated and you could see his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as you raised your fingers to your lips.
If you were doing this, you were ending it with a bang. 
You opened your mouth just enough to slip your index and pointer finger inside, dramatically sucking them clean before pulling them back out.
“Fuck kid.” He groaned in defeat as his eyes remained glued on your perfectly pouted lips. 
“You better get inside.” He was breaking his trance on your mouth and turning back around to start his car back up like nothing ever happened.
“Are you serious?”
You were shocked at his ability to hold it together, knowing that his dick must be throbbing in his jeans at this point. You were more than happy to solve that problem if he’d just let you, but it seemed as though he was ready to kick you out of his tuck without so much as another glance in your direction.
“I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink tonight, can’t trust your decision-making skills.” 
“Oh, but you could watch me do that and it didn’t interfere with your moral compass?” 
“Go.” He was motioning you out of the car with a tilt of his head and you could read the painfully amused expression on his face through the rearview mirror– the very mirror that had just bared witness to the corrupt scene of you and Joel losing all self-control.
“Fine.” You were chuckling as you pulled your dress back down your thighs and scooting toward the exit, pulling the handle and plopping out onto the concrete street.
“Have a good night… blue balls.” You were standing outside the truck and forcefully shutting the door to his backseat. The last two words leaving your lips in a giggle as you waved goodbye to Joel. 
Joel just watched as you skipped up to your front door. He was in big trouble, huge fucking trouble. There was no way he’d be able to look at you again, let alone be in the same room as you.
After tonight, he wouldn't be able to trust himself around you. The next time your eyes met his he'd have no choice but to run his hands all over your perfect little body. 
And tomorrow was Sunday night football at your place.
He was screwed.
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celiababy · 15 hours ago
Text
Ain't Right part 3
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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: Joel thinks you deserve better.
Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, cockwarming, size kink, skinny dipping, angsty, kinda asshole/grumpy Joel, mention of alcohol
Celia's note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG. but i threw in that much request angst i hope yall enjoy!!!!! Also happy valentines day!!! peace n luv fr
Aint Right part 1 Ain't Right part 2
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Recently, life has been great for you.
Winter was gone as fast as it came, and spring started to take root in Jackson. Your favorite season.
The months that passed since Christmas had been like a dream. You and Joel's relationship had been all unicorns and rainbows—well, to you, anyway.
Finally, you were starting to pry open the gates to Joel's thoughts. Becoming close with him meant so much to you, even when he would off-handedly share information about himself by accident, you'd immediately commit it to long-term memory.
He didn't like to talk about himself much, but when he did, you were all ears.
Joel, on the other hand, didn't have to try as hard with you.
There was a constant flow of words out of your mouth, especially around him. You couldn't help it, really. You talked when you were nervous, and you were always nervous around Joel—that never went away.
But all in all, you were overflowing with happiness.
Joel, however, was feeling a little differently.
Ever since this relationship with you started, he's had this subtle ache about it.
His insecurities of being an old man were eating at him, day by day. His conscious just couldn't stop pestering him with the idea that you deserved better.
He felt that by being intimate with you, as much as he liked it, was holding you back from living your life.
By allowing you to indulge in this relationship with him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was setting your life up for failure.
He was picturing some White Fang situation where you were some wild animal that was getting too close to him, and in order to prevent you from getting hurt by domestication, he'd have to throw rocks at you and tell you to 'go on an' git'. Even though he deeply cared about you.
These insecurites really came to the surface whenever you two were in bed together.
He was 56 years old, for crying out loud. He had two rounds in him max, anything more might give him a heart attack.
He'd clock the little disappointed pout you'd make when he couldn't go again, even when you tried to act otherwise. He was just in his head about the entire thing—which was so unlike him.
You were doin' things to him, thats for damn sure.
Joel couldn't deny the affect you had on him anymore. You were starting to become a top priority; he was unable to stop himself from putting you first.
How was it so easy for you to become to important in his life?
He pondered this thought while coming back from a supply run, riding in on horseback. The sound of hooves crunching twigs and rocks was an oddly theraputic sound, one that helped stop him from thinking so much.
Upon his return, Joel drops off his supplies and guides his horse back into its stable. He gives it a few loving pats before leaving, walking down the main road with the breeze in his hair.
His eyes scan the people crowding the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his favorite face.
And he does.
Eventually, Joel spots you, helping an older lady up her porch steps. You’re smiling, eyes sparkling like everything in the world was all fine and dandy.
It never got easier seeing you wear cooler clothes in public.
Sure, he's seen your naked body plenty of times, but there was something about you in a tank top, jean shorts and cowboy boots that just did things to him.
His heart tugs in his chest as he watches you complete the kind act, skipping back down the steps once the lady waves you goodbye.
That’s when you see him, across the street, just staring at you.
Your face lights up like fireworks when you notice. It always did. But Joel never got tired of seeing it.
He watches you jog his way, nearly running straight into him but managing to stop yourself last second.
“Hey! How’d that run go?” You ask, beaming up at him and trying your hardest not to smack his lips with yours.
“Good.” He nods, clenching his jaw.
Jesus, you looked so good right now—Joel was having a very hard time focusing on what to say when you were distracting him with your bangin’ bod.
“Good.” You copy, finding a moment to assess him. He seemed tense, more tense than usual. Joel knows you’re about to ask him what’s wrong—and he can’t face that question right now.
So he speaks before he knows what he’s saying. “You should come out with me again, next time, I mean. Actually try n' help instead of.. flirt.”
He's disgusing his intense feelings for you with an insult, because of course he is.
You scoff at his diss, rolling your eyes. “You loved my flirtin’.” You copied his texan drawl to mock him, earning you a glare.
“Well, I’d love to. Is it a date?” You purr, stepping into his personal space, prompting Joel to make quick use of his self control.
If he could act on his impulse, he would have bent you over and fucked you right there on the sidewalk.
He clears his throat before nodding. “Sure. Tomorrow. It’s a date.” He bites out like it pains him, because in truth, he'd rather take you out to dinner or something than another stupid supply run.
You’re smiling again, swaying on your feet. You make a few glances around to make sure no one’s watching before popping up and kissing him on his cheek.
“Kay, see you then." You chirp ever so sweetly, walking away in your small jean shorts.
You were really tugging on his heart strings.
When tomorrow comes, you're sitting on your porch swing, waiting for Joel to come and get you.
You were excited—mainly because you two would be out of sight from prying eyes. You could act on all your impulses.
You didn't mind people figuring you two out, you're kind of sure they already had, but you felt that Joel did care, and you wanted to respect his boundaires. Even though he never made those clear.
But, you felt you were pushing it with that kiss on the cheek yesterday, and you didn't want him upset with you.
The sudden thought made you worry.
Maybe he was upset with you. He did glare at you yesterday.
You probably did something, your anxious mind tells you.
You're snapped out of your thoughts due to the sound of hooves clopping against the road. Looking up, you're met with the pleasure-inducing sight of Joel.
He's walking with a horse beside him, holding its lead with a trained hand.
He's wearing that faded gray shirt and those jeans that seem like they're hanging on by a thread. So casual.
But, then you take a closer look at his appearance. He...trimmed his beard and attempted to slick back his hair...?
...Was he trying to look nice for you?
"Did you get all pretty for me?" You ask with a giddy smile, skipping down your steps.
He grumbles something incoherent under his breath before rolling his eyes. Yet, you swear you can see the faintest bit of blush on his cheeks. "You ready to go?" He asks, gesturing to the horse.
He's trying to change the subject, but you need to let him know you appreciate his efforts.
"You look really good, Joel. I mean—you always look good, but today especially." You bring your hand up to feel his hair, smiling happily. He can tell you're being geniune, but he's never been good with compliments.
"Thanks, sweetheart—now get on the damn horse." He sounds exasperated, but theres a small smile on his lips.
He helps you up onto the back before climbing on himself. "Wrap yer arms 'round me. Don't fall off." He murmurs, steering the horse towards the gates.
You slide up so that your chest is pressed against his back, and outstretch your arms to wrap around him. Once you two successfully leave the town and no one is watching, that's when you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade.
It's cozy. It's intimate. It's Joel.
You could fall asleep against him like this.
He remains silent because he knows how peaceful you feel right now. He wants to let you enjoy the moment.
You're admiring the forest scenary, occasionally resting your eyes. You don't know where Joel is taking you—maybe he's heading straight towards the middle of nowhere to drop you off and leave. Getting rid of you probably would've been in his best interest.
You're smiling at the thought because you know yourself. Even if he did do that, you'd find a way back to him. Like a loyal dog.
"Wait," Your voice cracks through the silence. Joel stops the horse, turning his head back to look at you. "Is that a lake?" He turns his head to where you're looking, his eyes catching the blue water that you're so enamoured by.
"Don't know what else it would be."
You roll your eyes at his smartassary. "...Can we go?"
"To the lake?" He reiterates, a confused look on his face. "'N do what?"
You shrug your shoulders, feeling stupid for asking all the sudden.
Immediately, Joel notices how you shrink into yourself. He wants to punch himself in the dick because he's being an asshole.
To fix his mistake, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and steers the horse down to the body of water.
You're giddy again in no time, a soft but excited squeal escaping your throat.
He manages to find a small clearing within the brush; open tall grass, a fallen tree trunk perfect for sitting, and direct access to the lake.
"So pretty." You muse, simply in awe of the nature around you.
You didn't really leave town much—only when you had to. So, seeing stuff like this, really meant a lot to you.
Joel gets off the horse and immediately turns to help you down. His hands find themselves on your hips while yours latch onto his shoulders.
He lowers you effortlessly, his grasp lingering for longer than it needed to.
Your skin lights on fire at his touch, dirty thoughts instantly flooding your brain.
The lake, the seculsion, the tension...there was really only one thing you were thinking about right now.
"Hey, what if we just...didn't go on that supply run?" You muse, avoiding eye contact for a moment because no matter how close you've gotten with Joel, he still made you nervous.
He shoots you a questioning look, which gives you the idea to show rather than tell.
You step closer to the waters edge, beginning to take off your boots. Joel's watching with that stern look, but it quickly fades, replaced with lust when you start shedding off your clothes.
First your shorts, then your tank top.
"Let's go swimming!" You say with that happy smile, the one that makes his heart beat soar.
He can't stop his eyes from devouring every inch of your stark naked body.
Not only did Joel enjoy your pert breasts and supple ass, he was also equally obsessed with the not overtly sexual things about you. Your hair, shoulders, collar bone, forearms, the curve of your spine—everything, he was consumed by it all.
He realizes that he needs to answer you, but all that comes out is a scoff.
"Hey—no. We don't know what the hells in that water." He huffs as his boner peaks through his jeans.
"Fine, guess I'll swim alone then." You say nonchalantly, knowing if you went in, odds were, Joel wouldn't be far behind.
And you were right.
As soon as you enter the cool water, you see Joel starting to undress in the corner of your eye.
You pretened you're not watching, and eventually he joins you in the lake.
You've waded out rather far into the water, waiting to speak until you know Joel is close.
"Doesn't it feel nice?" You ask, letting your body float above the surface, limbs outstretched while you stared up at the fluffy clouds.
If you could do this forever, you would. Naked as the day you were born, floating in warm spring water with Joel's company—maybe this was heaven.
Sure felt like it.
You almost don't even notice Joel's palm run up your shin and thigh, only when his hand lightly drifts over your lower stomach, is when you become all too aware.
Yet, he doesn't venture south.
Instead, he makes a path further up your stomach, then your ribs, then the valley of your breasts, until he rests his hand over your heart.
You stare at his face as he completes this insane act, completely baffled at the fact that he seemed so entranced and calm, while you were trying not to freak out.
He notices your stare, and finally meets your eye contact. No words leave his mouth—he can't seem to find any that feel right.
But he's thinking about how beautiful you are. How sweet and doting, how smart and witty. Everything about you encompassed into a few short words just didn't feel worthy enough.
But you can't just leave things the way they are.
Slowly, you situate yourself around him, attaching to his body like a koala bear. Your arms slide around his shoulders while your legs wrap around his waist.
Skin to skin, face to face, so fucking intense.
Joel's strong arms find themselves around your torso, keeping you close to him.
"Yeah, it does feel nice." Joel replies, his voice soft, his eyes even softer.
You smile, big and geniune, a feeling of bliss taking over you. "Isn't this so much better than some silly supply run?"
Joel rolls his eyes, which spurs you on even more.
"Come on, admit it; you'd rather be out here with me, than some stinky convience store looting pills." You tighten your legs a little around his torso, feeling your cunt become flush with his bare stomach.
You feel a surge of pride when his breath hitches and his erect cock prods at your ass.
But it doesn't take long for his expression to fall back into its natural scowl.
"M'not admitin' shit." He murmurs, bringing a hand up to move your wet hair over your shoulder and onto your back. It's an absentminded motion, one that Joel isn't really thinking about doing.
He just felt the urge to touch you.
You giggle at him, dropping your forehead to his shoulder to laugh.
Joel huffs, trying to stop smirking because your giggle is contagious. "Quit." Is all he says, shaking his head. "Can't believe you got me out 'ere doin' this shit." He grumbles, adjusting his hold on you slightly.
"What 'shit'?" You mimick him and his texan drawl, earning you a stern glare.
"Naked in a lake like m'some fuckin' teenager." He speaks with an unamused expression, before his eyes land back onto you and his gaze softens. "What're you doin' to me, huh?"
It's a rhetorical question, but he says it like he's truly desperate for an answer.
You're not sure how to respond. His eye contact is making your brain all foggy.
It's silent.
You can only hear the rustling water, your breathing, and the general nature sounds in the distance.
Joel knows he confused you with his words, so he takes a moment to look away.
"Alright," He huffs out eventually. "Time to go."
He doesn't give you a chance to protest because he's already walking back to the shore, his arm remaining secured tightly around your back, basically carrying you.
You're not ready to leave, but you know Joel is, so you just opt for a dejected sigh.
He lets you back down on your feet when you're both on the grass, lingering his hand on the small of your back when he picks up your clothes. He uncrinckles your shirt before opening it up so you could easily put it on.
"This is becoming a habit of yours." You murmur softly, putting on the tank top and cringing at the way it sticks to your wet skin.
"Mm?" Joel doesn't know what you're referring to. He's never realized his pattern of clothing you. It was a simple act, but one you found endearing.
"Nothin'." You chirp, sliding on your shorts and boots.
Joel looks at you assessingly while buttoning his jeans back up, sucking in his stomach to zip them.
You're looking right back at him, admiring the way his wet hair looks, how the grays peak out in the most perfect way.
In a nervous manner, you shift on your feet, sliding your hands down into your jean pockets. "You sure you don't wanna...fool around?" You muse, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
Joel smirks down at the ground as he continues to button up his shirt, shaking his head.
"You're too late kid, should've asked when we were naked." He's teasing, walking back over to the horse and gesturing for you to come.
You groan out, dragging your feet as you walk over to him and the horse. You were being dramatic, and Joel see's right through it.
"Quit whinin'. C'mon," He mutters, grabbing you by the hips to hoist you back onto the saddle.
"You're no fun, old man." You mumble, which freezes Joel in his tracks.
He doesn't know why, but that one off-handed comment ignites a blazing string of destructive thoughts.
As if he wasn't already insecure enough about being old and no fun.
His brain is jump-starting the self-depricating train of thought he had grown accustomed to, only this time, it had more fuel because you unknowingly confirmed it.
Of course, that isn't what you meant at all. It was just a teasing little comment, one you didn't think twice about. You weren't actually upset—at all.
Nevertheless, Joel's already in deep.
Slowly, he swings himself behind you onto the horse, grabbing the reins and starting forward.
You're quick to notice his demeanor, but choosing to keep your mouth shut.
The entire ride back is silent.
It was just like the ride there, only with a more suffocating air.
You have an inkling, but you have no idea the extent of his turmoil behind you.
Eventually, you two make it back to the stables. Joel helps you down from the horse, moving like a robot with no facial expression.
He's got that look in his eye that worries you. Every atom in your body wants to ask him what's wrong, but you also don't want to pry.
However, Joel would never open up to you unprompted. So, you at least try.
Your hand drifts upwards to his face, smoothing some of his hair down by his ear. "Is everything okay?" You finally ask, your voice purposefully soft and light so you don't startle him like he was some wild animal.
He inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw.
Oh.
Something was really wrong.
Your gaze goes from slightly weary to concerned in a flash, nervously biting down on your lower lip. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask, very evidently willing to do whatever he needed.
Joel had never been good with emotional timing. At the end of the day, he was still a man.
“We’ve gotta stop this.” He blurts.
You’re still for a moment, confused with his abrupt and vague words. You wait patiently for an elaboration.
Eventually, one comes, to Joel’s own dismay.
“We can’t see each other anymore—not like this.”
A beat passes.
Then another.
And then another.
You’re frozen with dread.
It’s like your body has forgotten all functions as you sit there and stare at him.
Surprisingly, the only thing you’re able to think of in this life changing moment, is the Christmas party at Maria and Tommy’s.
You’re thinking about how Joel fucked you in the guest bedroom, and how he said he didn’t want you having sex with anyone else.
You remember how happy you felt—like you two were exclusive or something.
How stupid were you?
With a quick intake of air, you swallow and look away.
“Did I do something wrong?” You croak, your voice akin to a wilting flower.
Joel is wracked with guilt the moment he hears you. But his mind is forcing him to do this.
“No—no. You haven’t done anythin’ wrong. This is all me, I fucked up and let this go on for too long.”
His answer provides no relief.
“But, I thought we—I thought you liked me?” You’re stumbling over your words because you’re so distraught, trying to blink away your persistent tears.
Shit.
Joel can hardly look at you. He would crumble and die if he did—the sadness in your expression is like several stabs to the gut.
Truth is, he did like you.
Thats why he wants to end things.
“I’m sorry.” Is all he can manage, head hanging down to look at the dirt.
You’re not looking at him either, instead opting to blankly stare at one of the horses in the stable.
“So,” You start, your voice cracking because you’ve started crying at this point. “You don’t wanna hook up, does that mean we can still hang out?”
Joel takes a big deep breath before answering.
"It would be best if we didn't see each other at all." Finally, he makes eye contact with you, and immediately regrets it.
You look like you've just been shot, for christsake—might as well have.
It was like he just tore your heart out, threw it to the ground, curb-stomped it, and kicked it down a gutter.
"Okay," you murmur, nodding slowly, trying to seem some-what chill about things. Inside, however, it was like World War III. "Uhm, I'm just gonna go home." Your voice is a croak, and Joel watches with the utmost remorse as you walk away.
It feels like shock.
Was this a break up? Were you even together in the first place? Why didn't he want to see you at all? Questions, questions, and more questions rattle in your brain as you shuffle away, hands shaking and eyes pouring.
You look down at the ring Joel gifted you on your finger, debting whether you should take it off or not.
Joel feels awful.
And it's not like the awful he felt the very first time he regected you—this time it's far more painful. It's a deeper wound, an uglier, gross, puss-infested cut that keeps getting worse the farther you walk away.
He thought he'd feel some relief.
He thought that after ending things, he would be rid of that nagging voice in his head.
But no, it remained.
Only now, it barked thoughts of wrong-doing.
'Why would you do that? Things were going great, you've fucked everything. You just broke her heart—’ and it goes on and on and on.
For a moment, the panic he feels registers in his mind as a heart attack. Thats what it felt like, anyway.
He has to brace himself against one of the wood beams in the barn, aggressively rubbing his chest to try and get his heart rate normal. Joel loses his breath in the process, not realizing that he's having a panic attack.
Whatever happens next, you don't see.
You never looked back after you walked away. *** "I don't know why you're all caught up about this, Joel." Tommy admits, a disappointed expression on his face.
Joel glares at his younger brother from the bar top, clearly disgruntled by Tommy's inability to understand his side of the situation.
It had been exactly 17 hours since Joel cut things off with you. He'd been drinking for at least 10 of those hours.
Somewhat drunkenly, he had told Tommy a very short and curt version of what happened.
But he got the picture. Tommy sighs, hanging his head for a minute before bringing it back up to speak again. "All m'sayin' is, it's the end of the damn world, Joel. Her 'future' ain’t graunteed; she'll be lucky if she makes it past 30 with the way things are. She's been 'round long enough to know that herself, n'for some fuckin' reason, she wants you—"
"She don't know what the hell she wants."
"See—that's where you're wrong, Joel." Tommy slams the whiskey glass that he was cleaning down on the bar, fed up and frustrated. "I've known 'er longer than you. She's a smart girl n'you're sellin' her short. Wake the hell up." He bites out before walking away, clearly finished with the conversation.
He had been watching and listening to Joel mop and groan about it all day and night—he had enough.
Other than the anger from being talked to in that manner welling inside of Joel, there was also a moment of clarity.
As much as it killed him to admit, Tommy was right.
He was selling you short.
The world is too ugly and fucked up for him not to act like everyday might be his last. He would be stupid to not just settle down and be happy with you for however long he had left.
Shit.
All alone in Tipsy Bison, Joel was slowly beginning to realize how majorly he screwed up.
He ruined things because he was too damn scared.
He didn't think there was a worse feeling than this—dealing with this huge fucking mistkae.
He wasn't sure if he would be able to come back from how things ended.
That look that you had in your eyes...Fuck. Joel didn't think he even deserved a second chance.
But goddammit if he didn't try.
After throwing the rest of his whiskey back, Joel got up from the barstool and hurriedly walked out, slamming the doors behind him.
He marches all the way to your place, ignoring whoever tried to talk to him on the way.
He had to do this. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.
Finally, he makes it to your quaint little home, haulting in front of it. There is some imaginary force stopping him, something pulling him back.
It's that nagging voice in his head again, the one that caused this whole mess in the first place.
But this time, he ignores it, and trudges up your porch steps.
Joel knocks rather forcefully, his jaw clenching when you don't answer within seconds.
He bangs on the door again with his fist, hard, his patience wearing dangerously thin.
When you still don't answer, he enters anyway with your spare key (he always kept it on him), calling out your name as soon as he steps inside.
You hear him from your bed upstairs, though you honestly think you're hallucinating. You've been crying for hours, the only sound in your ears were your sniffles and sobs.
His heavy footsteps seem to get louder and louder, and when he calls out your name outside you're door, that's when you realize you weren't hallucinating at all.
You sit up just as Joel opens your door, your eyes wide with shock and tears.
He takes a couple steps inside before he sees how utterly devastated you looked. The sight of you renders him immoveable.
He feels…like the biggest asshole-asshat-douchebag-fuckwad-dickhead thats ever walked the planet.
“Why…are you here?” Your broken voice asks, trying your best to hold back tears.
Even after all he did, you still spoke so softly, all your respect for him still there.
He had talked himself up the entire walk over, but all his words were dying on his tongue.
He was beginning to think that there was nothing he could say that would make what he did right.
“Babygirl I—”
He sees you psychically flinch at his voice, and it makes his heart break all over again.
His feet carry him to the edge of your bed, hands coming out to hold your face.
You’re not sure how to process his touch, not sure how to process any of what’s happening, but you’re trying your best.
“I was wrong,” his thumb is wiping off the tear stains on your cheeks, a forced gentleness to his touch. “So fuckin’ wrong, babygirl. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Upon hearing his words, you can’t stop the floodgate of your tears. You start bawling, your shoulders shaking with each sob.
“I was so scared.” You cry, bringing your hands up to latch onto him. You wanted to explain more, explain why you were scared—because having Joel and then suddenly not having him, was like ripping your heart out.
He can’t scoop you up in his arms fast enough.
He gets in the bed with you, lifting you onto his lap while he cradles your head to his chest, kissing the top of your scalp.
"M'not lettin' you go. I promise." He husks, his grip on you strong.
And Joel kept this promise.
He held you the entire night, ensuring that you were secure and warm.
In the morning, you immediately asked what changed his mind.
"I was frustrated." He starts, exhaustion etched into his face. "I couldn't understand why you wanted me. Felt I was keeping you from some great life—a young husband n' some white picket fence. But..life here is probably as good as it's gonna get. And this," He looks to the both of you, alluding to the relationship you shared. "Is really fuckin' good."
Your heart is crumbling at his confession.
Discovering that he spent so much time insecure about things, both infuriated and saddened you.
When you were about to respond and explain away his worries, he speaks again.
"M'not lettin' you go. What I did was a mistake. M'sorry."
You're crying again, sniffling softly against him.
"You should've just fuckin' talked to me," You whimper, burying your face into his neck. "I could've—”
"Ain't nothin' you could'a done. You never did anythin' wrong." Joel reassures, pulling you from his shoulder so he can look at your face. "You gon' forgive me?"
"Obviously," you mumble, looking at him with a fake frustrated expression. "I meant it when I said I've always been yours."
And just like that, things were resolved.
You brought your hand down to grip his flannel, sighing into his chest. Joel also sighed in relief, realizing that you weren't going anywhere.
To raise the spirits in the room, you crane your neck up to look up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.
"M'still mad at you. How are you gonna make it up to me?" Initally, you weren't really insinuading anything sexual—you were thinking he could take you for dinner or ice cream or something.
But Joel has something different in mind.
He gently grabs your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you how he wanted. His tongue is warm in your mouth, his mustache prickly against your face.
When he breaks away, you're out of breath, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"I got an idea." Joel mumbles, carressing your jawline with his thumb.
Slowly, he sits up only to position himself between your thighs. With his calloused hands, he slides his palm up the planes of your legs until he reaches your pants.
You shiver when he dips his fingers under your waist band, pulling them down agonizingly slowly.
"This okay?" He asks in a gentle tone, one that makes your stomach do flips.
"Yes," You say immediately and breathlessly. "Very okay."
The corners of his mouth turn up to resemble a smirk, before his gaze returns back to the area between your legs. He runs his fingers down your clothed slit, feeling the way your wetness coated the stringy fabric.
You let out a soft gasp, slightly bucking your hips, hungry for more of his touch.
He plays there for a while before finally taking your underwear off, setting it somewhere on the bed.
Joel inhales through his nose when he sees your glistening cunt, trying to not cum in his pants at just the sight. He doesn't stop his impulse to pull your folds apart, running his thumb along your lips.
He's being so slow and gentle—it’s making your heart rate each dangerous levels.
His thumb then ventures up to lovingly rub your clit, his eyes scanning your face to watching your reaction.
Your legs are shaking as you kept them apart for Joel, your hands fisting the sheets as you cope with the sensations he's allowing you.
Your chest is heaving up and down and your eyes are glazed over with a hazy fog—one that Joel loves to see.
Then, out of nowhere, Joel lowers his head and connects his lips to your clit.
The act makes you jolt, mostly because you weren't expecting it.
His tongue laps at you, slowly at first, but then something shifts in Joel.
It's like the hunger for your cunt overwhelms him, and his grip on your thighs tighten. Within seconds, he's devouring you like a man starved, licking long strips up your cunt before focusing on sucking your clit.
You can't stop the moans and mewls slipping past your lips, and you don't really want to. You want Joel to know how good he's making you feel.
"OhhhfuckJoel," You whine, shooting your hands down to grab his salt and pepper hair. He focuses solely on your bundle of nerves with his tongue, using his fingers to give your desperately empty hole some attention.
When he slides two fingers inside, you effectively fall apart.
Tear prick in the lining of your eyes, your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out his name.
The fact that he's never eaten you out before and he's been this good at it the entire time, felt criminal. You honestly might've been more offended that he waited so long to reveal this talent than when he tried to end things.
"Dontstopdontstopdontstop," You sob, feeling yourself reach that climax you craved.
You come with a loud moan, and Joel lets you ride it out on his tongue and fingers.
When your body goes limp, thats when Joel lets up. He brings his head out from your legs and slips his digits out of your spasming hole.
You mewl at the feeling, looking at him with teary eyes.
"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" You asks, voice quiet and cracked.
"M'fifty-six years old—been around the block, babygirl." He's face is glistening with your juices, and his mouth is wearing that lopsided smile of his. It makes you wanna smile back.
"...Damn. So I'm not the first, huh?" You huff, not upset in the slightest, just wanting to tease him a little.
He chuckles and unzips his pants, letting his cock slap against his stomach. "No sweetheart, you ain't the first." He rasps, effortlessly manhandling you to straddle his lap. "But you are gon be my last."
His hands caress the plush surface of your hips, kneading them like dough while his eyes scan your face.
You're blushing so hard, your face probably looks like a spanked ass.
He really did have a knack for leaving you breathless with those one-liners of his.
You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, looking back down into his big brown eyes. All you can do is stare, because your brain is too focused on how hard your heart is beating to come up with a response.
"What? Now you ain't got nothin' to say?" He husks, his massive palm venturing down to your grab and squeeze your ass. Your back straightens and your lips part like you want to say something—but you're not quite sure what. "C'mon, use those pretty lips."
An idea pops into your brain.
"I'd rather use these lips," You whisper close to his mouth as you raise your hips up to hover over his member, slowly dipping his tip inside your warm hole.
"Fuck," Joel grunts, exhaling through his nose.
You grin at his reaction, lowering yourself down further with bated breath. You watch as his head lolls back and his grip tightens on your waist.
"What? Now you have nothing to say?" You mock, even though you're equally as breathless as he is.
He flashes you a glare before sliding a hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hand doesn't let you break away from his lips, and you don't plan to.
His tongue establishes dominance in your mouth, which you eagerly let happen. It's passionate, deep, bordering on punishing—sometime during, he manages to rip your top off, leaving you completely nude. But sooner or later, you both decide breathing might be a good idea.
You break away, chests heaving, mouths panting.
Eventually, you sink all the way down on him, giggling deliriously when you make eye contact again. You decide to forget your fake little fued, nuzzling your head into his neck.
"Have I ever told you how big your dick is?" You mewl, squirming your hips around a bit but not lifting them up and down. It has Joel reeling.
His hands are holding you so tight, you're sure that it'll leave a bruise. "No," Joel huffs out rather distractedly, his eyes laser-focused on the way your cunt is gushing all over his lap. But you swear you can see the faintest blush on his tan skin.
"Well—your dick is real big." You whisper nearly inaudibly, making Joel snap his gaze back to your face. A lazy smile curls at your lips before you begin dragging you tight cunt up and down on his violently erect cock.
Joel shakes his head in disbelief, as he often does, but is unable to answer becase the feeling of being inside you is rendering him speechless. His hand absent-mindedly dips down to rub your clit—the act has you doubling over onto his shoulder, starting to bounce on him like your life depended on it.
"OhJoel, Iloveitsomuch," You blabble into his ear, noticing how he had taken the reigns at this point. He was manually lifting your hips, bringing them down with intense vigor.
He was stretching you out so good and his tip was so fucking deep—you were having a hard time staying conscious and not going brain dead.
It appears Joel's in the same boat too. "Fuck—you're killin' me." He grunts, bucking his hips up to meet you.
You giggle airily before immediately getting your karma—his dick paired with the position and the way his face looked—your cunt clenches down on him and you cum hard.
Your body jolts as you grab onto him, not expecting him to keep fucking you. But his grip on your hips doesn't falter, and Joel continues to bounce you up and down.
The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt. Just letting him manhandle your body and do what he wanted was a surprising relief—even if you did just come.
You're reduced to whimpers and moans as you slump into his chest, letting him ground you and fuck your abused cunt.
Finally, slams you down one final time, unloading deep into your warmth. His groans sound like music to yours hears, especially because you know it's you that's making him feel so good.
He's panting in your ear, slowly starting to move his hands up to wrap around your torso.
He's hugging you before you can register it; his big arms securing you tightly to his chest while you both tried to catch your breaths.
Seconds pass...which turn into minutes, and you're wondering if Joel ever plans on letting you go.
He's made no efforts to remove his dick from inside you—it's soft now, but still buried deep nonetheless.
Your pussy will occasionally flutter around him, which'll earn a soft sigh from his lips.
You place a soft kiss on his temple before straightening your back to look at his face. "You tryin' to make sure your seed takes or something'?" You murmur, that teasing lilt in your voice that Joel is all too familiar with.
"Somethin' like that." He mutters into your chest, pulling you down with him to lay on the bed. "Want me to pull out?" He asks after a moment, scanning your face for any traces of displeasure.
You nestle into his chest, hooking your leg over his waist to lodge him deeper inside. "Never."
You and Joel fuck all day, all night and even into the morning. With, of course, breaks in between so Joel can recharge his stamina.
It happens multiple times in your bed, in the shower, on the couch, in the hallway, and even in the kitchen come morning.
Joel was making coffee while you were traipsing around with just his flannel on—humming along to some made-up song. It was like you two were an old married couple; him hovering over the moka pot and you scowering the fridge for some breakfast.
"Blueberry pancakes orrrr...." Joel watches as your head is stuck in the fridge, trying to find ingredients for meals. "Blueberry pancakes."
He snorts. "Surprise me." He huffs sarcastically, knowing he'd be eating a plate of blueberry pancakes.
You grinned and started making the batch, feeling Joel's eyes all over you because of the way his flannel was slipping off your shoulder because it was far too big on you.
His stare was turning you on—so you just bent yourself over the cool surface of the countertop and Joel did the rest.
Eventually, your safari of fun had to stop sometime during lunch. You both had succesfully cleaned yourselves and had started dressing for the day.
"I just told Maria I'd help set up." You murmur distractedly, tying your hair up in the bathroom mirror. Maria was holding a little town party in one of the recreational centers, and asked you, as well as some others to help her with the decorations.
There's a pause before Joel steps into the tiny bathroom, situating himself behind you and sliding his large hand over your stomach. He places a soft kiss to your head before dropping his hands to softly squeeze your hips.
"I'll walk you there."
A beat.
"You will?" He nods in confirmation, which has you turning around to look at him. You smile and tilt your head playfully. "You gonna walk me to first period too?"
Joel immediately rolls his eyes and scoffs, though you swear you can see him smirk.
"Smartass." He huffs out, grabbing your forearms to move you out of the way.
"Kidding." You chime, leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. You weren't sure why you were so surprised by his offer, but you could tell it was a sign of something.
Maybe he wasn't stressed about people finding out about you two anymore. He never said that he was—but you could tell.
And it wasn't like he was embarrassed of you or anything—he's just always been a private person. It wasn't anyone's business who he was falling asleep next to every night.
But you—he'd be willing to change that for you.
When you both are ready, you exit your house, locking the door behind you. You look up to see your neighbor watching as you and Joel descend your porch steps.
You never liked her—gossipy woman who was always sticking her nose in places it didn't belong.
Quickly, your gaze snaps to his face, wanting to see if he was okay or anxious or whatever it may be.
But Joel's just looking right back down at you. "Lead the way, pretty lady." He murmurs lowly, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft.
You smile, and fall into step with him as you both walk down the sidewalk. The birds are chirping, the breeze feels amazing, and Joel is cracking smiles at your jokes.
Life felt good again.
Suddenly, Tommy appears out of nowhere, as he often does, blocking you and Joel's path.
You freeze, trying to keep a neutral face. You still weren't sure how to act around people with Joel, so you were just planning to play if off like you guys were just two buddies walking or whatever.
"Hey," Tommy greets, looking at you and then Joel, his eyebrows pinched together like he was confused at seeing the two of you in the same vicinity.
Oh. He probably knew what happened, or bits and pieces of it.
For some reason, you feel anxious that Joel might be feeling anxious, so you look down at your feet and nervously fidget with your hands.
"What're you two doin'?" Tommy asks, a detective look in his eyes as he shifted on his feet.
Joel clears his throat before looking down and grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his calloused grip. He can't help but glare at Tommy with a stern face, squeezing your hand reassuringly.
Your breath catches.
Tommy's eyes venture down to your joined hands, then you, then Joel.
After a beat, a sharp and knowing grin spreads across his face.
"Well I'll be damned." THE END.
222 notes · View notes
oscengrim · 2 days ago
Text
More joel everybody ! :)
Make It Stick
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Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.
Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk
Word count: 4.7k
Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2
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He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.
Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:
‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’
Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.
But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:
“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”
And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.
Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.
If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.
But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.
With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—��Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.
Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.
No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.
Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.
Where the FUCK was his cum?
In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.
He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.
“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”
But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.
You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.
“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.
Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.
“Hold still,” he grunted.
“How come?”
“‘Cause I said.”
How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.
“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.
But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.
Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.
He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.
He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:
“Jo-el—”
“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.
“Push?”
“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”
You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.
Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.
And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.
At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.
You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.
He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.
You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.
Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.
“Joel, what’s—”
“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”
Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.
“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”
Well, fuck.
Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.
“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.
An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.
“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”
You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.
“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.
You’re old.
Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.
“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”
You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?
For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.
“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.
Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.
“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”
What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.
He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.
“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”
You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.
Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.
Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—
“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.
“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.
Joel carried on without a hitch.
“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”
You nodded along, not hearing a word.
“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”
Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.
“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”
That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:
“My own age?”
Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.
You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.
“What?”
“What?”
Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.
“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”
Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’
And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.
This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.
“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.
No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.
Smiling a little, too.
“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.
“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”
Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.
“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”
You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.
“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”
“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”
Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.
“Baby…”
To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.
Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.
You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.
It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.
Feels nice.
Tastes alright, too.
You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.
“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”
Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.
And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.
“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.
Joel cursed under his breath.
“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”
“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”
As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again
“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”
In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.
He communicated as much by moving to pull out.
You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.
“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”
Of course, it had been Joel.
Always, always him—the only one, in fact.
Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:
‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’
He couldn’t.
Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.
But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.
“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.
“I do.”
In fact, he loved it.
“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?
Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.
Idiocy.
“Just once?” Joel croaked.
Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.
“Just one?” you murmured back.
He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.
“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.
“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.
Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.
“One?” Joel panted. Confused.
He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.
“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.
Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.
“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”
The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.
In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”
Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.
“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”
Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.
To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.
“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”
Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.
That’s all he’s ever wanted.
Let the neighbors talk.
Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:
“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.
The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.
Something to stick.
“Please say it, baby.”
Someone to call yours.
“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.
A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.
“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.
“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”
As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.
“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”
“Ri— right there. Right there.”
Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.
It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.
Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it
“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”
He kissed the tip of yours.
“Hope they get this.”
He kissed either one of your cheeks.
“These too.”
You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.
The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.
Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.
There it is.
7K notes · View notes
honeyedmiller · 16 hours ago
Text
Guns and Roses
joel miller x f!reader
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synopsis: fantasizing about joel miller gets you a lot more than you bargain for.
rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.
warnings: semi-grump x sunshine, joel is described to be taller than reader, feelings, smut (which includes reader being consensually choked out / breath play so if you’re not into that, heed the warning).
word count: 7.2k
a/n: listen, in my head joel miller is a 6’5” hunk of a kinky motherfucker. happy valentine’s day.
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Joel Miller. 
Your breath catches in your throat when you see his name next to yours on this morning’s patrol partner list. 
You’ve never been partnered up with him and yet, you feel as if you know all about him. How grumpy he is. How he’s usually in charge when it comes to patrols. How he has low patience, and a no-bullshit type attitude. Some say he’s blatantly mean, and others are just straight-up afraid of him. 
You aren’t afraid of him per se, but he does make you nervous. He’s got a stare that makes heat simmer low in your belly and an angry brow that makes you want to kiss the tension away. You’ve caught him staring at you a few times and it’s always made your cheeks heat, shying away from his gaze and devastatingly handsome face. 
You’re brushing Shimmer’s coat before you saddle her up. Joel hasn’t arrived at the stables yet, so you spend a few minutes petting Shimmer and softly talking to her while you wait. 
It’s almost like you can feel him before you see him. A chill runs down your spine as you hear heavy boots on the ground, and you turn to see the tall, stoic man in the flesh. You don’t know whether or not to say something to him. How he responds can set the mood for the rest of your morning. 
Ever the optimist, though, you decide to take a crack at it.
“Morning, Joel.” You try to keep your tone light and casual, throwing in a small smile. 
He eyes you up and down for a second, but it isn’t in disgust—intrigue, rather. His gaze locks on yours before he steps into the stables, opening the latch door to Callus’s stall. 
“Mornin’,” he finally answers. His voice is gruff and raw, probably being the first words he’s spoken today. 
You want to say more, but you leave it at that. You may have heard about how he is from everyone else’s point of view, but you want to decipher him for yourself. You just don’t want to push his buttons, especially at six thirty in the morning. 
You huff and pet Shimmer one last time. “You ready, gorgeous girl?” You coo at her, giggling when she licks your hand. You mount yourself onto Shimmer’s back, grabbing the reins before clicking your tongue twice to get her to turn out of the stables. You glance back at Joel, catching him staring at you once again. 
“I’ll, uh, meet you at the gate,” you say. He just gives you a small nod, and you face forward once more before guiding Shimmer to the gates where a couple of others wait. You greet everyone a cheerful good morning before Joel’s beside you, and it’s not long before everyone is sent on their way. 
The sun has risen brilliantly and the chilly January air wraps around you as you trail behind Joel on his right side. Your eyes roam down his broad body, licking your lips as your gaze settles on the gun holster that’s clad to his thigh. 
Suddenly your mind envisions Joel above you, staring at you with such carnal desire that it makes your whole core positively ache. You imagine he’s the super dominant type—possessive, territorial, and greedy in the best way possible. You can see him easily picking you up, slamming you against a wall while he fucks you senseless. He’s probably also the type of man that eats pussy for his own pleasure, not allowing himself to get off until he’s made you cum at least twice. 
Well, fuck. 
A whine almost slips past your lips and you’re back to reality, and your eyes shoot up to Joel’s as you find him staring at you completely unamused. You know your cheeks are burning, and you nearly wince when he has to repeat himself because you were too busy daydreaming about how good he’d take care of you—
Jesus Christ, you need a cold shower. 
“Christ, Sunshine, are you even payin’ any mind to me?” He’s irritated and it makes you want to get swallowed up by a hole in the ground. 
“Sorry, uh, what did you say?” 
He sighs as if he’s completely inconvenienced, grumbling something under his breath and—wait, did he just call you ‘Sunshine’? 
“Said the log book ain’t too far from here. Let’s scope out the area to make sure it’s clear before we sign it n’ head back,” he says. You nod and follow his lead, surely trying not to piss him off any further. 
Joel ties Callus’s reins to a nearby tree, and you’re about to dismount Shimmer when Joel raises his hands up to you. You furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what the hell he’s doing before he rolls his eyes with a huff. 
“Ain’t got all damn day, Sunshine. C’mon.”
You loop your feet out of the stirrups, Joel’s hands catching your waist as you slide down Shimmer’s side. You land right in front of him, so close that you can feel his breath on you. So close that you can easily inhale his scent, and he’s all earthy, manly musk with a hint of coffee. He smells absolutely divine. 
You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your face. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and you literally have to remind yourself to breathe. He’s just so fucking close and it’s so goddamn dizzying. 
You should say something. You’re about to, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth turn up into a smug smirk before he turns his body away from yours to walk toward the small shack that has the log book in it. You’re taking this time—the distance away from him—to catch your breath and keep a watchful eye on the area, making sure it’s in the clear. 
Joel reemerges a few minutes later, and the sun catches on his gun in his thigh holster. The handle gleams and your eyes are drawn to it once more. You’re staring at his thighs now, wondering how it would be if you rutted yourself over them. 
Your eyes snap up to Joel’s once again, and he’s looking at you with a quirked brow. 
“Signed the book. We all good here?” He gestures his hand to the vicinity, and you nod. 
“All good.” 
Shit. Your voice is breathless. You really can’t be any more obvious.
You mount yourself back onto Shimmer, waiting for Joel to lead ahead of you to start heading back home. 
“So,” Joel starts, and his voice startles you. He slows Callus down so Shimmer can catch up to him and you both ride side-by-side. “Where are you from?” He asks, and you have to hold back a snort. Small talk is not something you expected him to resort to. 
“QZ or pre-outbreak?” You counter back, looking at him as he faces ahead. You admire his side profile like this and he’s all strong jaw, beautifully chiseled nose, and plush lips. The leaves on the trees contrast beautifully against his golden skin, spewing glimpses of yellow and bright green. 
“Pre, I guess.” 
“California. You?” 
He raises an eyebrow at that. “Texas. So you’re a city girl?” 
This time you can’t help but huff a laugh and roll your eyes. 
“No, Texas, not all of California is glitz and glamour,” you’re full-on giggling now, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in what you assume to be his half-assed attempt at smiling. 
“What do you miss most about it?” 
You don’t even need to think about it. Without missing a beat, you look at him with a soft smile before murmuring, “The ocean.” 
He doesn’t say anything after that. You both head back into the gates of Jackson in peace, dismounting the horses and going about your days after reporting back to Maria. 
Over the next couple of weeks, you’re getting paired with Joel every time you’re on morning patrol. You keep fantasizing about him and having him in the dirtiest way possible, and the tension is growing rapidly. 
Joel’s jaw is taut when you bat your lashes up at him, and your cheery demeanor has his walls slowly crumbling down just for you. 
It’s too much, though. The tension is palpable, nearly making you suffocate in the want and desire you have for this man—someone you have absolutely no business pining after. 
You have to ask Tommy to take you off of patrol duty for a few days and have someone else fill in while you volunteer to take care of the horses in the stables or tend to the greenhouse. 
You don’t see Joel for nearly a week, and you come to the realization that it kind of drives you crazy. 
The next time you see him is at dinner in the mess hall. Joel stands in all his glory, sporting a green flannel that hugs his biceps perfectly and pants that hang on his hips like a glove. He’s also got that damn holster strapped around his thigh again, probably because he had just gotten back from patrol not too long ago. 
When his eyes meet yours from across the room, you know you’re doomed. 
And when he shoots you a barely there smile, but one you recognize nonetheless, you’re absolutely done for. 
You swallow harshly and go back to paying attention to the conversation happening with your table, trying to ignore the holes he’s burning into your head. A dark, desirable warmth stirs deep in you and you have to force yourself to pay attention to what’s going on around you. The whiskey you drank definitely isn’t helping you, either. 
You barely talk all dinner though, too nervous with the older Miller brother’s lingering gaze on you for most of the night. 
You clean up after you’ve eaten and give Maria a grateful smile and hug, thanking her for a wonderful dinner. She eyes you conspicuously, knowing that you love being a part of community events since tonight is movie night. She finds it odd when you tell her you’re turning in early tonight, but she lets it go without question. 
You walk out of the mess hall, shivering immediately as the cold air hits your body. You weren’t very well dressed for the cold weather, and while it was nice in the mess hall, you’re regretting not layering up this when it’s so cold outside. 
You hear heavy footsteps behind you, walking fast to try and catch up to you. Once again, you can already tell who it is before you even turn around. 
“Leavin’ so early, Sunshine?” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, but it can easily be passed off as being too cold. 
“Um, yeah, gonna turn in for the night.” You muster up a tight-lipped smile, not meeting his eyes before turning back around. 
Joel puts a hand on your shoulder and electricity zings through your entire body. “Reckon I can walk you home, since I’m already out here.” 
Fuck. 
“Sure,” you say, tensing under his touch. You can’t see it, but he furrows his brows at you and cautiously falls in step with you as you walk back home. 
“Jesus, Sunshine, you’re freezin’.” He takes off his thick coat and wraps it around your shoulders, and you’re nearly a fucking puddle on the floor. The coat smells like him and it takes everything in you to not bury your nose in the fabric and inhale. His scent is intoxicating. 
Everything about him is intoxicating. 
It’s not long before you both reach your doorstep after a few minutes of walking in silence. You fumble with the key to open your front door, nerves heightening once again. 
Jesus Christ, you need to get a hold of yourself. 
Once you get the door open, you stand there for a beat before looking up at him. He’s all alluring brown eyes and subtle sexy smirk that makes you gooey in the knees. 
You contemplate it for a moment, but before you can overthink your decision, you bite the bullet and ask against your better judgement. “Do you want to come in?” 
He hesitates, assessing you. He nods after a few seconds and follows you inside, and you feel your pulse start to race quicker. It’s irritating how much of an effect he has on you, and he doesn’t even know it. 
“Nice place you got,” he says, running a hand through his hair before taking a seat on your couch. He spreads his thighs wide, taking up so much fucking room, and all it makes you want to do is be all over him. 
There’s just no fucking way he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. 
“Thank you.” You don’t really know what to say to him at this point. Conversation flowed so easily on patrol, but now you’re in this confined space with him and want nothing more than his lips on yours, consuming your entire being. 
“Can I, uh, get you anything?” 
Be more awkward, yeah? You chastise yourself for being unable to behave normally around him. 
“Just your company,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the couch. You swallow thickly and make your way over, plopping yourself down on the couch, leaving enough distance between the two of you. 
He chuckles lowly under his breath, but you still hear it against the stark quietness of your quaint home. 
“So how come I haven’t seen you on patrol lately?” His deep voice is like plunging into a warm, dark abyss. It’s full of the unknown but so comforting at the same time, and it makes your head swim. 
You shrug your shoulders, gaze moving to your hands that fidget in your lap. “Just wanted to focus on helping out elsewhere.”
“Bullshit. I think you’re lying.” He says it with such confidence, cocking his head to the side as he studies you. You didn’t think he’d call you out so easily.
Your brows shoot up. “I am not—!” 
Even you could hear the blatant defensiveness in your tone. You look at him with a fiery gaze, brows furrowed downward at his all-too-true accusations.  
“You are. Why haven’t you been on patrol?” His voice is huskier now, knowingly eyeing you like he can see right through you. 
“Dammit, Joel,” you huff, tipping your head back against the couch. “What do you want me to say?” 
“The truth.” 
The truth. As if it were that simple. 
Yeah Joel, truth is that me, little miss innocent Sunshine, has been fantasizing about you fucking my brains out every time I see you, you think. 
Joel moves closer and his face is mere inches away from yours, brown eyes intense as they watch you in such a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your gaze shifts elsewhere because the tension is too much, and you’re left feeling like a shell of a woman under his scrutiny.
And that’s when you realize he already knows. You don’t need to tell him shit, because somehow, some way, he knows your dirty little secret and the ways you fantasize about him. 
“Trust me, Sunshine. Last thing you want is to get tangled up with a guy like me.”
Your eyes snap up to his.
”And that’s where you’re wrong, Joel. I want you.” 
“‘S a dangerous game you’re playin’, baby.” 
Baby. 
“I’m not playing games, Joel,” you say. There’s a finality in your voice that really let him know you weren’t fucking around. “You seriously wanna know why I asked Tommy to be taken off of patrol?” 
He gives you a slow, singular nod. The muscle in his jaw ticks as something fiery blazes behind his darkened eyes. 
“Every single time I’m around you, I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. Your presence is all-consuming, and every time I look at you, all I can picture is the ways I want you to have me. It’s not normal, Joel. That—that is why I asked to be taken off of patrol.” 
His expression doesn’t waver, but the muscle in his jaw ticks impossibly faster. He’s as still as a statue, and it’s so fucking quiet that you can hear a pin drop. 
There’s also another reason why you didn’t want to tell him: rejection. 
You can see him fighting a battle in his head, and this is already humiliating enough as it is. You don’t think you can handle the I don’t want you words that’ll eventually spill out of his mouth, so you stand up and take a deep breath, walking toward the door. You tug it open and his brows furrow as you stare at him expectantly. 
“I just—please, just leave.” 
His lips flatten into a straight line before he stands up and takes a few strides to get to where you’re at. He’s gazing down at you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something before he snaps it shut seconds later. His face hardens into that infamous grumpy stare, all harsh lines and tight jaw. 
He walks out without saying another word. 
You close your front door and slump against it, heaving out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Your eyes snap up to the ceiling, and regret begins to sink her nasty claws into your skin.
Fuck. 
-
A couple of weeks pass after that whole incident in your house with Joel. You’re awoken by a loud knock on your door, and you grumble the whole way down before opening it. Tommy stands in the frame with a pleading look, and you furrow your brows as you try to fully wake up. 
“Tommy…?”
“Hey sweetheart. I need a big favor,” he says. He shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking like he wants to dash away at any given second. 
“What is it?” 
“Christy called out from her patrol shift today and you’re pretty much the only one who knows the routes well enough to cover.” 
You scrub your face with your hands, and peek an eye out from behind your fingers. 
“Only because it’s you, Tommy,” you huff a laugh, and he flashes you his bright smile. 
“You’re a lifesaver. Maria and I are really grateful.” 
“It’s the least I can do,” you say, but then you pause. “Who’s my partner for this shift?” 
Tommy’s eyes avert to the wood on your porch, and you immediately knew. You didn’t know how much Tommy knew about this thing, whatever the hell it was, between you and Joel. 
You’re not really sure it’s a thing anymore, though, considering you kicked him out after telling him how you really feel. You have no idea what’s going to happen on patrol today, and you really don’t want to find out, but Tommy and Maria took you in when you were at your lowest. 
You literally owe them your life. 
“Will you still cover?” His voice is soft. The corner of your lips twitch up into an almost smile, and you reach out to pat his arm. 
“For you and Maria.” 
And that’s how you found yourself in the stables at the crack of dawn, making sure the saddle on Shimmer was secure. 
Heavy footsteps enter the stables, and you already know who it is. You hear another pair of footsteps not too far behind, and you don’t turn around until you hear Tommy call your name. 
“Hey, I’m glad I caught you while you’re still here. Are you still good to come over to ours later and help Maria with the cupcakes?” 
You hoist yourself up onto Shimmer and give Tommy a smile. 
“‘Course.”
”You goin’ with anyone to do the dance?” Tommy asks, and Joel looks between you both. The Valentine’s dance is coming up tonight, and you told Maria you’d help with whatever she needed. You just didn’t plan on going. 
“Nah,” you wave him off playfully. “I don’t have anyone to go with.” 
“Oh c’mon, you oughta meet a handsome fella—or lady, I don’t discriminate—at the dance.” 
Your eyes flicker to Joel for a split second only to find him already staring at you, before you look back to Tommy. You roll your lips into your mouth before shrugging with a small smile. 
“Maybe.” 
“Well just think about it,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. You give him a nod and your eyes drift to Joel one last time before moving Shimmer out of the stables and toward the gate. 
You greet everyone at the gate before Joel makes his way beside you, and you’re all sent on your way. You silently follow Joel, an unspoken rule between you both that he’s obviously in charge. He doesn’t attempt conversation, and you know better than to poke the bear, but the tension is still palpable. 
You make it to your assigned area before hopping off of Shimmer, shotgun tightly gripped in your hand. 
“I’ll go scope around back,” you say, treading off before he can even reply. 
You’re lost in thought as you look around, until you hear a branch break behind you. You swing around so fast that you almost hit Joel with your shotgun. 
“Jesus, Sunshine, it’s just me,” he says, frowning. 
“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, dammit! I could’ve shot you!” 
“But you didn’t. You’re cute when you’re mad.” Amusement wraps around his words and he smirks at you, and you roll your eyes.  
“So you don’t hate me, huh?” You ask, and you know it’s probably stupid to even take the conversation in that direction, but what else have you got to lose? 
He’s quiet for a moment, looking beyond the trees as he sighs.
“No, Sunshine, I don’t hate you.” 
You meet his gaze as you look up at him, his tall frame turning toward you as he walks closer, forcing you to step backwards until your back hits a wooden wall. He rests one hand beside your head and stares down at you. 
You know he can easily see the effect he has on you, with the way your breathing picks up and the furrow between your brow. You can’t even meet his gaze, because you know if you do, you’re absolutely done for. 
“Why’d you kick me out of your place the other day?” 
You take a moment to try and collect yourself as best as you possibly can, but you know it’s no use. 
“I didn’t want to get rejected. It’s already humiliating enough to admit that you drive me fucking crazy.” 
“How so?” He leans down, nosing at your jaw before placing a kiss below your ear. You gasp, closing your eyes to relish the feeling of his lips on you. 
You need them everywhere. 
“Just—you—fuck,” you sigh. You can’t even get a coherent thought out with his proximity and intoxicating scent and warmth wrapping around you, welcoming you into something much more desirable. 
His lips are at your ear. 
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispers, and you bite back a moan as he presses his lips against your neck. “Does this look like rejection to you?”
“Joel—”
“Fuck, darlin’—drive you crazy? You have absolutely no idea what you do to me. Not a fuckin’ clue.” 
“What do I do to you, Joel?” Your voice is meek as you stare up at him, trying to find your bearings. 
He stares at you for what seems like a century, before leaning down so close that his nose brushes against yours. He hesitates, and you figure it's because he doesn’t want to push you if you don’t want to do this. 
You’ve already made it abundantly clear, so you meet him the rest of the way and envelope your lips with his. 
The feeling is cosmic—better than anything you’d ever expected. It’s the kind of kiss that sends tingles down your spine and makes your toes curl in delight. 
You moan in desperation, tugging him closer to you by the sherpa lapel of his jacket, tangling your other free hand in his soft curls at the base of his skull. 
He groans into your mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and you get lost in the art of kissing each other. 
You don’t know how long you’re there pawing at each other like a couple of desperate, touch-deprived fools, but eventually you pull away because your lungs are fucking burning for air. 
You pant against his lips, tightening your hold on his lapel. 
“I wish you woulda let me say my piece instead of kicking me out,” Joel confesses. You lean your head back onto the building and sigh, looking up through the treeline. 
“I’m sorry, Joel. I was just scared.” 
“Ain’t a thing to be scared of, baby. As much as I’d love to continue this, I reckon it’s best we get goin’. They’re gonna wonder where we’re at.” 
Your eyes flutter closed as you nod, pushing yourself off the building. You scope the area with him one more time and to your luck, no activity to report. Joel signs the log book and you both head back to Jackson in a comfortable silence, a total one-eighty from earlier. 
You leave each other at the stables with not another word spoken, but a longing gaze that says everything you’re both feeling. 
You head to Tommy and Maria’s house to help Maria with the cupcakes as promised, and you head home that night with the older Miller brother on your mind yet again. 
By the time everyone is heading over to the dance, you’re all cozy in your oversized t-shirt and a book in your hand. You’ve just showered, and knowing you have off tomorrow from any and all work has you feeling extra relaxed. 
A knock on your front door startles you though, and you dog-ear the page you’re reading and set the book on your bedside, but you hear heavy boots walking up the steps already. You scramble and grab your pistol from your nightstand, standing on your knees on your mattress as you hear the footsteps getting closer to your bedroom door. 
“Sunshine?” Joel’s voice calls, and you sigh in relief as you switch the safety back on and toss your pistol onto your nightstand. 
He’s in your doorway, leaning against the frame as he takes the image of you in. The t-shirt you’re wearing only falls to the middle of your thighs, and you’re not wearing anything but panties underneath. 
The sight of him staring at you in such a hungry way has you gasping softly, and the feeling of arousal already sticks to your underwear. 
You take this opportunity to stare at him, too. Your eyes roam slowly down his frame, and yet again you’re fantasizing about all of the things you want to do with him. 
Your eyes halt halfway down his thigh—and you couldn’t help yourself. 
You kept staring at the holster, perfectly wrapped around his thick thigh. The leather was a parcel of fine craftsmanship, made to fit him like a glove. 
The gun in the holster was the cherry on top as it sat flush against his body, and you just couldn’t stop fucking staring. 
Joel was waiting for you to pounce—challenging you, mocking you. He quirks his eyebrow up at you as he crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps pop. 
You swallow thickly as you force your gaze to meet his eyes, which have so clearly darkened. 
“Sweet girl,” Joel groans, “Keep starin’ at me and my thigh holster like that and I might just have to choke you out with it.” 
Oh, fuck. You clench around nothing at the thought. 
You nearly whimper as he crosses the room to get to your bed, towering over you once again. His large palm cups your cheek and you can’t help but look up at him like you’re mesmerized. 
Maybe you really are. 
He runs his thumb over your bottom lip before tugging it down, and that dangerous smirk is back on his lips. 
“Tell me,” he says. 
You’re so entranced by this man that it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up and process what he just said. 
“What?” 
“Tell me what you fantasize about.” 
Your eyes dart to the pink comforter on your bed. 
Joel tsks and shakes his head, hand moving to your jaw so you have to look up at him. 
“Tell me, baby. I want to give it to you.” 
He lets go of your jaw and sits down next to you on the bed, tugging you onto him so you’re straddling his thigh. 
You look down at his denim-clad leg, biting your lip before Joel ruts you forward. 
“Stare at my thighs so goddamn much you might as well ride it, hm?” He strokes the back of your head, and your eyebrows furrow at the delicious friction. 
You nod. “This was one of the things,” you say. 
“I know, baby. Use me. Wanna see you get off by pleasin’ yourself on me.” 
You sharply inhale. He moves his hands down to your thighs, pushing the t-shirt up to your hips before dipping one hand between your legs. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and hums as he rubs your aching pussy through the fabric of your underwear. 
“Fuckin’ soaked already, Sunshine. Can’t believe I really do this to you.” 
“Why’s it so hard to believe?” You ask, testing the waters by rutting your hips forward once. You softly moan at the feeling, and Joel moves his hands to settle on your hips. 
“‘Cus, I’m the mean grumpy ol’ bastard of the town and you’re the sweet, innocent happy woman that gets on well with everyone.” 
You laugh at that, moving your hands to his shoulders to give them a squeeze. You quirk a playful brow at him before rutting your hips once more. 
“Who said I was innocent?” 
You tilt your head, and his eyes get impossibly darker. Joel hums, considering you for a second. 
“I like it rough, baby, so you gotta tell me if anythin’ I do is too much.”
You clench around nothing once again, feeling your arousal seep down your thighs. The thought of him being rough with you sends you over the fucking moon. 
“Will do, cowboy.” 
The corner of his mouth tilts into an almost smile, and he leans in to kiss you with the same hunger from earlier. It’s easy to follow his lead, as your hands find his curls once more and you start to rut your hips. 
Your feet barely touch the ground like this, but ever the gentleman Joel is, he helps you by moving your hips back and forth with his hands at your hips. You’re panting his name and his face is buried in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping the skin there. 
“That’s it, there you go,” he coos. “Wish you can see how pretty you look gettin’ off on me. Fuckin’ stunner you are.” 
You inhale sharply and squeeze your eyes shut, tossing your head back between your shoulders. Joel dips his head down and captures a clothed nipple into his mouth, and you let out a loud whine. 
It’s almost too much, with the delicious pressure on your aching clit, hands roaming over your hot skin and the expertise of his mouth. 
You feel the white-hot sensation shoot through you, and you bow your back as your orgasm blindsides you and forcefully crashes through you. 
“Joel!” You gasp his name as he brings his hand down between your legs, cupping your sex and rubbing you through the thin fabric before he tosses you onto the bed. 
You’re staring at your ceiling trying to catch your breath, but Joel doesn’t give you two seconds to think before he’s on top of you. His lips clash with yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation, before he’s tugging off your underwear and shirt to fling them across your bedroom behind him. 
You sit up on your elbows as you stare at him, watching him as he slowly unbuttons his flannel, tossing it on the floor with your clothes. 
His tanned skin glows in the sunset through your windows, and the shadows carve out the muscles in his biceps perfectly. He looks ethereal like this, towering over you with a hungry, insatiable stare. 
He unstraps his thigh holster from himself, sliding the gun across the floor and tossing the holster onto the bed next to you. 
He hovers over you once again, smirking down at you as he looks at the pretty, glistening mess between your legs. 
He wraps his arms around your thighs and he drags you toward the edge of the bed, flipping you over before harshly smacking your ass. 
You suck in a breath at the sting and he’s hungrily watching the way you clench around nothing. 
“Oh you like that, huh pretty girl?” He asks, tone nothing short of dark and teasing. 
You don’t even hesitate.
 “Fuck, yes, Joel.”
His calloused hands massage your ass, giving it another smack before you hear shuffling behind you. You turn your head to see that he’s kneeling behind you, and he looks right into your eyes as he spits on your pussy. You moan at the sight, and he grabs your thighs before burying his face in your cunt. 
“Oh fuck,” you cry, relishing in the feeling of his tongue working your slick, aching core so expertly. 
Each flick of his tongue has purpose, so fluidly blending together that it feels like a fucking composer conducting an orchestra. 
Your body is a violin, a piano, a flute. 
A symphony waiting to reach crescendo.
 His tongue glides and prods and his mouth eats you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have, and you’re grabbing onto your pretty pink comforter for dear life as you gasp and moan his name louder and louder with each pass, each flick. 
Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as his tongue sinks into your warmth, fucking you for a brief few seconds before traveling upward toward your asshole. 
He stays there, licking and kissing your tight little hole, going to a place nobody ever has before. 
You reach back and thread your fingers through his hair, forcing his face into your flesh as he greedily licks you up. He moves his tongue back down to your pussy, drinking your arousal like you’re the finest nectar on Earth. 
Hell, to him, maybe you are. 
That devastating bliss curls around you and your insides once more, and when Joel wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, you’re absolutely done for. 
You scream his name like a prayer on Sunday, tears forming in your waterline as this orgasm rips through you more forcefully than the last. You’re quivering by the time he stands up straight again. 
“I could eat that sweet little pussy for the rest of my God-given life,” he says, and you look back at him with a weak half smile. 
You’re already so fucked out, but you know he isn’t done with you yet. Your eyes move down to the bulge in his jeans, and the outline of him makes your mouth water. 
“Let me suck your dick,” you say, and Joel chuckles before leaning down to give you a wet, you-flavored kiss. 
“Another time, baby. Wanna fuck you first.” 
It’s like your body answers to his call each and every time, so willing and ready for him. 
“Wanna see stars, Joel.” 
“And stars you’ll see, sweet girl.” 
He leans down to kiss your hair before ridding himself of his jeans and boxers, erection springing free. 
He groans at the newfound freedom, and you can see his pre-cum beaded at his tip. 
You can’t help yourself—you reach over and swipe your thumb over it, popping your finger into your mouth with a satisfied hum as the salty flavor of him dances on your tongue. 
“Why do I have a feelin’ you enjoy giving head?” 
You quirk a brow at him. “You wanna find out?” 
He laughs. It’s a sweet, rare sound. It’s one you want to capture in a jar to keep and cherish forever. 
“Later, baby. I wanna make you feel good tonight.” 
You’re about to say you already have—twice, in fact, but he’s moving behind you before you can get the words out. He rubs your ass one more time before spreading you open. 
You can tell he admires the view with the appreciative hum that evades his throat. 
“You sure you wanna do this? You can still back out, y’know.” 
You look back at him, batting your lashes twice. He gets the message. 
His mouth quirks up and he swipes his head through your folds, catching onto your clit. You whine at the feeling, and Joel smacks your ass once more for good measure. 
He settles himself at your entrance and pushes into you slowly, letting you take him inch by inch until he’s reached the hilt. 
His hips are flush against your ass, and he’s so fucking large and heavy inside you that it lights your body aflame with pure pleasure. 
“Joel,” you cry, and Joel strokes your back while he allows you time to get used to the sting, the delicious stretch. 
The feeling is indescribable, being so full like this, let alone with the man you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks now. 
“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey. She’s takin’ this cock so well,” he praises. 
You moan at his words, finally squeezing the words out of your throat. “Move, please.” 
So he does. 
He starts off slow at first, testing the waters, before completely pistoning into you. He knocks the breath out of you, and it’s almost too much, but you fucking love it. 
You haven’t felt this type of bliss in your life, well, ever, and Joel is giving it to you on the first go of him fucking you. 
He slows his hips down before he grabs the thigh holder and dangles it in your vision, and you look back at him with what had to be the most pathetic pleaful look. 
“You still want this?” He asks, and you nod. 
“Words, baby. Need to hear you say it.” 
“God, fuck! Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes,” you cry. “Please, Joel. Need you to—fuck—need you to choke me out. Need it rougher. Need you,” 
“Fuck, baby, you’re a goddamn dream,” he grits. “Tap my thigh twice n’ hard if you need me to stop.” 
“Okay,” you murmur. 
He wraps the leather strap around your throat, buckling it securely before giving it a soft tug. 
“This feel okay?” 
You nod, and he gives you a warning look. 
Words. 
“Yes, Joel. ‘S perfect.” 
He pulls at the strap, and it squeezes the sides of your throat as he resumes fucking you. 
He’s pounding into you relentlessly and a deep, guttural groan leaves his chest and the sound scrapes low in your belly. It makes your pussy flutter around his cock, squeezing him so tight that his hips stutter. 
“Fuckin’ squeezin’ me, baby. She loves this cock, don’t she?” 
You whine and nod, clawing at the comforter as he pulls the strap tighter. Your breathing becomes more shallow and your vision starts to go black around the edges. 
You’re starting to see the stars Joel promised you. 
Joel hears that your little noises he loves oh-so-much have ceased, so he lets up on the strap. You gulp in a big breath of air, looking back at him to give him a wicked smile. 
He almost cums at the sight. 
“Reckon you like it rough, too.” 
You hum in agreement, reaching between your legs to cup his balls. He nearly chokes on a moan at the feeling of you beginning to massage him, and he slaps your ass before pounding into you once again. 
He pulls on the strap again, but this time he leans down so his lips are at your ear. 
“Takin’ this cock like you were made for it, honey.” 
He kisses your neck and moves his lips down between your shoulder blades, nipping at your skin before slinking a hand between your thighs, finding your clit in one perfect move. 
You want to scream and cry his name, but it’s nearly impossible with the restriction on your throat. Your vision blurs black at the edges again and before you know it, your third orgasm of the night is tearing you apart from the inside out. A silent scream evades you. 
You’ve reached the crescendo. 
You’re convulsing around him, and you think he’s saying something like there you go, good girl, but the blood is pounding so hard in your ears that you can barely even register his voice. You barely even feel him take off the holster from around your neck, too. 
Everything blurs together in bliss and dazzling stars and by the time you come to, Joel is grunting words you can finally hear. 
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want me?” 
You do your best to push yourself away from him and clamber onto your knees, right in front of him. 
You give him a satiated smile, all hooded eyes and a fucked out appearance that has him losing it. 
He tosses his head back as he pumps himself a few more times before his cum paints itself across your chest and lower half of your face. 
You’re truly a sight to behold—the look on Joel’s face when his gaze meets yours again says it all. 
He leans down and cups your face, kissing your forehead. 
“I’ll be right back,” he says. 
You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, sitting down on your bed again before Joel is back with a wet washcloth in his hand. He coaxes you to lay back against your pillows as he wipes you down gently. 
The stark contrast of the softness he’s exuding now versus when he fucked your brains out is quite an amusing thing, but appreciated nonetheless. 
He tosses the washcloth in your hamper after he’s finished, slipping his boxers back on before climbing into bed with you. 
He tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze, and his thumb traces over the side of your face. 
“You okay?” He asks, voice gentle and full of worry. 
“More than okay,” you reassure him. Your limbs feel like goo and you can barely keep your eyes open, but you’re floating on cloud nine. 
You curl into him and he kisses your forehead once again, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. 
“Listen, Sunshine. I ain’t really a flowers type ‘a guy,” he starts, and you look up at him again.
Your heart sinks a little and you’re sure Joel can see your face deflate, so he quickly follows up on his previous words. 
“But baby, for you, I’d pick out any one you wanted.” 
And you know that’s his way of saying he’s all in. You let his words marinate for a minute before kissing his chest, right above the steady beat of his heart. 
“Even the white roses from Maria’s garden?” You tease him, knowing those flowers are her prized possession. 
He laughs again, and without a beat, leans his face down to yours with such an incandescently happy smile that his usual frown seems something so foreign to you. 
“Even those.” 
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a/n (pt 2): huge thanks to @ozarkthedog for encouraging me and letting me ramble about this fic.
also, i can’t help but make joel a sappy motherfucker too. he’s a sappy kinky motherfucker.
sorry for any mistakes. this wasn’t revised that well.
hope y’all enjoyed tho.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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millers-angel · 23 hours ago
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i want to worship his body, every part of him, i’d make him lie in bed, let him finger me while i lick, bite and suck his tummy, making sure i’ve tasted every part of it, while his other hand is guiding my head to his cock and make me gag on it <3
252 notes · View notes
indhamar · 1 day ago
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UGGVHHH ME GOODNESS HSHEHSHBDHSBSBHS😭😩💗💗
if you’re taking joel requests here’s one :3
touch-starved!joel who isn’t aware he’s touch starved but then extremely affectionate reader comes along and just always! touches! him! loving & intentional touches, casual touches—all of it drives him wild and he loves it!!
thank you!! I hope this is okay! Touch-starved Joel who wants you but doesn't know how to want you w/ mutual pining ♥︎ fem!reader 2k
Joel wishes you wouldn't work the same shifts as him. Wishes you didn't have to work any shifts at all, wishes you didn't know this life, but you do. He wishes you wouldn't pick all the high-paying, devastating jobs that he does, wishes you didn't insist on keeping him company. And above all, he wishes you wouldn't touch him, because he can't handle the way that he feels when you do. 
Sharing shifts turns to seeing one another outside of the old meat market by accident. In turn, that becomes purposeful. Before he really knows it, you're comfortable enough to come by his apartment and you'll wait there even when he isn't home just to see him. Precious hours of your life spent curled in on yourself at his door. 
Joel nudges your sleeping body with his shoe and then feels like the world's biggest asshole. He sighs, kneeling down despite his aching back, and shakes your shoulder. He notices how soft your jaw looks when you sleep and has to look away, lest he think about it too much now, and remember it later. You have this habit of chasing him into bed when you're not there. 
Your hand wakes before your eyes do, and you curl your fingers around his wrist, half on his sleeve and half on his skin. Where you connect hums with heat. 
"Why are you out here?" He changes his prerogative, feeling as though chastisement is more important. "You have no sense of danger, even now. Get up." 
He doesn't speak without fondness. You'd have to look hard to find it, but it's undoubtedly there.
His tone has you awake and alert quickly, your gaze on his face. "I do," you say croakily, letting him pull you into a standing position. 
"Then what are you doing out here?" 
"I can't call first… You look tired." 
"I am. I'm not staying up." He pulls his wrist from your lingering grasp. "Should've called."
"You act like you don't like me," you say without inflection, following him in through the door and closing it softly behind you. 
He drops his jacket over the back of the couch and scrubs his face with both hands. His back aches from standing and heaving all day, his arms tight with a cramping tension. 
If he were younger he'd turn around and wrap you up in his arms. He'd tell you what he really thinks of you, your head hooked in the crook of his arm, his free hand roaming lazily over your back. His pinky finger would run along the line of your jeans playfully, and maybe you'd laugh. You don't laugh as much as you should. 
"Are you hungry?" he asks. 
"No, Joel."
You'd lie even if you were. 
He moves into the kitchen, makes himself a small glass of water, and leans against the counter. He tries not to drink it like a total pig knowing you're watching, but he's dehydrated and cotton-mouthed. 
The window paints you in a weak light, like iced tea. You pick over his things and arrange yourself on the couch like a tired house cat, pulling your legs up and rubbing your cheek against the backrest. Shoulders to the arm, you're almost lying down. He could superimpose you into his sheets, imagining how you might look in bed, not naked or waiting or anything so salacious, just how you’d look getting ready to sleep. He wonders if you wear pyjamas, figures you likely sleep dressed as you are now in your shirt and jeans. Maybe you swap denim for sweatpants, maybe you don’t. Maybe you peel your shirt off, maybe your bra. He entertains a life where he gets to see it and finds it painful as wrapping his hand around a hot poker, because that life is alarmingly close to this one, if he were to take one small leap.
“Where were you today?” he asks.
He sees a flicker of humour flit across your face. He knows it as one of your tells — you'd thought about bending the truth.
"You don’t have to worry, I’m just… rundown. Felt sicker than usual, so I stayed home." 
It's automatic for him to give you a once over as he would with anybody who feels under the weather. You haven't been unlike yourself, you aren't sweating or irritable. You're fine. You’re more than fine.
You have a strange inability to look after yourself. He believes in positive (and negative) reinforcement. 
"Good girl," he says. 
You smile at your hands, picking at nails he knows are scrubbed raw and clean as he crosses the room to sit with you on the couch. You're quick to push your legs over his lap, your jeans riding up until the rarely-seen skin of your ankles peak out. 
"I had an incredible headache," you continue. "And I felt like the blood was rushing in my ears when I stood up but I wasn’t dizzy.”
You touch him and it's like all his agitation starts to numb itself. The weight of your legs has him forgetting his aching back and his sore arms. He stares at his closed fist by your foot, willing himself to touch you; all he wants to do is grab your leg, feel the dough and softness of it under his palm. You sit up a touch to brush a longer piece of hair sticking out behind his neck. 
He pretends you aren't moving at all. 
"Do you feel better now?" he asks. 
Your knuckle brushes under his jaw. He feels the short hairs of his beard catching. 
"I feel fine," you say. "How are you feeling?" 
He turns to face you head on. He’s not going to answer your question. You already know he won’t, but you've asked anyway. He isn’t sure what to do with that.
“You really do look tired,” you say softly, concern knitting your brows together. He thinks it’s your most devastating look yet. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Joel, I’ll go home. You can get some real rest.”
He almost says Hey, I don’t want you to leave yet, and you’re already standing up. You look more sorry than you should, believing that you're a burden on him when you aren’t — you're a lightness. You drain the levy, and he can’t see himself getting any rest at all if you leave. 
You’re saving him the awkwardness, climbing off of his couch and out of his lap to track down your shoes. “And, you know, you could shower,” you say, trying to infuse some life back into the room, “I know the cold water bites but we all gotta do it.”
He stands up too fast and feels an absence of noise. No blood rushing in his ears, no beating heart. He’s too tired, in every sense of the word, to ask for what he wants. He can’t ask you to stay. 
You lean down to hook your finger into the back of your sneaker and stop at his expression. You stand a little taller. Whatever vulnerability he sees in you now, your short black socks against the floor, your sweet-eyed, tentative smile, he suspects he’d find it doubled in the mirror. 
“Joel, I…”
He can’t ask you. 
But that doesn't mean you can't ask him. 
"Do you think I could stay, after all? To sleep. Just to sleep," you say. Your voice is quiet, like you're trying to spare yourself some dignity if you need to take it back. 
He thinks about it. You, in his bed. You, sleeping as you had been in his hallway, your lashes skimming the delicate skin under your eyes, your neck craned in. You, with your hands under your cheek, your sluggish breathing, your heart capering only a handful of inches from his. 
A beat. "You kick in your sleep?" he asks, cotton-mouth returned.
"No," you say. You laugh through it, making the word so thick it's almost sticky. Honey in sound. 
It solidifies what he's said yes to. He doesn't know how to sleep next to you. He barely knows how to talk to you, and doesn't try as he leads you into his bedroom. Thankfully, you spare him. He knows you aren't the most confident person on the planet, and that each bold move you make is for his benefit. He tries to be unflinching in return, kicking out of his shoes and throwing back the blankets to lie flat on the sheets. You settle in next to him with little ceremony.
You keep your legs hiked up at first, your heels digging into the mattress near his knees. You turn your face to his, and he turns his face to yours. He can see your every wrinkle and line this close. You must be seeing his. 
"You got lucky with the neighbour lottery, huh?" you say, not quite whispering. "It's silent." 
He doesn't want you to stop talking, but he can't help himself. "Almost," he says wryly.
You know him well enough to smile. "I guess you don't need the quiet," —you turn carefully onto your side, letting the weight of your knees rest on his thigh— "'cause you work all day every day." 
The opposite. The shit he sees on shift is enough to give anybody insomnia. 
"I'm the bad neighbour." 
"Oh, right, your radio." The back of your hand touches his arm. The slightest of touches but enough to make him realise how much he wants it. He can't remember the last time somebody touched him who wasn't you, not for years now. It's an amicable casualness he can't explain away. He wants it worse than a hydro.
"I might, uh, might cling a little, in my sleep. You can push me away, swears. Even if you gotta really fight me on it." You close your eyes, burrowing your face into one of his flat pillows. Your knuckles jump up his arm as you get comfortable. "Jus' shove me." 
He closes his eyes. The dark of his eyelids is usually a torment, but with you this close it lulls him quickly and without finesse. "I'm not gonna shove you," he says while he still can. 
He's on the precipice of sleep when your hand slides up his bicep. You feel along the soft ridging of his muscles until your fingers slot between his arm and his chest, and your nose is kissing his shoulder. It's as if the moonlight has heat and it's bearing down on him through the dirty windows as every stressed ligament, every tensed tissue in his sore body finally gives in to rest.
When he wakes, he's missed his morning shift start. You're clinging to him like you said you would, harder than he'd think possible considering your unconsciousness, with your lips pressed to his shoulder. He thinks it might leave a bruise. 
He dips his face toward yours until the tip of his nose nudges your forehead and goes back to sleep.
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pedgito · 2 days ago
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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader x Eddie Munson
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summary | Joel and you go on patrol and woah—Eddie's coming with?
author's note | uh...hahaha. okay. i had a brief moment the other night, a lapse in judgement if you will and was like...joel would so be annoyed of eddie if they were stuck on patrol together and then we got horny and that's how this came about. this is my early valentines gift to WHOEVER is reading and enjoying this, it was a blast to write. a special thanks to @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy &. @chaotic-mystery for supporting my insane and always stupid ideas.
content warning | 18+ MDNI, is this crossfic or crackfic the jury is still out, jackson!joel, eddie munson survives but the cost = apocalypse, threesomes (m/m/f), eddie is an absolute munch, voyeurism, unprotected piv, spitting, ass slaps, slight dom/sub undertones across the board, this is ALL about reader and getting both her men, double creampies, cum feeding, choking, freak nasty at an unhinged level i'm sorry
word count — 5.5k
You were the one who found him.
Eddie.
Alone, hungry, terrified.
Hiding inside an abandoned boathouse for days in a patrol spot that had been neglected for most of the winter. It was only chance that you came alone, usually stuck with Joel who would have scared him off in a matter of seconds.
He’s like a puppy, shrinking impossibly smaller despite his height and lanky figure, hair filthy with a mix of dirt and leaves, weeks spent living savagely in search of his next meal and resting place.
Luckily, Tommy Miller was a soft soul.
One look at Eddie and Tommy didn’t even question it.
Eddie had made his rounds, too. He tried to find a place where he fit - kitchen duty wasn’t great, nor was butchering or helping run the stable.
It isn’t until he throws out the idea of patrolling that Tommy even considers it��it wasn’t something he liked to offer up unless people showed interest.
And even then, it was an adjustment.
A mix of both trust and skill—constant awareness, a willingness to communicate, and the ability to brave whatever challenge or elements you’d face outside the fortified walls of Jackson.
So, that’s where you were.
Eddie has tagged along for your patrol with Joel.
It was two days and one night in the small cabin out west. It wasn’t far from Jackson, either. In fact, it was one of the easier patrols and Joel could easily doze off at his post while you kept yourself busy.
It was easy, calm.
“Is this all you do?” Eddie asks curiously, tearing into his bag of jerky like a rabid dog, the dried meat cracking under the pressure of his teeth, “Just sit?”
It wasn’t the first question he’s asked, nor the last. 
It started with him asking if Joel and Tommy were real brothers before divulging into several questions about life before the infection spread—all mundane and simple, but you have learned so much about Joel in the few years you’ve lived in Jackson.
When he was tired or irritated, happy, when he needed you without the courage to ask, but more importantly—
You could tell when he was annoyed.
You glance over your shoulder and catch the shifty gaze he gives you, biting his tongue for a moment before he nods you over, sitting at the kitchen table whittling away on a chunk of wood to keep himself busy.
Both physically and mentally.
“Shit is a killer,” Eddie adds, “—might have to bring my guitar with me from now on, play some tunes or—“
His voice is drowned out by Joel as he speaks without looking at you, playing your actions off as you were searching through your pack.
“Shut him up,” Joel demands, “now,”
“He’s excited,” You shrug, watching as Eddie stood to explore the cabin, tapping on some old, withering blinds that fell to the floor in an instant, his gaze shooting up at you both and looking immediately sheepish.
“He’s interrupting,” Joel corrects, his head tilting up slightly to look at you as you smirk, biting down on your lip to stifle the laugh in your throat.
Joel was greedy and never shy about it, not with you.
Eddie brings the broken set of blinds over and places it on the table with a smile before pulling the chair back with a loud, ear grating screech against the hardwood and taking a seat with a loud thump.
“Oh, shit—that’s cool,” Eddie notes, pointing lazily at Joel and the soon-to-be figurine tucked away in his meaty palm, met with an eyebrow raise and a quiet noise of acknowledgement before both of their eyes shift to you.
It was similar in intensity, both with entirely different meanings. Joel had you, for months now. One small incident of a shared bed had helped something blossom between each other, though largely unaddressed.
He liked having you around, you liked being around, even if that only meant patrols and the occasional nights Joel would drag you up to his room and have his way.
You don’t question it and neither does he, but Joel was mostly undisturbed until Eddie came along, that all too familiar twinkle in his eye that he caught from many of the younger men around Jackson.
You were like a new toy; fresh and ready to be played with. Although Eddie seemed harmless, he posed a challenge for Joel. Not only because of his growing obsession with you, but because he was a nuisance.
“So, princess,” His feet slam against the table as his boots shake the surface, “what’d you do to keep busy?”
Joel chuckles quietly, a subtle noise that Eddie doesn’t seem to catch, unfortunately you do.
Him. Joel.
Joel keeps you busy. Whether with your mouth or his own.
“Uh, sleep,” You answer lamely, “or nothin’—s’kinda nice to sit with your own thoughts sometimes with how busy Jackson is lately. It’s quiet out here.”
“Dunno ‘bout that,” Joel retorts.
Eddie chuckles unknowingly, “What’s that mean?”
His eyes shift toward you as you shove your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and walk around the table and near him, his fingers dragging along the leather of the jacket he had claimed while sifting through the newest delivery of clothes that had been found during a search.
It was almost identical to his own, save a few tears in the fabric.
“Looks amazing,” Eddie comments, a smile spreading across your face almost instinctively, your heart fluttering with the way his fingers trail against the inside of your palm as he loosely holds your hand, “knew it would.”
Joel watches the exchange with a newfound curiosity.
He’s never been possessive, but seeing you interact with Eddie ignites a strange feeling within him, shifting slightly in his chair to break the moment apart.
“Go on, kid—it’s your turn,” He nods toward Eddie who seems eager to get his first chance at rounding the area, grabbing the shotgun off the table and trampling out the door without question.
As the door shuts, Joel places the items in his hands on the table and scoots back, standing from his chair as quietly walks the expanse of the table before he reaches you, rubbing a finger along the tacky leather of your jacket.
“Princess,” He begins mockingly, “a real charmer, ain’t he?”
You scoff at his tone and push his hand away, quickly met with resistance as his hands cup your face and maneuvers you back against the dining table, clumsily landing against the surface as Joel’s tongue spears between your lips and into your mouth, swallowing up the gasp of surprise that slips out. 
“Are - are you jealous?” You ask through the smothering, wet exchanges of tongue and teeth, spreading your hands out over his broad shoulders before they’re pushing him back, begging for a break. 
“Kid follows you around like a stray,” He tells you, “he’s waiting for a treat—but I think you know that.”
“And if—“ A gentle kiss to the neck, slowly pushing the jacket off your shoulder, “if I do?”
“Careful,” Joel warns, his fingers pushing your shirt off your shoulders before your hands wrap around his thick fingers, pushing him away gently.
“Last I checked, I don’t belong to anyone,” You retorted.
And you’re right—Joel would never force that on you.
You were allowed to have whatever you wanted. Even if it extended beyond him, but for Joel, you were it for him.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever have the courage to admit it, but internally, he’s known it for a while.
“I know a way to keep him quiet,” You begin, tugging weakly at Joel’s belt, still fastened in place and mostly to tease him, his hands spreading out flat against the table to steady himself, “but you aren’t gonna like it.”
Joel could stake his claim now, forbid it.
But, he doesn’t.
There’s a brief glimpse of intrigue that crosses Joel’s features and you catch it, a smile growing on your face.
“Don’t worry, I won’t sneak off,” You assure him, “I know you like to watch.”
Joel’s skin flushes hot at your words, cock swelling behind the layers of fabric that kept him confined.
He’s watched you countless times, under his instructions as you play with yourself, fingers sliding through a slick mess of your own doing, occasionally a mix of his own.
“The kid can barely look at me,” Joel counters, “ya think he’s really gonna do anything with me in the room?”
“I think you severely underestimate me,” You challenge him, “and I really don’t appreciate that,”
“Go on then,” Joel taunts, “that shithead ain’t better than me, we’ll see how well it goes for ya before I have to step in.”
Challenge accepted.
When Eddie returns, Joel takes his place.
“He hates me, doesn’t he?” Eddie asks randomly as he strips off his own jacket and unties the plaid button down from his waist, leaving him in a thin shirt and ripped jeans, toeing off his boots before he collapses into the couch, spreading his legs as one hikes over the back and his hands fall against his stomach.
“Joel is hard to get along with,” You admit.
“You seem to be doing fine,”
“It takes time,” Among other things.
Stripped down to a similar few layers, you fit between his legs as you sit on your knees, elbow propped against the back of the couch as your fist meets your chin.
“I do like the jacket,” You assure him, watching him fiddle absentmindedly with one of his rings as he smiles at you, the lines near his cheek deepening. 
“Yeah?” Eddie perks up with a surge of confidence.
“Don’t let him get to you,” You nod vaguely toward the front door, “he’s just jealous.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows at that, silently begging you to elaborate.
Quietly, you scoot closer and trade his fidgeting hands for your own, playing with his rings.
“He hates the way you look at me,” You admit, spotting the brief recognition across his features before his eyes slowly darken, rising on his elbows as your hand slowly reaches for his shirt, hand sliding out flat against his stomach, “or how I let you touch me.”
“But, we’ve never…”
“I know,” You nod in agreement, “doesn’t mean I don’t want to—I do, I was just…waiting for you to ask.”
The air shifts with your words, watching him slowly raise to his palms as you lean forward, bodies only a few inches away as you climb into his lap, lips brushing against each other briefly.
“M’not—I’ve never—“
“Kissed anyone?”
It was endearing, in a way.
“No, no—‘course I have. Just, never really done much else. I’ve gone down a few times, sucked a couple cocks, but…”
Oh. 
Oh.
”I really shouldn’t be corrupting you on your first patrol,”
Eddie chuckles against your lips, feeling the subtle brush as your hips shift against him, his neck straining as he chases your mouth.
“Fuck it,” Eddie answers flippantly, “Joel’s got it.”
You nod in agreement with a mirrored shrug before Eddie’s kissing you with a sudden eagerness, surprisingly more rough than you’re expecting as his teeth dig into your bottom lip.
He’s smothering in the best way, hands splayed at your hips before they get curious, squeezing at your thighs, legs, finding their way underneath the material of your shirt as his fingers squeeze against the base of your spine. Exploring your mouth curiously until you’re both panting against each other more than kissing, his face squished against your cheek as you rut into him.
“We should move right?” Eddie suggests, “He’s coming back soon.”
“Who cares,” You shrug, leaning back just enough to strip your shirt off and pop the button of your jeans, “besides—maybe he’ll take up my shift for me, you know, if he sees us.”
He wouldn’t, but you still provide reassurance.
And Eddie looks somehow even more adoring as he slips the makeshift hair tie from your wrist and pulls back his own hair, unruly curls and overgrown length, desperately due for a trim.
“Just in case we get messy,” He tells you, watching as you pushed back to strip your jeans off, laying back on the couch before he’s moving between your legs and pulling your pants off the rest of the way, his right hand reaching down the center of his back to yank at his own shirt, discarding it along with the growing pile of clothes.
“I’m counting on it,” You retort, fingers pushing through the front of his hair just before the hastily tied bun as you bring him down slowly, his fingers twisting around the band at your hips, his nose nuzzling into your cunt as he breathes you in, eyelashes fanning over his rosy cheeks.
It’s fresh soap and lavender oils, homegrown and made within the walls of Jackson—he’s become used to the smell. It was like home now, making do with what he had.
He smells of it too with a faint musk of sweat from the spring humidity, silently maneuvering your panties down and off your ankle, tossing them to the floor.
“May I, my lady?” Eddie asks with a smirk, his hot breath fanning over you cunt as you nod frantically, feeling your pussy clench at how close he was, begging for his mouth.
“Oh, please,” You feign distress, a short-lived giggle transforming into a surprised gasp as his tongue spreads through your folds, wide and spearing into you with little hesitation or fumbling hands, surprisingly sure of himself.
Your fingers tighten in Eddie's hair as his tongue explores the divine split between your legs, sending waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body. He laps at your clit with focused intensity, a strange sight as his eyes are closed and his hands tighten around your thighs, alternating between broad strokes and pinpoint flicks of his tongue that make your legs shake.
“Eddie,” You sigh, feeling two fingers breach your hole, pushing inside of you with ease as the dual sensation of his fingers and tongue blind you to everything, back arching from the couch slightly as he hums against your pussy, acknowledging your call, “fuck—oh, god—I’m gonna—”
His eagerness grows with your words, shaking his face slightly into your cunt as his nose grazes your clit, the already sensitive nub soaking up the attention as your walls squeeze around his fingers, dexterous and rubbing deep inside of you, curling at just the right angle.
“I gotcha, princess,” He assures you, moving away for a brief moment to kiss at the spot where your thigh meets your cunt, grunting at how tight you’re gripping the chuck of his hair twisted in your fist, “if you could see her—” His fingers pulling out as he collects the sweet slick, fingers slowly sliding down your pussy and up before he’s bringing the fingers to his mouth, three fit between his lips, “shoulda known you’d make a mess.”
You can only laugh, a broken sigh as he continues his relentless rubbing of your clit, watching as your hole fluttered around absolutely nothing now, missing his tongue and his fingers, both of you so caught up in the moment that you don’t hear the front door creak open until Joel’s boots are stomping past and Eddie’s first reaction is to pull back, your eyes peeking open to stare down a suppressing satisfaction on Joel’s face as your orgasm whisked away from you. 
Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the scene before him - you splayed out on the couch, legs spread wide, and Eddie between them with slick coating his lips and chin. For a moment, tension crackles in the air as Joel's gaze flicks between you and Eddie, before decidedly landing on you.
Then a slow smirk spreads across Joel's face. "Don't stop on my account," he drawls, leaning casually against the back of the couch with his palms curling over the edge, just within reach. "Looks like you two were havin' quite a time without me."
Eddie hesitates, his hands still gripping your thighs. 
"Go on, boy," Joel encourages, his voice low and rough. "Finish what you started."
With a grunt, Eddie dives back in, redoubling his efforts. His tongue swirls around your clit as two fingers plunge inside you once more. You cry out, hips bucking against his face.
Joel moves closer, almost taunting. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Let us hear those pretty sounds."
You gasp at the intensity of Eddie’s tongue, his fingers slipping out to flatten against your chest, stilling your insistent squirming as you grab his hand out of desperation, a need for an anchor.
Your eyes flutter closed, pressure building as the heat in your belly swirled, feeling a hand fist into your scalp similarly to how you had Eddie, but it was Joel, forcing your eyes open with the tinge of pain it brought as he glances down at Eddie who’s also got his eyes on you, obediently silent despite his current course of action.
Your own eyes are pleading, speaking to Joel silently.
Look, I did what you asked. Praise me.
Eddie doesn’t question it, the dutiful boy he was. 
But, he’s also…sensed things for a while.
Pining away at a person who would never truly be his own, already claimed.
Though, maybe he was wrong.
Joel’s eyes on him, Eddie’s on you—Joel was always watching, careful to keep the young pup in line, but he can’t help admiring your face, a mix of anguish and pleasure as you stared up at Joel.
“Come for us, darlin’,” Joel demands, Eddie’s lips sucking at your clit with his pointed words.
You come with a broken sob, an intense wave of ecstasy washing over as Eddie works you masterfully through your orgasm. Joel's approving growl mingles with your cries of pleasure, working silently at his belt as you work through your frantic breathing, patting Eddie’s head gently at his squeezes comfortingly at your thighs.
He’s working up the courage to say something, anything, but you rise to meet him where he is at his knees, “It’s okay,” You assure him, “Joel’s all show, anyways.”
Not true, but you both share a short laugh.
“He likes to watch,” You admit to Eddie, “don’t you, Joel?”
“S’long as my girl is satisfied,” Joel shrugs, a creeping smirk on his face that always meant he was up to no good, “you satisfied, sweetheart?”
To an extent, sure. But, as Joel strips the leather from the loops in his jeans, he’s almost taunting the idea at you and Eddie who isn’t shy about his strange attraction to the energy you both emit, rubbing his palm over the front of his tight jeans, swallowing audibly. 
“Depends,” You counter, reaching forward while your eyes are locked on Joel, matching Eddie’s hand as you squeeze over the sizable bulge in his jeans, “Eddie, you need Joel to show you the ropes?”
You turn to Eddie then, eyes bright and excited but tentative to his response.
“Uh, ya—yeah,” He agrees, “fuck yeah.”
Joel has never been shy, but is quiet about his confidence.
The difference between he and Eddie was stark and obvious, but he could see the kid was genuine. Young, unjaded, still full of life—he knows you’re better suited for Eddie.
But, Joel is also selfish when it comes to you; he could share, within reason.
If you wanted it.
He’s lucky these faded, old couches sit so low otherwise his knees would be punishing him for it.
Eddie’s waiting in the wings, oddly attentive despite the strange dynamic as Joel removes his cock from the confines of his jeans and underwear, lengthy but dominating Eddie in girth without a challenge and he can’t help but look at you, eyes half-lidded and simmering with the remnants of your last orgasm as Joel swiped the head of his cock through your folds, a content hum slipping past your lips.
Joel instinctively spits on your pussy, a sensual action that feels wholly intimate.
It makes Eddie’s mouth water with how pretty you sound, how eager he is to have you make those sounds for him too.
“He wants more,” You note, talking to Joel but your hand reaches for Eddie and spreads out over his thigh, “should I let him fuck me instead?”
“He can’t do it like I do,” Joel smirks and presses the head of his cock inside of you to prove a point, savoring the delicious stretch of him as he pushes his hips forward, nails scratching against the denim of Eddie’s jeans with the motion, your walls squeezing around Joel’s shaft, “she always remembers me, don’ she?”
You gasp with a nod, arching your back as Joel fills you completely. Your hand tightens on Eddie's thigh, and you turn to look at him and instantly see the hunger in his eyes. Joel's hands grip your hips and he starts to move, slow and deliberate at first. Each thrust sends finite sparks of pleasure through your body, helpless to the small moans that escape your lips.
Eddie leans in slightly, mesmerized by your twisted expression of obvious pleasure but also at how Joel’s cock sinks into your cunt with the powerful thrusts as he kneels over your, sinking into the old cushion as your knees hang lazily at his hips, feeling the distant touch of Eddie’s fingers around your ankle, a constant reminder of his presence.
His own erection strains against his jeans, and he shifts uncomfortably, desperate for some relief. Joel isn’t ignoring him either, his hand coming up behind your neck to arch your chin up, exposing your chest to both of the men.
“You want a turn, kid?” Joel grunts, menacingly teasing. He never breaks his rhythm, crows feet deepening around his eyes as his face scrunches up in pleasure, before Eddie can answer Joel speaks again, “gotta earn it—show ‘er some attention.”
Eddie doesn't hesitate. His hands are on you in an instant, cupping your breasts and squeezing. The added stimulation makes you cry out, your body trembling between the two men.
“There ya go,” Joel encourages, “feels good, don’t it?”
You only realize a second too late that he’s talking to you and not Eddie, a sharp slap to your ass as you nod weakly, “Mhm, so good,” You answer softly, earning a chuckle from Joel.
“Forget how cock drunk she gets,” Joel speaks to Eddie who’s as equally mesmerized as Joel.
Joel quickly picks up his pace, thrusting into you harder and faster, the deafening sound of skin slapping against skin drowning out your moans and Joel’s grunts.
“Tell ‘em, darlin’,” Joel demands, “tell Eddie how good I fuck you.”
Your fingers travel higher, curling around his belt as you pull him forward until his knee is pressing into your rib cage, “It’s per—perfect,” You sigh brokenly, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes that deep spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, 
“C’mere and pay attention, ” Joel orders with a growl, nodding his head in a matching motion, “She likes it slow at first, real deep. She’s greedy. You gotta build her up - nice, slow, until she’s beggin’ for it. And trust me, she will.”
Eddie nods dumbly, fingers rising to scratch at his chest as Joel’s thrusts falter, his groans growing longer and deeper, legs shaking with his own impending orgasm.
“Touch me,” You beg up at Eddie, who’s still dumbfounded with his hand on your breast but his eyebrows quirks in question before you’re shaking your head subtly, guiding his hand down to the point where you and Joel are joined, brushing his fingertips over your clit as you nod.
Eddie's fingers circle your sensitive bud hesitant at first, then with more confidence as your breathy moans encourage him. The dual sensations of Joel's thick cock pounding into you and Eddie's skilled fingers on your clit quickly push you to the edge again, gushing over Joel’s cock as his hips falter to a stop and the surge of his orgasm forces a groan from deep within his chest, filling you to the brim with his warm seed. 
“That’s it,” Joel coos, “show Eddie how pretty you look when you come apart on my cock.”
Your orgasm crests as Eddie watches in awe, his fingers continuing their motion over your clit until your hips shake with overstimulation, sobbing weakly as you reach over your head to grip at the couch with the hand that isn’t pinching Eddie’s skin at his waist.
For a moment, there’s silence. Only a mix of your and Joel’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s occasional pant, eyes blown wide with pleasure as Joel stands with a grunt and pulls his jeans and underwear back on, hastily buttoning them before he’s nodding at you.
“Go on,” He says gruffly, “your turn.”
The ache in your cunt is devastating but Joel watches with admiration as the opaque liquid pushes out of your hole as you cunt spasms and you can sense a brief moment of hesitation from Eddie before you finally look at him, a silent moment of understanding.
“Do you want to?” You ask curiously, head rolling to the side as you glance up at him.
“Do I—huh, you’re kidding, right?” Eddie asks with a tone of incredulous disbelief. “Uh, yeah—fuckin’ yeah. I want to.”
You giggle softly, “I’m just checking,” You assure, “I don’t want to pressure you too much.”
Eddie’s eyes darken with desire but still, somehow, maintain his softness.
“There’s no pressure,” He assured, “but if—if you don’t mind I’ve got a couple ideas of my own.”
Oh?
You squeal softly at how Eddie manhandles you into his position of choice, ass held up by his steel grip as your head sinks into the lap of Joel who’s decidedly taken a seat as your head lulls to the side, peering up at him with a playful expression.
He smells like sex and outdoors, a hint of cleanliness from his washed clothes but it was intoxicating, mesmerizing, feeling the ringed hand of Eddie slide up your spine once he’s stripped himself of his remaining clothes without hesitation.
You reach down between your legs to guide him, gasping softly as the head of his cock nudges against your sensitive, swollen folds. Eddie groans at the sensation, his hips jerking forward instinctively.
“Easy,” Joel says instinctively, his eyes stuck on you as he brushes your mused hair away from your face, “remember—slow, she’ll let you know what she wants.”
Eddie nods as he eases inside of you, aided by the prior stretch of Joel, but his length is astounding, nudging deep against your walls before he’s even fully sheathed. His thrusts are fumbling at first, hearing the deep breaths he takes as he adjusts to the intense feeling around his cock, astounded that it has taken him this long to achieve such a thing.
He really shouldn’t beat himself up over, given the end of the world and all, but he can’t believe he’s been missing out on this for so long. 
Eventually he finds a steady rhythm that has you gasping with every thrust, fingers crawling up Joel’s bare chest until you reach his face, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you moan into the denim, drooling over the fabric.
“That’s it,” Joel encourages and Eddie’s eyes are stuck on you, forcing himself to commit the moment to memory, watching how greedily your cunt sucks his cock in, squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he moans pathetically, the sound making your pussy flutter.
And Joel knows he’s still being as equally selfish as earlier, your attention locked on him despite Eddie’s affect on you and there’s tinge of jealousy that strikes Eddie as he watches the exchange, your moans building in intensity before he’s less than carefully maneuvering you upright, towering over you like this with how you sunk into the cushion, his hand traveling up the front of your chest until his fingers squeeze around your neck and tilt your head back until you’re looking directly up at him, pupils blown wide.
You were his in this moment, not Joel’s.
“Open your mouth,” Eddie tells you, lips parting without argument as his thumb drags over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down as your tongue peeks out to lick at his finger with a soft giggle he matches with a toothy grin before he’s accumulating the saliva in his mouth and puckering his lips to spit into your waiting mouth, a long string stretching as it hits your tongue, moaning audibly as you swallow, sealed with a devastating wink from Eddie.
He was giving Joel a run for his money, that much was obvious.
Joel's eyes narrow at the display, a mix of arousal and possessiveness flaring in his chest. 
He won't be outdone that easily. 
With a low growl, he moves to his knees, sandwiching you between the two men as his fingers drift over your clit similar to how Eddie’s had earlier, “Speak up, sweetheart,” He bites, “is he treating you right?”
You nod eagerly, “Faster,” You beg to Eddie, a hand creeping around the back of his neck to fist into his hair that was wild and falling from the tie on his head, an attentive listener as his pace picks up instantly, “fuck—yes, like that!”
Eddie smirks at Joel over your shoulder, clearly enjoying the competition now.
Eddie tightens his grip on your throat slightly as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your body is on fire, caught between the two men and helpless to their greed, seconds away from devouring you whole if you allow it.
Joel’s fingers work your clit in tight circles as he leans into you, nearly chest to chest as his hot breath brushes your ear, “Still ain’t better than me,” He teases, “but he’s got the spirit.”
The gentle brush of his beard and his lips sucking at your neck could make you pass out if you let it and your body trembles, caught between the two men vying for your attention.
Eddie's thrusts grow more erratic as he watches Joel mark your neck beside his fingers, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your head swim.
"Fuck, you feel so good, princess," Eddie groans, his free hand snaking around your stomach, wrapped up in both the men and helpless, "Gonna make you come on my cock while he watches, alright?"
“Uh huh,” You respond airily, a stuttering gasp escaping your lips as Joel’s pace quickens against your clit and matches Eddie’s enthusiastic thrusts, his own moans growing in intensity as his head dips, breathing against the base of your neck as your hand in his hair twists and the other grasps desperately for Joel’s naked shoulder.
“That’s it, darlin’,” Joel purrs decidedly, “Let go for us.”
“I can feel it, princess—s’right there,” Eddie encourages.
Your third orgasm hits you quick, vision whiting out as you clench around Eddie's length. He follows soon after with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you.
The room fills with heavy breathing as you and Eddie come down from your shared high, his grip on your throat loosens, hand sliding down to rest on your collarbone. Joel's fingers slow their movements, drawing out the last tremors of your waning orgasm.
The thought dawns on you as the room stills.
You’re fucking exhausted.
A laugh bubbles from your throat unexpectedly.
“There’s our girl,” Joel chuckles, “ya still with us?”
You nod slowly as Eddie gently maneuvers away from you, the air catching in his throat as he watches this mix of his and Joel’s cum dripping from your cunt, clearing his throat as he hides the smirk on his face. There was a brief look he shares with Joel before Joel’s hand is smoothing over your back, his other hand explorative as he touches between your legs.
“What a goddamn mess,” He notes fondly, swiping up the slick on his fingers before he brings it to your mouth, wordlessly you take the fingers in your mouth and suck, “tell you what—you go on and shower, clean up—the kid and I’ll cover your turn.”
You do have other ideas, but you can sense Joel’s hesitance.
Eddie is a good distance away now, face still flushed as he digs through his bag.
“I thought you couldn’t stand to be alone with him?”
“I’ll put up with it,” Joel admits, “seein’ how much you like him and all.”
“You sure I can’t get you both to join me in the shower?”
Joel hums in disapproval, shaking his head.
“Careful, darlin’—don’t push it,” He warns.
“Do you need any help?” Eddie perks up eventually, a relaxed smile on his face as he grips the fabric of his shirt in his hands.
You shake your head and smile at the subtle rejected puppy dog eyes that flash your way.
“I think you and Joel have a lot to talk about, fortunately.”
And boy, did they ever.
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cavillscurls · 1 day ago
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Thinking about olderboyfriend!joel and reader celebrating all the holidays. Their first Valentine’s Day, their first thanksgiving together, their first Christmas together
this ask is so old, but i thought i’d answer given the nature of today 🥹💌… i don’t have a lot, but here’s some thoughts.
older!boyfriend joel masterlist
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you met in the summer, a long ways before that holiday which always seemed to carry a heavier weight than it needed to. this connotation of perfection that hadn’t existed even in the best of your relationships.
but this one is the best. not one of, but the best. and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that, at times, it does feel perfect.
and you feel good. you feel certain. you have for a while now, but with the impending holiday that always felt more like dread than love, there’s a surge of reassurance when that usual doom never settles in.
you both agreed no gifts. funny enough, it was joel who put up a fight on this front. you could see him practically seething in his shoes, a crinkle in his brow and a pout on his lips as he bargained just one, you don’t gotta get nothin’, and there’s no guilt—just one.
but you shook your head and stood your ground; you would much rather spend the occasion splurging on dinner and drinks, an experience to share between the two of you.
he relented. even agreed to wear a suit—all black, and fuck, if that didn’t make you want to jump his bones on first sight—gelled back his curls, and wore that expensive cologne he saves for special occasions.
he shows up that night thirty-minutes before your reservation, and you’re popping a hand on your hip as soon as you open the door and find him standing there with a bouquet. a dozen red roses.
“i thought we said no gifts,” you huff.
he shrugs. “this ain’t a gift. it’s flowers,” he says, trying to play coy, but you can tell he’s rather proud of himself.
how are you supposed to argue with that?
you accept them, albeit a bit reluctantly, and bring them to your nose with a generous sniff. he’s eyeing you, all of you, the deep crimson dress you’ve chosen leaving little to the imagination. just the reaction you were hoping for.
“thank you,” you tell him, and he reaches out to place a hand at the small of your back, pulling you into his chest so he can lean down and press his lips to your ear.
“you’re welcome, baby,” he rasps, sending a shiver through you, and places a kiss on the side of your head.
dinner is tasty and decadent, made even finer by the company you keep. you split a bottle of red, and make room for dessert—freshly dipped chocolate-covered strawberries. he makes a show of leaning across the table to feed you the first bite, and you laugh so hard, you snort, the steady thrum of wine through your veins keeping you both buzzed and gleeful.
it’s starting to snow when you call a car from the restaurant. he offers an extension to the evening—catch a late showing of the rom-coms you know he can’t stand, but he’d tolerate (and has tolerated) for you. but the air is cold, and he’s so warm, and you’re feeling greedy. you want him all to yourself. that’s all you’ve ever really wanted from this, anyway. him.
you’re in his bed later that night, in his clothes, after he’s given you his real gift—satiating your needs, the desires he understands so well. you’re on your tummy, and he’s on his side, peacefully watching the path of his fingers that trace gentle shapes up and down your spine. you feel your eyelids grow heavy, shutting every few moments.
“hey,” he whispers at one point, voice low with fatigue.
“hm?” you murmur, raising your brows but not quite mustering the energy to look at him.
“i love you.” and it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s no less impactful. an iron rod to your chest, beaming and glowing from the inside out. “you know that, right?”
slowly, you open your eyes, and what you find turns the heat inside your belly up ten fold. he isn’t looking for reassurance or scoping out doubt. those are long gone with the passage of time. he just wants you to know—really know. hear him, and accept it for all it’s worth.
everything, really.
“i know it,” you whisper back, and a sleepy little grin erupts on his cheeks. you can’t help yourself. you lean forward and up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, and muttering against them: “i love you.”
he pulls you onto his chest, then. letting you smother him with your weight and wrapping his arms tightly around you. good. steady. real. perfect.
maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.
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oldsoul007 · 3 days ago
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save a horse
cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader
summary: what started as a frustrating, never-ending rivalry with Joel Miller—his reckless riding, his cocky smirks, his infuriating ability to get under your skin—turned into something else entirely. Something you couldn’t control, couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried. Because beneath all the fighting, the competition, and the stubborn pride, there was heat. And once you gave in to it, there was no turning back.
a/n: “rivals” to lovers, banterrr, cocky Joel, suggestive scenes, heavy kissing, Joel calls reader princess and darlin’
joel miller masterlist
There’s a fine line between love and hate, and Joel Miller lived on the other side of that line—just far enough to keep me from crossing it. Every time I saw him, it felt like that line was being tested, stretched tighter and tighter, as if we were both stuck in some kind of wild tug-of-war.
I had my life all planned out. The pristine, polished world of show jumping and barrel racing was where I thrived. Clean, controlled, the kind of competition where technique and precision mattered more than the mess. I rode with grace and poise—everything about me screamed class and focus.
Then there was Joel.
Joel was the kind of cowboy who thrived in the dirt. The rougher, the better. He was known for his wild, reckless rides—bareback bronc riding, calf roping, and the like. He didn’t care about the mess. He thrived on it. He loved the mud, the sweat, the adrenaline of it all. He reveled in the chaos, and I couldn’t stand it.
We met at a local rodeo competition one fateful evening. I was there for the barrel race, wearing my pristine boots and jacket, my hair perfectly styled beneath my hat. Joel was competing in the rough stock event, his face covered in dust and grit, his clothes stained with sweat. He had the audacity to walk past my stall just as I was prepping my horse.
“Hope you’re not planning on getting too dirty in that competition,” he smirked, his voice low and mocking. “This ain’t your kind of rodeo, y/n.”
I shot him a sharp look, barely containing my irritation. “I don’t think I asked for your opinion, Joel.”
He chuckled, leaning in a little closer, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re a little uptight, aren’t you? I’d hate to see you get all flustered in the dirt. You’ll never make it through the next round.”
I could feel my pulse quicken with a mix of anger and something else—something I definitely didn’t want to acknowledge. “Maybe you should stick to your rough events. Let the classy riders handle the rest.”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a smirk. “Classy, huh? Well, you better hope you can handle a real challenge when it comes your way.”
I was ready to snap back, but I didn’t have time. The announcer called for the next round, and I needed to focus. I shot him a glare before walking away, but I could feel his gaze on me the entire time.
The competition was intense. Every part of me focused on executing each turn, each jump, with perfection. I had trained for years, and it paid off. My time in the barrel race was top-notch—clean, precise, with every second of the run perfectly controlled.
But as I crossed the finish line and the crowd erupted in applause, I spotted him again. Joel was in the middle of his calf roping event, the exact opposite of what I’d just done. His horse was galloping full speed toward a runaway steer, and I couldn’t help but watch. He was all muscle and grit, moving with an ease that looked almost reckless. His rope flew through the air, securing the steer in one fluid motion, and the crowd went wild.
I hated that it was impressive. I hated that it made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the competition.
Afterward, I found myself near the stables, cooling down my horse when Joel appeared again, this time covered in more dirt than ever. His shirt was half undone, his hair sticking out in every direction.
“You know,” he said, walking up to me, “you were pretty impressive out there.”
I raised an eyebrow, trying to remain composed. “You’re just trying to be nice because you lost.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent an unexpected shiver through me. “I didn’t lose. But I’ll admit, you made it look easy.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Well, I don’t roll around in the dirt for a living.”
Joel’s eyes glinted. “I’ve never been afraid to get dirty. Guess that’s what makes me better at what I do.”
I looked him up and down, shaking my head. “You’re just a mess, Joel. There’s no finesse in what you do. It’s all chaos.”
“Chaos is how things get done,” he said, stepping closer. “Everything has to be perfect for you though, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what makes me a winner.”
He cocked his head to the side, his lips twisting into a grin that made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t control. “Funny. I think we both know it’s not always about perfection.”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool. “Maybe. But at least I’m not playing around with danger and risk every second. I’d rather be classy than reckless.”
Joel’s smile faltered, and for a second, I thought he might actually take offense. But then he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “You know, y/n, maybe one day, I’ll show you how much fun it can be to throw caution to the wind. You might surprise yourself.”
I shook my head, pushing him back with a firm hand on his chest. “Don’t hold your breath, Miller.”
For a moment, we just stood there, the tension between us palpable. The air crackled with something that wasn’t hate, but it wasn’t quite attraction either. It was something in between, something that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“Alright, princess,” Joel said, his voice softer this time. “You keep riding your pretty little circles. I’ll keep riding the rough stuff. But don’t forget—when you’re ready for a real challenge, you know where to find me.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned, leading my horse back to the stables, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks and the pulse of excitement that had nothing to do with the competition.
Joel Miller was chaos. He was everything I wasn’t. But somehow, despite myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were both waiting for the inevitable clash. And when it came, it was going to be one hell of a ride.
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I don’t know what it was about Joel Miller that set my blood boiling—maybe it was the way he always had to have the last word, or maybe it was the fact that he rode like a reckless idiot and still managed to win. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stand him.
And yet, I couldn’t seem to avoid him either.
“Careful, princess,” Joel drawled one afternoon as I tightened Maple’s saddle before practice. “Wouldn’t want you breakin’ a nail before your big fancy event.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself to keep my focus on the leather strap in my hands. “And I wouldn’t want you falling off your horse and bruising that oversized ego of yours,” I shot back sweetly.
Joel smirked, leaning against the stall with that insufferable confidence. “Darlin’, I don’t fall.”
I finally turned to look at him, crossing my arms. “No, but you sure like to run your mouth.”
He grinned. “And you sure like to pretend you don’t like it.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re delusional.”
“Yeah? Then why do you always find me?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You find me, Miller.”
He took a step closer, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Right. And you’re always right here, ready to argue.”
I hated that he was right. I hated that he knew exactly how to get under my skin, knew exactly what buttons to push.
And worst of all, I hated that I liked it.
Every run-in with Joel was like this—an endless cycle of back-and-forths, teasing jabs that always left me flushed, irritated, and on edge. He was rough and reckless, all dirt and sweat and wild confidence, while I was polished, precise, and disciplined. We weren’t supposed to mix.
But that didn’t stop the tension from simmering beneath every argument, every too-long glance, every time he leaned in just a little too close, like he was daring me to cross that line.
And maybe, just maybe, I was getting closer to doing exactly that.
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the rodeo grounds, the smell of dirt and hay thick in the air. Most of the competitors were unwinding before the next round, tending to their horses or grabbing something to eat.
I had been brushing down Maple when I heard a small voice nearby.
“Can I pet him?”
I turned, curiosity piqued, and spotted a little boy standing a few feet away from Joel and his horse, Ford. The kid couldn’t have been older than six, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking on his heels like he was nervous.
Joel, who had been adjusting Ford’s saddle, turned to look at him.
For a second, I expected him to wave the kid off. He wasn’t exactly known for being warm.
But instead, Joel crouched down to his level, resting his forearm on his knee. “Yeah? You like horses?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “He’s big.”
Joel chuckled. “Yeah, he is.” He reached up, giving Ford a firm pat on the neck. “But he’s a good boy. You wanna sit on him?”
The kid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Joel nodded. “C’mon.”
The boy practically bounced in excitement as Joel lifted him up with ease, settling him gently on the saddle. He kept a firm hand on the kid’s back, making sure he was steady, while Ford stood still, completely unfazed.
The boy grinned wide, gripping the horn of the saddle like he was ready to take off. “I’m a cowboy now!”
Joel chuckled, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “That’s right, little man.”
And damn it if my heart didn’t melt right there.
I had seen Joel Miller in plenty of ways—cocky, infuriating, reckless.
But this?
This was new.
He was gentle. Patient. And watching him interact with that kid, making his whole day with nothing more than a simple ride, did something to me that I really didn’t want to think too hard about.
I must’ve been staring too long because suddenly, Joel’s eyes flicked up and locked onto mine.
The smirk came back instantly, like he could sense the effect he had on me. “What?”
I rolled my eyes, quickly turning back to Maple. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“Shut up, Miller.”
But as much as I tried to ignore it, the image of Joel smiling up at that kid, looking so damn soft, was burned into my mind.
And for once, I didn’t hate it.
The day was winding down, the sun sinking lower in the sky, and the arena was quiet except for the faint rustling of hooves and the occasional call from the crowd. The final competition was just around the corner, and I was out on the practice field, determined to get in some last-minute work before everything went down tomorrow. Maple was calm as always, and I was focused, running the barrels with precision and grace. Every turn was tight, every motion measured. I was in control, just like I always was.
But the world has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it.
I had just completed my last run when I heard a sudden, sharp sound from the far side of the arena. At first, I didn’t think much of it—until I saw the flash of a calf breaking through the fencing, charging across the field at full speed, clearly startled and out of control.
I instinctively pulled on Maple’s reins, trying to guide her out of the way, but she was spooked, her head shooting up as she began to buck and rear. The calf was moving fast, its hooves pounding the earth, and Maple, already skittish, couldn’t seem to calm down.
“Maple, whoa, easy girl!” I shouted, trying to get her back under control, but the harder I tried, the more she panicked. I was losing my grip, my heart racing as I struggled to hold on. The cow was heading straight for us now, and Maple was getting more and more frantic.
“Shit!” I cursed under my breath, pulling harder on the reins, but nothing worked. I was completely out of control, the adrenaline surging in my veins as Maple bolted, jerking me to the side. I could feel the ground beneath me shift, my grip slipping, and then—without warning—Maple’s leg caught on something, and she pitched forward, throwing me off.
I hit the ground hard, the air knocked from my lungs as pain shot through my back and shoulder. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn’t respond, the pain paralyzing me as I gasped for air.
“Y/n!”
I heard a voice—Joel’s voice—shouting through the haze.
Before I could even react, I felt the ground shift beside me. Joel was there, dismounting Ford and rushing over to me, his face a mask of concern, his eyes wild.
“Stay still,” he said, his voice rough as he kneeled beside me. His hands hovered over me, unsure of where to touch, and I saw the rare flicker of concern in his usually confident gaze.
I tried to push myself up, the pain from my shoulder shooting through me. “I’m fine,” I lied, gritting my teeth. “I don’t need your help.”
Joel’s expression darkened, and his hands moved to my shoulders, gently forcing me back down onto the ground. “Don’t move. You’re not fine.”
I glared at him, the frustration bubbling up again. “I said I’m fine, Joel. Just… just go away.”
“Please just stop being so damn stubborn.” His voice was harsh, almost angry, but not with me—more with the situation, with how I was refusing help when I clearly needed it. He wasn’t joking now. “I’m just trying to help you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the pain in my shoulder was too much, and I winced, the sharp sting cutting off my words. My breathing was labored now, my heart still pounding in my chest from the chaos of the moment. For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, me lying in the dirt, Joel kneeling beside me, both of us breathing hard from the rush of adrenaline.
“Look, I don’t need you playing the hero,” I managed to mutter, trying to sit up again, but Joel gently pushed me back down.
“I’m not playing anything, y/n. You can’t even move. I’m not going to leave you out here alone just because you’ve got too much pride to admit you’re hurt,” he said, his tone firm, but underneath, I could hear the edge of concern. “If you don’t stop fighting me, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”
I glared at him, but the frustration I felt earlier melted into something else—a mix of embarrassment and anger. He wasn’t wrong. I had to admit, I had overestimated myself, and now I was paying the price.
“Fine,” I muttered, still struggling to sit up, but feeling the weight of the pain in my body. I could barely lift my arm without it aching. “I guess you’re right. But don’t think I’m going to thank you for it.”
Joel raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk returning, but it wasn’t as cocky as it usually was. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just making sure you don’t make it worse by being stubborn.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but another wave of pain shot through my shoulder, making my breath catch. I grimaced, closing my eyes. “I’m not stubborn,” I managed to mutter, my voice strained. “I just don’t like being treated like I can’t handle things.”
Joel’s expression softened, just slightly, and for a moment, I saw something else in his eyes—something genuine, not the usual teasing or arrogance. “I get it. But sometimes you need help. And it’s okay to accept it.”
I swallowed hard, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck, but I couldn’t argue with him. I was hurt. I couldn’t handle everything on my own, and right now, I really did need him.
“Just help me up,” I finally muttered, my voice quiet, but there was a hint of surrender in it now.
Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, carefully pulling me into a sitting position, his hand firm on my back as he steadied me. “Easy,” he said, his voice soft now. “We’ll get you back to the stables and make sure you’re okay.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, the rush of the competition, the pain, and Joel’s unexpected calm all mixing together in a way I wasn’t sure how to process. I hated needing help. I hated showing weakness, especially in front of someone like Joel. But as he gently helped me up and guided me back to safety, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore.
Maybe, for once, it was okay to let someone else take charge. Even if that someone was Joel.
Joel guided me carefully back toward the stables, his arm lightly supporting my back as I limped along beside him. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my shoulder, and I was starting to realize just how badly I had underestimated the situation. Maple had finally calmed down, now tied to the post a few yards away, but my head was still reeling from the chaos, the fear, and the sharp ache that spread from my shoulder down my side.
Joel’s grip on me was steady, strong, but not intrusive—just enough to keep me from stumbling. He kept his pace slow, making sure I could keep up, his brow furrowed in concentration. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a seriousness that felt oddly comforting in the midst of everything.
When we reached the stables, he led me to a bench just outside, carefully helping me sit. His hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment, the touch gentle yet reassuring. I looked up at him, surprised by how quiet he was. Usually, he would’ve been making some sarcastic comment or teasing me for getting hurt, but now he seemed… concerned. In a way I hadn’t expected.
“Stay put,” he said, his voice softer than usual as he crouched down to inspect my shoulder. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit. You’ll be fine.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t so sure about that. The pain had dulled a bit since I sat down, but it still throbbed with every movement. I wanted to argue, to tell him I could take care of myself, but at this point, it seemed pointless. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was stubborn just to prove some point.
Joel disappeared into the nearby barn and returned a few minutes later with a first aid kit in hand. He knelt down in front of me, his eyes scanning my shoulder, and I could see him evaluating the injury carefully. There was no arrogance now, no cocky humor. He was all business.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he muttered, gently lifting my arm to get a better look at the injury.
I winced, trying not to flinch, but the pain was undeniable. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing my voice to sound dismissive. “Just a little bruise. I’ll be fine.”
Joel didn’t buy it. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything. This could be worse than it looks.” He carefully started cleaning the area around the bruise, his touch light but deliberate, making sure he didn’t aggravate the injury. “You always act like you don’t need anyone’s help. But it’s okay to admit when you’re in trouble.”
I gritted my teeth at his words, but there was no edge to his tone—just quiet honesty. I didn’t want to admit that he was right, that maybe I had been pushing myself too hard lately, that maybe I had been too proud to ask for help. But it was hard to keep up the act when he was standing there, so close, so damn calm.
“I don’t need a lecture, Joel,” I muttered, trying to shift my position slightly.
His hand paused as he looked up at me, his eyes catching mine. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t make it worse. You can’t keep pretending like you’re invincible. You’re not.”
The words hung in the air between us, and for the first time, I felt a wave of vulnerability wash over me. I didn’t want to feel like this. I didn’t want to admit that maybe I had been running on empty for far too long, that maybe I didn’t have it all figured out. Not with him, not with anyone.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what happened back there. It’s like I lost control for a second.”
Joel didn’t respond immediately. He finished cleaning the cut and then started wrapping it in gauze, his movements methodical and practiced. I had expected him to make some quip, to tease me for showing weakness, but instead, he was quiet—focused.
When he finished, he finally looked up, his expression softer now. “It happens to the best of us. You got scared, and that’s okay. But you don’t have to do this alone, y/n.”
I met his gaze, the weight of his words settling in the pit of my stomach. His sincerity was something I hadn’t expected, and it threw me off more than I cared to admit.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The only sound was the quiet rustling of the wind and the distant hum of the rodeo grounds. I could feel the tension between us, still hanging in the air, but now there was something different about it—something that wasn’t just about competing, or winning, or proving who was stronger.
“Thanks,” I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “I didn’t expect you to… actually help.”
Joel gave me a dry chuckle, sitting back on his heels. “Don’t go thinking this means I’ve gone soft, darlin’. I’m still gonna beat you tomorrow.”
I couldn’t help but smile, the familiar banter easing the weight of the moment. “You’re still insufferable, you know that?”
His grin returned, that cocky edge creeping back into his voice. “And you’re still stubborn. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Makes the competition interesting.”
I shook my head, but this time, there was no animosity behind it. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—maybe even gratitude—for the way he’d handled this.
“Just don’t think you’re getting an easy win,” I shot back, feeling a hint of the old spark return. “I’m coming for you.”
Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, his eyes glinting with the usual challenge. “Bring it on. I’ve been waiting for you to step it up.”
For a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness between us, the rivalry still there, but tempered by something new. Something I didn’t quite understand, but I was starting to admit I didn’t mind.
Joel stood up, offering me a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the bed and breakfast and take it easy for the rest of the night. You’ve got a competition to win tomorrow.”
I hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, letting him help me up. The steady warmth of his grip was comforting, and I couldn’t ignore the way my pulse quickened with his touch. There was something about Joel—something that pushed all my buttons, something that made me want to keep fighting and keep running, but also, maybe, something that made me want to stay.
I brushed off the thought, refusing to let it linger as I walked beside him back to the stables. There was still a competition to prepare for, after all, and tomorrow, I’d make sure he knew that I wasn’t going down without a fight.
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The morning buzzed with the smell of fresh coffee and bacon as I walked into the small dining room of the bed and breakfast. Most of the rodeo crowd was already there, gathered around wooden tables, chatting between bites of biscuits and gravy.
Still half-asleep, I grabbed the nearest cowboy hat from the rack by the door and plopped it onto my head without thinking.
I didn’t realize my mistake until I felt the weight of a stare burning into me.
Slowly, I looked up—right into the amused eyes of Joel.
He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, that damn smirk creeping onto his face. “Mornin’, princess.”
I blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Joel tapped his fingers on the table, clearly enjoying himself. “That your hat?”
I frowned, reaching up to tug it down more firmly—only to freeze when I realized it wasn’t mine.
It was his.
I had grabbed Joel’s hat.
Before I could rip it off my head, he tilted his head, voice dropping just enough for only me to hear. “You know what they say…” His smirk turned downright sinful. “Wear the hat—“
“Don’t.” I yanked the hat off my head and smacked it against his chest before he could finish that sentence.
Joel just chuckled, gripping the hat with ease, his fingers brushing mine for a split second longer than necessary. “Hey, no need to be shy about it. Could’ve just told me you wanted—”
“Don’t even start.” I huffed, grabbing a cup of coffee and heading straight for the other side of the room, ignoring the way my face burned.
“Hey, wait,” Joel called after me, and despite every bone in my body telling me to keep walking, I paused.
His voice was quieter now, a little more serious. “How’s your shoulder?”
I blinked, surprised. “What?”
“Your shoulder,” he repeated, leaning forward with that same familiar, cocky grin, but his eyes—there was something softer there. “Y’know, after that little run-in with the calf yesterday. Didn’t want you to use it as an excuse when I beat you later.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the unexpected flutter in my chest. “It’s fine. Barely hurts.” I squared my shoulders just to prove the point. “And I’m still competing, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Joel chuckled, tipping his hat. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”
Even with my back turned, I could feel his eyes on me.
And worse?
I wasn’t sure I hated it.
Competition day always had a certain energy to it—electric, tense, buzzing with anticipation. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the rodeo grounds, the air thick with the scent of dust, horses, and sweat. The crowd was already gathering, and the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, calling out the lineup for the day’s events.
I should have been focused. I needed to be focused. But, of course, Joel was making that impossible.
“You nervous, princess?” His voice came from behind me, slow and smug as I checked Maple’s saddle one last time.
I exhaled, gripping the leather a little tighter before turning to face him. “Not in the slightest.”
Joel grinned, standing there with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, looking like he hadn’t lost a wink of sleep over today’s competition. Unlike me, he didn’t believe in overpreparing or second-guessing. He just rode, wild and free, as if the rules didn’t apply to him.
“You sure?” he pressed, tilting his head. “You’ve been triple-checking that saddle for the last five minutes.”
“Maybe I just like to be thorough,” I shot back.
Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, walked up just in time to witness our usual back-and-forth. He clapped Joel on the shoulder, shaking his head with a grin. “Man, do y’all ever stop?”
“Nope,” said another voice—Kailen, my best friend, who had been standing nearby, watching with barely concealed amusement. She raised a brow at me. “You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, you sure spend a lot of time talking.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the announcer’s voice rang through the speakers, calling up the tie-down roping competitors—Joel’s event.
Joel shot me a wink. “Guess we’ll have to finish this conversation later.”
“Can’t wait,” I muttered as he strolled off, exuding nothing but confidence.
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Joel went first. I watched from the sidelines as he rode out with Ford, moving like they were one body. He chased down the calf, lassoed it with effortless precision, and leapt from his saddle in one fluid motion.
The crowd roared as he finished his tie-down in record time, standing back with that damn smug expression as if he knew he was the best.
Tommy whistled from beside me. “Damn, he’s gonna be impossible to deal with after that one.”
Kailen nudged me. “You good?”
I forced myself to unclench my fists. “Fine.”
I wasn’t.
Because the second Joel met my gaze from across the arena, his smirk turning into something slower, something challenging, I felt my stomach flip in a way I really didn’t need before my own event.
It was my turn.
The crowd was still buzzing from Joel’s performance, but I didn’t let it distract me. I mounted Maple, adjusting my grip on the reins as we trotted into the arena.
I took a breath. Blocked out the noise. Focused.
Then, at the sound of the buzzer, we flew.
Maple moved with power and grace, muscles coiling and releasing as we weaved around the barrels with razor-sharp precision. The turns were tight, the speed unmatched. Every movement was calculated, controlled—until the last barrel.
Just as I rounded it, I saw a blur of movement from the corner of my eye. Something—someone—was too close to the fence. Maple spooked, just a fraction of a second’s hesitation, but it was enough to cost me.
We crossed the finish line fast, but not fast enough.
I let out a breath, my heart hammering as I slowed Maple to a trot.
Second place.
Not first.
Not him.
As I dismounted, frustration burned in my chest. I had been so close.
“Hell of a ride,” Joel’s voice came from behind me, and I turned to find him standing there, Ford’s reins in hand, watching me with that unreadable expression. “Shame about that last turn, though.”
I gritted my teeth, yanking off my riding gloves.
“What?” His lips twitched. “I’m just sayin’—”
“You’re gloating.”
Joel stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “You mad ‘cause you lost, or mad ‘cause you lost to me?”
I shot him a glare, my skin still buzzing from the adrenaline. From the way he was looking at me. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable,” he murmured, his eyes flickering down to my lips before meeting my gaze again. “Always so desperate to be perfect. Always so scared to just let go.”
I hated that he could see through me. Hated that he knew how much this got under my skin.
But most of all?
I hated how much I wanted him to kiss me right then and there.
“Y/n!” Kailen called, jogging up before I could say—or do—something stupid.
I tore my eyes away from Joel, breathing out sharply. “Coming.”
Joel leaned in just a little, voice low in my ear. “We’re not done, darlin’.”
I turned my head, meeting his gaze with a challenge of my own. “Not even close.”
The rodeo wrapped up as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in a hazy golden glow. The smell of sweat, dust, and leather lingered in the air as competitors packed up for the night, some celebrating, some nursing bruised egos.
I should have been happy with second place. It was a solid run, and I knew Maple and I had given it everything. But standing there watching Joel grin and drink a beer like he hadn’t just walked away with a damn trophy made my blood boil.
And worse? It made something else simmer beneath my skin.
Kailen nudged my side, her gaze flicking between me and Joel, who was leaning against the fence with Tommy, talking and laughing. “You look like you either want to murder him or fuck him.”
I scoffed. “Try murder.”
“Sure,” she said, dragging out the word like she didn’t believe me for a second. “You gonna pretend you weren’t watching him the whole time?”
I turned sharply toward her. “I was not—”
“You totally were.” She smirked. “And he knows it.”
I glanced back at Joel, and sure enough, his eyes were already on me, like he’d been waiting for me to look. The second our gazes met, he lifted his beer bottle slightly, that damn smirk never leaving his face.
Cocky asshole.
I tore my gaze away and turned to Kailen. “I need a drink.”
She grinned. “Now that I can help with.”
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Later that night, most of the rodeo crowd had gathered around a bonfire outside the bed and breakfast. Someone had set up speakers playing old country music, and the smell of barbecue mixed with the smoke from the fire.
I sat on a hay bale, nursing a beer, trying to shake the way Joel had been in my head all damn day.
But of course, he had to make it worse.
“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Joel’s voice drawled from behind me.
I exhaled slowly before turning to look at him. “Why? Thought I’d be too busy polishing my second-place ribbon?”
Joel chuckled, taking the spot next to me like he belonged there. “Nah. Just figured you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me after today.”
I scoffed, taking a sip of my beer. “I don’t.”
“Yet, here you are.”
I turned to him, narrowing my eyes.
He leaned back, propping an arm on the hay bale, looking so damn relaxed it made me want to shove him off. “You always this fun at parties?”
I set my drink down and faced him fully. “What is it you want?”
He studied me for a second, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he shrugged. “Just wonderin’ how long you’re gonna pretend you don’t feel this.”
My breath caught, but I covered it with a laugh. “Feel what?”
Joel tilted his head, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before flicking back to my eyes. “This,” he said, voice lower now. “The thing between us.”
I swallowed, suddenly hating how warm the fire felt against my skin. “There is no thing.”
Joel just smirked, like he could see right through me. “Right.”
The tension was thick—too thick.
I should have left, should have walked away before I did something stupid.
But Joel, of course, had to push.
“You mad ‘cause I won, or mad ‘cause you know I’m right?” he asked, leaning in slightly.
And just like that, my patience snapped.
“God, you are so insufferable!” I huffed, standing up abruptly.
Joel followed, rising to his full height, his body inches from mine. “And you are so damn stubborn.”
“Because I don’t fall for your stupid games?”
“No, because you pretend you don’t want this!”
My jaw clenched. “I don’t.”
Joel let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”
I pushed at his chest, more out of frustration than anything, but he barely moved. “You are the last person I’d ever—”
Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist, tugging me forward. “Then tell me to stop.”
I froze.
The bonfire crackled behind us, voices and laughter distant, drowned out by the pounding of my own heart.
Joel’s eyes searched mine, his breathing heavy, his grip firm but not unkind. “Tell me to walk away, y/n.”
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Joel's grip on my wrists tightened, his eyes burning with a fury that mirrored mine. "I'm talking about the fact that I can't stand you, y/n. I can't stand watching you shut me out, push me away, acting like you've got everything figured out."
I blinked, stunned by the words he'd just said.
"You can't stand me?" The words stung, more than I wanted to admit, but I was too furious to back down now.
Joel's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah. I can't stand how you make everything so damn hard. I can't stand how you act like I'm some kind of joke. But I can't stop thinking about you either. You don't get it, do you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, the raw emotion there now, the heat between us intensifying with every word. "I want you, y/n. I want you so fucking much, and I can't stand it."
The words hit me like a slap, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, staring up at him, realizing that everything l'd been fighting— everything I thought I knew-was coming to a head. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, the heat and the desire that had been simmering beneath our constant bickering now breaking free in an overwhelming wave.
Without thinking, I pushed myself up onto my toes, crashing my lips into his with all the pent-up frustration, desire, and raw emotion I'd been holding back. His hands immediately moved to my back, pulling me flush against him, and the moment our lips met, it was like everything exploded. His kiss was demanding, urgent, filled with everything we hadn't said before-the anger, the passion, the need.
I tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body against mine, the way our breaths mingled as we kissed like it was the only thing that mattered. I could feel the way his muscles tensed under my fingers, the rawness of him, the way he was losing control just as much as I was.
"Y/n," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and raspy. "I can't stop... can't stop thinking about you."
I pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, my chest heaving with breathless anticipation. "Then don't," I said, my voice shaky but full of conviction. "Stop fighting it."
Joel groaned against my mouth, his arms wrapping around me in an instant, pulling me flush against him. The kiss was rough, urgent, months—years—of tension exploding all at once.
He backed me up until my back hit the fence, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I’d pull away. But I wasn’t going anywhere.
The kiss deepened, urgent, messy, full of everything we had been avoiding. I felt his hands running down my back, pulling me even closer as if he couldn't get enough, as if everything we had been holding back was finally being released in the fire between us.
My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles flexed with every move. I pulled him closer, his breath coming fast and shallow as he kissed me harder.
I didn't think about the competition. I didn't think about the risks or the consequences. All I could focus on was the heat between us, the passion that had been building for so long, finally bursting open in a wave that left us both breathless and lost in the moment.
When we finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air, Joel rested his forehead against mine, his hands still gripping me tightly.
"Shit," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That was-"
I didn't let him finish, pulling him back into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, more deliberate.
Joel's grin spread, a familiar cocky smirk returning, but now there was something more beneath it-something real, something that neither of us could deny.
We made it back to the bed and breakfast and I wasn't sure what I expected after everything— after the anger, the lust, the feeling of crossing some line l'd never been able to cross before-but in that moment, none of the thoughts I had before made sense anymore.
Joel's lips were still on my skin, his hands brushing against my body with a familiarity that felt too natural. I couldn't quite process it all-the way my heart raced, the way he moved so confidently, but also with that trace of hesitation like he was waiting for me to push him away. And I could feel the shift, the change, that had come with everything.
I could feel it in the way he touched me now-so gentle, but deep with a hunger I hadn't expected.
His lips trailed over my neck, down my jaw, slowly, like he was savoring every second. It made my breath catch, my pulse quicken as I let myself fall into the feeling, into him.
"Y/n..." he whispered, his voice rough, barely above a breath. "I didn't think it would be like this. But damn, I can't stop..."
He didn't finish the sentence, and I didn't need him to. I knew exactly what he meant. It was the same thing I was feeling, the same pull, the same want.
I wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't thinking about the competition, about the rivalry, about all the reasons we shouldn't be here, doing this.
I reached up, pulling him into a kiss, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if somehow that would make it all make sense. His hands slid under me, lifting me slightly, and I could feel him shift, his body pressing against mine with a desperate kind of intensity.
We couldn't keep our hands off each other. His touch was scorching, a contrast to the cool sheets beneath us. My hands roamed over his chest, feeling the taut muscles there, the heat radiating from him.
He groaned softly when my fingers brushed his collarbone, his lips parting in that same quiet desperation.
I could tell he was holding back-like he was giving me a chance to stop him, to pull away. But I didn't want to. I couldn't stop him.
When his hands found their way down to my waist, pulling me even closer, I couldn't stop the soft gasp that escaped me. And that was it. He kissed me again, this time rougher, the pace of his movements picking up, pushing me deeper into the moment.
I wanted him. God, I wanted him more than I wanted to admit.
Joel's mouth found mine again, his hands now working to tug my shirt off, and I wasn't stopping him. I didn't care anymore. All the walls, all the resistance, all the history between us—it melted away, and the only thing that mattered was what we were doing right now.
We were giving in. We were no longer fighting it.
My body responded instantly, moving against his, matching the intensity of his kiss, the roughness of his hands. He was relentless, his kisses growing deeper, more urgent, as if he couldn't get enough.
And I couldn't either.
The way he touched me made everything else feel irrelevant. The way his lips trailed down my body sent sparks of heat that burned away every other thought I had, until all I could think about was him.
It felt so right, but at the same time, so completely new.
Every touch, every movement, was a revelation. He wasn't the same man l'd been arguing with all day. He was someone else now-someone raw, someone real. Someone who was finally, finally, showing me all the things he'd been holding back.
And I realized, in that instant, I wasn't the only one letting go. He was too.
His body pressed against mine, heat radiating off him, as if he was saying everything he couldn't with words. His kiss was hungry, fevered, but there was something more to it-something soft, something almost... gentle.
I felt his hand on my back, guiding me, moving me closer, as if there was no space between us, as if we were meant to be tangled up in this moment, in this feeling. We were no longer the same stubborn, competitive people. We were two people who had finally let go of everything and just given in.
And I couldn't bring myself to stop.
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colmiillo · 5 months ago
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When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.
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thatboisus · 6 months ago
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me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media
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inknopewetrust · 2 months ago
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aphrcdites · 2 years ago
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the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object
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winnysplayground · 5 months ago
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“he’s so babygirl”
babe he just killed somebody.
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