#joel miller x you

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

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[lowrisemiller]

me and my old man bf <333

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

hiii, how are u? for the 7k bingo could you do Joel Miller with sex pollen? hope u have a nice day :)

.⋆｡Blooming｡⋆.

7k Follower Bingo

Joel Miller x plus size reader

During patrol, you come across a weird-looking plant and can’t help but to check it out, though you’re not the one that gets in trouble when you touch it

Warnings: sex pollen, SMUT, older man and younger woman (age not specified), unprotected sex, pull-out method, guns, feral!Joel, reader is a tiny bit bratty, mention of spores, dub-can because of sex pollen, some amount of mutual pining/yearning WC: 2k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Rules— you stay close, you stay silent and you-“

“-Run as fast as I can if things go south. Yeah I know Joel. It’s not as if I’ve dealt with this bullshit for almost my whole life.” You rolled your eyes as the older man in front of you shot you a glare that would’ve had anyone else cowering in fear but you just huffed in return. The derelict home that loomed in front of you had been marked by Jackson’s scouts earlier in the week for potential farming equipment given the impressive if not run-down greenhouse at its side.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He grumbled and shouldered his rifle but you caught the twitch of his full lips as he turned away from you and into the doorway of the (hopefully) empty building you were planning on ransacking. His broad shoulders lifted as he shot you one last glance before stepping inside, trusting that you would follow close behind.

“When am I ever not a smartass according to you?” You whined quietly from behind him as the stale air of the building closed in around you. It was obvious that nothing living had passed through here in years, infected or otherwise. A thick layer of dust coated every surface that you passed, muffling the sounds of your footsteps down to dull thumps. 

Joel lifted his left hand from the barrel of his gun, signalling you to go left as he turned to the room on the right. You grunted under your breath at his overabundance of anxiety but obeyed anyway, it would do you no good to argue with the man now. The soft yellow of your flashlight beam cut through the small sideroom, illuminating a workbench and a collection of tools that would be perfect for the farms. 

You holstered your pistol so you could pull the battered backpack off your shoulders, dropping it onto the bench next to a terracotta pot that held a quite impressive flower that looked to be on the edge of blooming. You ignored it for now, instead focusing on shoving seed packets and tools into your bag. Underneath a rusty trowel, a water-logged notebook sat, opened up to pages of now illegible notes. 

The pages crunched with decades of exposure to the elements but it still captured your attention. Blurry images of flowers and plants had you turning page after page, slowly revealing the story of the person that poured so much work into the notebook. It seemed like they were trying to breed some new type of flower, and had eventually succeeded given the still living specimen beside you. The last two pages were stuck together with age, threatening to rip as you attempted to seperate them. You gave up after a couple tries, instead closing the book with care and dropping it into the bag with everything else, you hadn’t noticed the petals beginning to fold out from the large bulb of the plant.

“Clear!” Joel’s voice rang through the house causing you to jolt and drop the backpack.

“Jesus man!” You spun just in time for him to stride through the doorway, a scowl on his face that only seemed to add to his attractiveness. It was his usual look with you; disappointed and annoyed but also somehow a little amused and it never failed to get your heart racing with the way his brows would draw together, his jaw tightening, and his dark eyes practically glowing with frustration. 

“How many times do I have to remind you to say something when you’ve finished checking your bit of a house?” Thick arms barely contained by rolled up sleeves of his flannel crossed over his chest.

“‘Bout twenty more times should do it.” You countered with your own withering look. His frown deepened and his muscles bulged. You swallowed back your drool. “Found some seeds for individual gardens so the community ones aren’t overloaded.” You offered up, reaching back to produce one of the packs you hadn’t picked up yet, but instead your knuckles bumped into the pot, causing it to rock back precariously.

Joel’s arms dropped back down to his sides as the pot righted with a clink. You breathed a sigh of relief but it was short-lived. The heart of the flower opened up, delicate red and black petals stretched outwards revealing a dense ball of pollen that looked like it was going to fall apart with the slightest touch. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Joel darted forwards and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t touch it.” His tone wobbled as he spoke, sending a spark of panic through your lizard brain that you chose to push down.

“I wasn’t gonna. Besides, it’s just a flower, not spores. I doubt a fungus has worked out how to evolve into a flower contained completely inside a pot.” You didn’t sound convincing as the words left your lips but you tried to keep a neutral expression. “The owner of the house was breeding it, probably before the end of the world if his little notebook is anything to go by. It won’t kill us.”

His grip tightened. “You don’t know what it’s going to do. Stop being so innocent.” 

You couldn’t help it, the thought popped into your brain and sprinted out of your mouth before you could even think to stop it: “I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you Miller.” 

You watched as his breath hitched, suddenly at a loss for how to deal with you before his hand loosened and fell to the workbench. The tips of his fingers caught the top edge of the pot, finally toppling it over. The flower’s thin stalk bent with the weight of its head, aiming directly for him. The pollen burst onto the bare skin of his forearm, staining his tanned skin a radioactive yellow before the whole thing clattered to the ground.

There was a beat of silence, then two, then your brain finally kicked into gear.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Joel I’m so sorry I didn’t- fuck!” You scrambled for something, anything, in your bag that could rectify this as fear sprinted through your system. The water bottle in your bag was half-empty, something you were saving for the long walk home, but you splashed it over his arm without a second thought. He tugged his shirt sleeve back down in an attempt to scrub it off his skin.

“Leave!” He turned away from you, his shoulder trembling as he redoubled his effort. Guilt struck you square in the chest.

“I’m not leaving. This is my fault, I need to help you. Don’t- don’t make me go.” You knew better than to try and reach out and touch him, even if your spirit screamed at you to try and comfort the possibly dying man. His breathing began to pick up before he swallowed.

“Then check the book.” His chest rumbled, refusing to look back at you. The pollen wouldn’t budge, even when he stripped the shirt off completely to use as a rag. You forced your gaze away from him and back to your bag.

“Right yeah. I’ll um do that.” The notebook shook as you frantically flipped through the pages, desperately scanning the ancient scrawl for anything that could soothe the blinding fear that had wrapped tightly around you. The final brittle pages ripped as you tore them apart, but the writing remained clear. “What the fuck.” 

Sweat was now beading along Joel’s hairline, his muscles screwed up like his body was preparing itself for something. “Tell me.” His voice was empty, his mind already going to the pistol tucked into your waistband.

“It-“ For probably the first time in your life, words escaped you.

Joel whipped around. His pupils were blown so wide that you couldn’t find a trace of the deep brown of his irises, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Tell me!” 

Heat shot through you at the revelation of what exactly was wrong with him, something you could beg on your knees to fix. The notebook dropped back onto the workbench as you reached for the buttons on your shirt. Joel’s eyes follow your movements with deadly precision, his body winding even tighter as your body was revealed.

“It’s an aphrodisiac. Supposed to make you go crazy for sex.” He stepped closer, crowding you against the bench. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your soft stomach, it was huge.

“What. Else.” The air between you had suddenly shifted, no longer was there the simmering undercurrent of tension that may or may not have led anywhere, but there was now a fire growing in ferocity, threatening to consume you entirely if you turned away now. 

You popped open the button of your jeans. “It’ll be in your system for hours, maybe days, if you don’t-“ 

“If I don't, what.” The heat of his body was almost unbearable.

Your eyes dropped down to his lips. “If you don’t fuck it out.” A large hand wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you into a kiss. Your teeth clacked together painfully while Joel pressed you further into the table. You tugged at his white undershirt, whining into his mouth. 

He ripped himself away from you, looking as crazed as you felt. “Turn around.” He left no room for resistance or questions, already turning your body to the bench. He pulled your jeans and panties over your ass, just far enough for access. 

“Joel-“ You knew he wouldn’t stop, not when you could feel the fever running through him as he pressed himself to the soft fat of your ass and thighs. He fumbled for his belt, hands trembling against you. 

“Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this.” He kissed your shoulders, your neck, anywhere he could reach. You wiggled back into him, blissfully feeling his bare cock finally released from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Wet pre-cum smeared against the tops of your thighs.

“Just be careful, don’t want your heart to give out old man.” The growl that escaped him was entirely inhuman and before you could make another sound, he slammed into you. Your cunt burned with his size, by far bigger than anything you had ever taken before and given the smirk you felt against your shoulder blade, Joel knew it too.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned, his forehead falling to your back as he struggled to control himself. He rolled his hips against your ass, immediately sending a flare of pleasure through you. He took a deep breath and pulled back, letting his cock almost completely leave the warmth of your pussy before he finally succumbed to the pollen.

“This is your fucking fault. Not doing what I tell you.” Your hands scrambled for something to ground yourself as he punched into you.

“‘M sorry!” You cried.

“Fucking driving me crazy with those fucking tight pants and constantly gettin on my nerves.” You tightened around him, pleasure licking at your nerves like nothing you had ever felt before. “You like that? You like knowing you piss me off? Damn fucking brat, I should’ve known.”

You felt him in your throat, stealing any attempt at speaking or even catching your breath. “Shoulda known you just needed to be fucked by a man to get you to listen.” The table bit into your stomach but the pain only sent you higher along with the growling of his voice. Joel thrust downwards, the fat head of his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“You gonna cum? I can feel it. Do it. Fucking cum.” He snarled into your ear as you shattered beneath him, losing yourself to everything Joel. “Fuck!” He groaned, ripping himself from you only second before he came onto the battered flesh of your ass. 

Your body went limp as his cum began to cool on your skin. “Holy shit Joel. I did not think you had it in you.” You went to turn back around but Joel’s hand returned to your shoulder blade, keeping you still. “What?” 

His cock prodded at your wrecked pussy once more. “We’re nowhere near done.”

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Pedro Pascal 

@nerdieforpedro

[layaispunk]

by the hour

female escort!reader x joel miller

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

summary: you're joel's favourite escort.

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

wc: 1.1k

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

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

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

“with her again?”

joel nodded.

“room 5. you know the way.”

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

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

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

“joel.”

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

“couldn’t help it.”

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

“you miss me?” you asked, teasingly.

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

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

“uh… yeah, that’ll do.”

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

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

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

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

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

joel just sits there and watches you, jaw ticked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he groans. “yeah,”

“say it for me.”

he rolls his eyes. “….yeehaw.”

you snort. “still the dumbest word ever.”

“you picked it, missy.”

you laughed. 

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

you tugged his shirt up, palms skimming his stomach. 

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

“you jealous, miller?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pulls back with his mouth glistening and eyes dark.

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

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

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

all you can do is moan his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh, baby,” he groans, “gonna- fuck,”

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

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

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

[kiraavi]

banana cream pie

Summary: Joel is heading home after another long haul when he pulls into the travel center for the night. He's been struggling with his attraction to the waitress that works at the diner there, and is tempted to avoid you completely. The promise of coffee and an opportunity to stretch his legs, however, lures him in on a night you just so happen to be working the graveyard shift. CW: smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie + related innuendos that may or may not be cringe but I had to commit to the bit, oral f!receiving, a metric fuck ton of dirty talk, implied but unspecified age gap, (Joel is in his 50s, reader's age can really be anywhere from 20s-30s), rough and tough fuckin' with trucker Joel (he's lowkey a bit of a perv), exhibition, dumbification, hairpulling, overstimulation, wee bit of pussy pronoun usage. [No outbreak AU] Note: the demons took over... and I'm gonna be honest, this is 100% pure smut, no additives. It's got the cheesy porno plot and everything. I've been picking away at it for a week, and it's the longest smut I've written thus far!! As always, this was written with my beloved, game Joel (Goel), in mind. Also, reader is written to be plus size/chubby cause I felt like it! Comments, reblogs, and likes are all so incredibly appreciated! I'm always overjoyed to receive feedback. It means a lot to know that people have taken the time to stop by and read my fics. Lot's of love to y'all and happy reading! Word Count: 5.1k Ao3 Link: read here!

For a moment, Joel thinks about retreating into his bunk and winding down for the night, but his eyes dart back to the diner. The welcoming light that pours from the large windows, and the flickering neon open sign. Goddamn does a warm cup of coffee, and the opportunity to stretch his legs after a long drive sound good right about now.

His eyes dart back to the beat up blue hatchback parked around the side. He recognizes it, or rather, he recognizes who it belongs to. He feels like a teenager—you make him feel entirely out of his depth, and he’s not sure why. There’s nothing between you.

You’ve never been anything but friendly and accommodating toward him. You know exactly how he likes his coffee and make for good conversation. The problem lies in what you don’t know—in the moments between a sip of coffee in the diner, and before he passes out in his bunk. The secret between his fist and his cock when all he can think about is you—you in that fucking dress, you with that gorgeous smile, you who treats him with genuine interest. He’s pathetic. As mindless as a moth to a flame. As dumb as a fool to his execution.

When he finally finishes stewing in his guilt, staring blankly at the blinking amber lights of his dashboard, he musters up the courage to leave the comfort of the cab of his truck. He makes the walk across the parking lot a quick one—beneath the light drizzle of rain drops prickling his skin. He forgot his jacket in his truck, but he knows if he returns to his rig now he won’t be able to convince himself to venture back out.

Joel shoulders open the door with a huff as cool air rushes inside with him. The door falls shut and warmth envelops him in its place. He dares a glimpse at his reflection in the smudged glass and cards a hand through his unkempt hair. Turning, he surveys his surroundings for the first time, tamping his boots on the door mat. 

Booths are nestled along one wall, their red pleather upholstery spiderwebbed with fissures that reveal the foam cushioning beneath. Chips and scratches litter the table tops, the varnish worn around the edges where elbows have often come to rest. The checkerboard floor is weathered all the way down the aisle, certain tiles marking the well trodden path. The walls are covered in all sorts of dusty relics; old license plates from various states, road maps, and flags. Posters peel away from the wall at their corners and photographs have yellowed with the years.

He’s certain that this place hasn’t been renovated since its opening. It’s dingy, and unremarkable, and most things here have been wasting away for decades. The diner itself isn’t why he keeps coming back, though. He could just as well head over to the convenience store next door for a quick meal and a drink.

His eyes land on you. You’re standing behind the counter that runs the length of the room, chrome stools with red tops line the other side. You wipe down the surface with a damp rag. The radio crackles, crooning some tune that you’re too busy humming to notice his entrance.

It’s late and the place is empty—as desolated and deserted as the parking lot outside—a far cry from the bustling morning rush on those days when he’s barely able to get a word in while you rush around, topping up coffees or balancing trays of food. But now, you’re lost in your own world, and Joel finds himself hanging onto every second that you’re unaware of his presence because the view is a bit like art; a painting that he wouldn’t mind having hung in his home, or permanently etched into his mind’s eye.

You’re entirely unlike everything else in this tacky, run down diner. You are bright. You radiate warmth. You are something to be admired, cherished, and held dearly, or placed upon some pedestal. And he thinks that he might’ve spent an eternity memorizing every facet of you—every line that makes up your face, every contour that shapes your body—if you didn’t look up just then.

The smile that lights up your face is nothing short of a privilege to witness. He has half a mind to throw a glance behind him because it certainly can’t be for him—he can’t be the reason for something so beautiful. He doesn’t warrant that kind of look, but he’s the only one here and he doesn’t want to make himself look stupid, so he gives a curt nod.

Clearing his throat, he takes a stilted step towards one of the tables before settling into the booth. He watches as you disappear into the kitchen, and return with a coffee pot and mug in your hands. Dutifully, you set the mug in front of him and pour him a cup. The steam curls up into the air and one of his hands wraps around the ceramic mug, feeling its warmth. He glances back at you. You’re still standing there and you look a little antsy. He gets the feeling that he might be your only customer for the night.

“Workin’ the graveyard shift, huh?” He asks, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip. He pulls a bit of a face and sets it back down. The coffee is just okay, always has been, but the coffee isn’t why he keeps coming back. Again, his eyes flit to you.

“Yeah, I needed the extra shift,” you say as you set the coffee pot onto the table before sitting down across from him. He feels your knee brush his beneath the table and his jaw clenches. “And you? Heading home or heading out?”

You lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands, as if preparing yourself to cling to each word he has to say. The angle provides him the perfect vantage point. His eyes naturally snag on the pillowy tops of your breasts and the hidden valley between them. His fist knocks the table as he leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably. They look about ready to spill out of that dress with the first two buttons undone. Fuck, had it been unbuttoned when he’d first walked in? Surely.

“Home. Gotta week ‘fore I’m on the road again,” he grumbles, lifting his gaze away from where they definitely shouldn’t be. It means a week before he has a chance at seeing you again. For some reason that thought stirs an ugly feeling within him, twisting and unfolding in the pit of his stomach. The silence stretches between you, and neither of you reach to fill the void. He notices your nails are painted a baby blue to match your dress. Cute. 

The quiet becomes too much and he decides to put an end to it. “What’s the pie of the day this time?” It’s a question that he’s made the habit of asking, but he’s never made the habit of ordering a slice. A little routine between the two of you, and one that instantly has a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You hum as you think it over, making an effort to recall it, and the moment you do, your eyes light up. “It’s banana cream pie.” “Ah? S’it any good?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never tried it before,” you say and your leg jolts against his, your bare skin grazing the denim of his jeans. “Does my opinion matter? Unless you’re actually planning on ordering it this time?”

There’s something about you then—that glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smile, the teasing lilt of your voice. You’re adorable. He wants you all to himself. But he can’t have what’s out of reach. He’s struggling to keep up this act around you. The facade that he’s normal about you because he’s anything but normal about you. There’s nothing normal about his feelings for you at all. He is a beast that wants to swallow you whole and you are too naive to see it. Right? He blinks, eyes catching on the low dip of your top again, and then he feels your leg rub up against his once more. The touch feels almost purposeful, but he tries to convince himself otherwise. His imagination, his desire must be conjuring things—gleaning want where there is none. His throat goes dry and he swallows hard. 

“Nah,” his eyes lower to his coffee, still full, but he stands anyway, and you’re standing up with him, looking confused. “I should get goin’, it’s been a long day.”

“Really? Stay and finish your coffee at least, Joel,” you say, stepping closer. He locks up, muscles going rigid. It’s both a curse and a blessing to have shared his name with you last time. The way it floats from your lips, something wispy and reluctant, and in that dulcet tone. It’s euphonic. It does things to him—terrible, awful, thrilling things. 

He swivels around and you’re mere inches from him, peering up at him all doe eyed. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with this right now, but you look up at him like that—like a lost puppy trailing after him, and he knows deep down that he never really stood a chance. Not when it comes to you. It’s just been a matter of time—of how long he can manage to convince himself of his own lies and turn the other cheek.

”Did… Did I do something that bothered you?” Your voice wavers. It makes him feel like an ass for ever making you question yourself because there’s not a single thing you’ve done to upset him. The only upsetting thing is the way he feels about you, the way want and desire roil in his gut the moment he so much as sees you, or remembers the fact that you exist. It’s purely impulsive and frustrating, and the most blissful feeling. He never wants to feel this way again and he never wants to stop feeling it simultaneously. Two opposing outlooks at an impasse within him.

“No- No ‘course not,” he says, waving his hand dismissively but you still look so unsure, and his hand lands on your shoulder in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. His thumb rubs a gentle circle there because he can’t stop himself. “Like I told you, just been a long day.”

You blink, your lip wobbling as you search for your next words. “Oh… it’s just that I was really enjoying your company.”

The last thread of his restraint pulls taut, the flame of tension between you whittling it away, and singeing one tiny, miniscule fibre at a time. You look upon him like he’s something worth a dime—someone of value who merits praise and admiration, but he isn’t. He’s sure that he isn’t anything more than a dumb, pathetic bastard too far ahead of himself to turn back now.

He knows that he’d be a fool to mistake your kindness for interest but, hell, if the way you bat your lashes at him, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and sway your hips with every approach isn’t interest, he’s not too sure what is. 

So the thread snaps, giving way to that searing fire and he surges forward, all but stumbling into you. His lips are on yours, clashing with yours—hot and heavy as he licks into your mouth. His breath is hot and laboured, fanning over your face.

You shake in his hold, your hands hovering and unsure of what to do. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you. Flushed and warm with those glossy, wide eyes staring at him in surprise. But you shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve seen this coming, haven’t you?

“You’re just a little fuckin’ tease, ain’t you?” He asks, and you have the audacity to look bewildered, lips parted in a soft exhale. You are good at this innocent act, he’ll give you that. “Knew what you were doin’ the whole damn time, I bet.”

“Yeah, bet you like havin’ that kinda control over a man like me, huh?” He questions, taking a step forward and into you, crowding you against the table. You’re stunned and locked into place, hands falling to grasp the lip of the table. You make no move to push him away. And that’s the confirmation he needs. He’s right. He knows he’s right and it only emboldens him. “Well, are you gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s sapped the air right out of your lungs.

“Bullshit, you’ve had me dreamin’ ‘bout this cunt for weeks now,” he scoffs, spinning you around and pressing a hand firm to your back, bending you over the table's edge. He’s got you pinned there.

“Joel…!” You squeak, gasping out.

“Fuck… been achin’ to taste it,” he says as he sinks to his knees behind you, and flips the back of your skirt up. His hands skim up your legs, lingering on the plush of your thighs in gentle up and down motions before grabbing a hold of them and prying them apart. His fingers graze your cotton panties—they’re that same baby blue, he notes. He clicks his tongue when his fingers come away damp. “Yeah, you’ve been drippin’ since I walked through that damn door, haven’t you?”

Your reply comes out as a weak, wavering sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl. Not very talkative, huh? There’s none of that denial anymore. No, he’s worked you into submission in a few measly seconds. But this is what you’d wanted. It’s what you’ve been getting at—been wanting some grizzled, old man like him to fuck you until there isn’t a single thought left floating around in that pretty little head of yours. Blissful oblivion.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, sweet girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs. He smacks the side of your thigh when you don’t reply.

“Mhm!” You hum, not so subtly pushing your hips back toward him. Eager little thing. But he’s not one to make things quick. He won’t give you what you want just ‘cause. He’ll relish in it—in the things he can do to you not only with his touch, but the things he can do to you with the absence of it.

“Gotta use your words f’me…” he coos, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where your thigh meets your most intimate place, parting your lips gently. He exhales sharply at the sight—pink and glistening just for him. Precious. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“Please-! I need you,”  you keen above him, and he can hear the unadulterated desperation dripping from your words. It feeds into him and into his ego—into the beast you’ve created of him.

“Need what? Oughta be specific. ‘M no mind reader,” he murmurs, moving his hand to slide two fingers along your slit as he asks his next question. “D’you need my fingers?”

“My mouth?” Next, Joel leans in close to press a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of your pulsing heat. He feels your legs quiver at the daring proximity—so achingly close to where you need him and, yet somehow, incredibly far. “Or does this greedy cunt need somethin’ more…?”

He is rock hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so. His erection pushes against his zipper but he ignores it, keeping his sole focus on you—the object of his desire, already weak and warbling from a few infinitesimal touches.

“Uh huh- please, anything…!” You beg so pretty, and how can he deny that? He has you in the palm of his hand, your muddled mind incapable of making a simple decision. You’ve relinquished control and deferred all choice to him. He relishes in it and he takes the responsibility in stride. 

“Poor thing can’t even make a decision for herself,” he says as he draws nearer to lay a kiss over your dripping folds. He flicks his tongue out and his thumbs part you at your seam. You squirm and a moan falls from you. He can’t see your face right now, but Christ, does he wish he could. He’ll just have to settle for his imagination which is something he’s not entirely unfamiliar with.

“That’s okay. You don’t gotta think too hard when I’m here, just have to sit there and take what I give you, right?” He pulls back to whisper, the bridge of his nose ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Just gotta stand there bein’ good and dumb for me…”

Joel doesn’t bother waiting for a response before returning his mouth between your legs. He marks a trail of kisses all the way back to your cunt. And when he tastes you again, he lets out a languid groan, tongue flattening over your clit. He laps and suckles at it, siphoning shuddering moans from your lips. Your hips jolt and he moves higher, prodding at your entrance, flicking his tongue there.

He doesn’t belong here. Nothing he’s ever done renders him deserving of this blessing, but he’ll earn it. You whimper above him—tiny, bitten-off whines tumbling from you over and over as he licks into you, laving over your clit again and again. The sounds are downright obscene, filling the empty room as he feasts on you like it’s his final meal and he’s to die tonight—his last will and testament. His fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs, wrenching you open wider and nudging your entrance again.

You’re close. He can tell in the way your legs begin to tremble and your knees threaten to buckle. His hands lower to brace you, a silent gesture, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’ And he does. He’s not letting you go until you’ve reached that peak and then some. He returns all his attention to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling—working you up, up, up and coaxing you over that crest.

“Oh…! Nghh, Joel-!” You wail. Your orgasm is a wavering, jittering thing. He can feel your muscles convulsing against his tongue. He grunts and works you through it, drinking up every last drop. 

It’s too easy to push you down and wind you up. Your body is pliant, willing, and accepting of everything he gives you. Even as it spasms and jerks, a weak sound of protest falling from your lips as he refuses to let up.

This moment, right here in this empty diner, is limbo—a space between two destinations in which time ceases to exist. He can’t get enough of you. He never will. He’s addicted, so he continues to take and take from you. The pleasure he imparts unto you is his own, his cock twitching in his pants.

Joel mouths at your pussy. He does not stop to breathe. He smothers himself in your wet, messy folds, teasing and licking—pushing and pulling. Raising you up and bringing you back down each time he diverts his attention to another sensitive place.

You are a mess. A heap of shaking limbs, sinful sounds, and babbled words—garbled and disjointed pleas. He doesn’t think you realize your own contradictions. A quiet ‘I can’t-’, a stuttered ‘no more’, followed by a ‘please don’t stop!’

He won’t. He will not stop until he’s torn another orgasm from you. He knows that you’re capable—you’ll give him what he wants and comply with his whims because you’re his good girl. You will give him another whether or not it’s dredged from you weeping and tremoring.

And you do. Your body coils like a spring, his hands move to your hips, tugging you closer against his face. One more pass of his tongue and your body unravels, unwinding and releasing all that tension.

“Oh God! Ah- Joel… fuck!” you cry out. When he pulls away, his face is slick with your arousal, droplets clinging to the scruff of his beard. He stands up behind you, his hands coasting up your sides as he does. You’ve gone limp, still folded over the table.

Shucking off his belt, Joel pushes his pants down alongside his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock. It’s flushed and leaking, aching to be inside you already. He shuffles behind you, guiding his cock between your legs and dragging it over your seam, and slipping it between your pussy lips.

“You let any man have his way with you?” he questions, tapping the bulbous tip against your clit before sliding it back and notching it against your entrance. “D’you spend weeks practically beggin’ for it? Temptin’ any bastard that happens to pass through?”

“No! No, just you, only you.” you say, breath hitching and eyes watering.

“No? Just me? That’s damn right.” He grins and begins to sink inside, drawing a ragged moan from the both of you. Your pussy hugs his cock as it cleaves you open. “This cunt belongs to me.”

He starts off slow, bringing his hands to rest on your waist as he eases in and out of you, feeling your warm, tight walls clutch and flutter around his shaft, seeming to cling and suck him back in each time he pulls out.

“Fuck yes, baby…” he croons, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to set a faster pace. The mug and coffee pot rattle with each thrust that jolts your body against the table. The mug inches closer and closer to the edge. His hips meet your ass, bottoming out with each drive forward. Opening his eyes, his gaze lands on the window in front of you. The two of you look out onto the empty parking lot.

“Would you look at that, darlin’…” he remarks, giving your hip a squeeze to grab your attention and direct it forward. “Anyone could walk on past and see you gettin’ railed… you like that don’t you, though?”

There’s truth to his words. The looming threat doesn’t take away from it. No, your cunt contracts around his shaft, dragging him deeper at the acknowledgement of such an indecent thing. You enjoy the risk—you both delight in it.

To be caught now would be so easy. You’ve been put on display, vulnerable and exposed, beneath the glaring lights reflecting off the glass. Rivulets of rain water slip down the wide, open pane. All it would take is one lone traveler pulling into the parking lot, or the convenience store cashiers switching shifts, and a singular glance in the diner’s direction. 

Just like that, and they would know that you’ve let this man defile you at your place of work. They’d know what a dirty girl you are. But it’s not off-putting in that way that it should be. It’s exhilarating.

“Mhm, you get off on it, filthy girl,” he teases, rolling his hips into you. You’re a wordless, mindless jumble of nothingness beneath him. Completely and utterly drunk on his cock, and unable to string together a single thought, let alone form a coherent sentence. You speak only in helpless mewls and keening moans. His focus is trained on your dazed, dumb expression in the reflection. You look fucking divine.

“Well, go on, look.” He reaches for your hair, tugging it and forcing you to face your mirror image. “Watch me fuck you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t be so rough with you. You’re fragile and teetering, but he wants you to witness the sight—to face the image of what you’ve been taunting him with for weeks. You’re a work of art. He wants you to know that and remember the reflection in the glass in case this is the last time he bears the privilege of having you in such a manner. 

“Joel, please!” you whine over the wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts, your hands grappling with the flat table top. He’s not sure what you’re pleading for and he thinks that you might not even know yourself.

He hums, rubbing his hand up along your spine and then back down to the knot of your apron. He tugs it loose, and pulls you upright and against him, tossing the apron aside. Sliding his hands around you he undoes the rest of the buttons of your dress in quick succession until your breasts spill out. 

“My beautiful, fuckin’ perfect girl,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your neck and then another one as his hands cup your tits, kneading them and feeling the way you shudder against him. 

Joel tips your head back, running his fingers along your jaw in a tender caress. They curl there as he thumbs your bottom lip, prodding and encouraging you to open up before tucking two thick digits inside. Obediently, your mouth closes around them as though it’s a habitual act. He smooths them over your tongue, unable to stifle the strained noise that escapes him.

The silky heat engulfs them and you practically purr, dissolving further into his arms. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a schlick. His hand then slithers down your body and slips between your legs.

He feels the way you’re stretched wide around his girth, wedged open in a way he’s certain you haven’t been before. He continues to rock up into you as he seeks out your swollen clit, fingertips circling the bud in small, vigorous circles. His head drops to your shoulder, feeling that tight, delicious clamp of your pussy. Quiet utterances and muttered curses stashed under his breath flitter over your ear.

“So good… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby…” He drawls, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut because he wants to savour this moment and you. Blissed out and empty-headed, taking each inch of him. He adores you—everything about you. Every curve, and dip, and extra bit of plushness.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he moans, his thrusts turning sloppy. If he had the time to dedicate to worshiping every aspect of you he would. He’d spend hours working you through orgasm after orgasm, but you haven’t got the time, and he can feel himself inching closer and closer to his own.

“Shit, I’m close-!” he mumbles, folding you over the table again and following suit. His chest is pressed to your back, and his cock sinks deeper somehow, hips bumping yours against the lip of the table. You slap a hand over your mouth in an effort to suppress your moans.

His arm winds around you, curling beneath your stomach. His hand, large and roughened, fans over the plumpness there—so often hidden by the flared skirt of your dress. He squeezes gently. Groaning, he saws his cock in and out, feeling the unhurried, slick glide as the crown passes over that delicate and sensitive spot inside you. He feels you tense beneath him, another one of your sweet sounds is muffled against your knuckles. His free hand grabs yours and shoves it flat to the table.

“None’a that, darlin’. Lemme hear every damn sound,” he grunts, pressing his palm firmer against your stomach. “Ya feel that? Feel me right fuckin’ here?”

“Yes! Yes, feel you so deep, mmph…!”

“Where do you want it?” he asks, feeling that pressure brim and ache. “Tell me or are you too dumb and drunk on my cock to make up your mind?”

You babble beneath him—a jumbled mess of pleas and yesses, but no definitive answer to the question he has posed. He’s right. You’ve been reduced to a brainless, insatiable, needy thing. Hopelessly keening for more and more even when your body can’t take it.

“It’s alright, baby… I’ll just have to give you a taste of that cream pie you said you’d never tried,” he murmurs, continuing the staggering rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside’s where ya need it, filling up this greedy cunt, hm?” His voice is hushed, dropping low and husky. The words are like a secret for your ears only. He feels you tense beneath him, a strangled cry is pulled from the depths of you as your walls convulse around his cock. He moans at that sensation. It’s addictive. It’s incredible. You’re writhing and unfurling for him—fracturing into pieces atop quaking legs. “Uh huh, can feel her sucking me in. She’s begging for it, ain’t she?”

“Please, give it to me…” And that’s all the permission he ever needs—that breathless, resigned request.

It’s uncontrollable. The pressure erupts as he bottoms out one last time, nestling deep. His cock swells and twitches, balls drawing tight as relief finally sweeps over him. His hips involuntarily jerk as the first jet spurts inside of you. He sucks in air through his teeth, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen as his head spins and his mind goes blank. His pelvis spasms, grinding into you. His eyes fall shut and a groan tumbles past his lips. He stays there, shooting warm rope after rope, until he has nothing left to give and then a few moments longer.

When Joel peels himself from you, he slides himself free. Instantly, his eyes catch on your cunt and the way your entrance contracts around nothing. His spend oozes out in what can only be described as an obscene display. 

You lay there panting until you find the will power to stand up and face him. Your legs wobble and you lurch, but he’s there to catch you, propping you up against him. “Easy now,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to brush back a stray hair. 

“Right, sorry,” you say with a giggle, hands braced on his shoulders as you look up at him. You’re damn near delirious. He’s the one who’s brought you to such a state. His stomach churns. His eyes dart between yours and your lips then out the window to his rig in the parking lot. It doesn’t feel right to up and leave, so he makes the decision that he won’t. Not yet.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he murmurs, cupping your face and tilting your chin. You smile up at him. It’s set in stone. He’s set in stone. There’s no pulling him from this moment anytime soon.

“I could go for another cup of coffee,” he says, glancing at the abandoned mug settled right near the edge of the table, its contents now sitting cold, “and I think I’d like to try a slice of that banana cream pie too.”

[kirsteng42]

I had forgotten all about this extraordinary series and I don’t know how as the World and character building is exceptional!!!! I would recommend this is if you are a TLOU fan, a Joel Miller fan, an apocalypse fan!, or just a fan of damn good writing…I think Liv is 1 of my all time fave fan fic leading ladies/characters

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

title card by my sweet love @inklore 🤍

before // during // after

a story about second chances.

summary: you meet joel miller long before the world implodes. a summer fling that ends before it really has a chance to begin. (the before) the world ends and your lives are ripped apart at the seams. joel finds his way to boston almost five years later, and finds a new version of you he isn’t expecting. (the during) refusing to leave joel again, you leave boston with him and tess to bring ellie where she needs to go. (the after)

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, swearing, angst, trauma, allusions/description of PTSD, grief, death, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f and m receiving), spit play, ass play, super light dominance, badass reader, non-canon joel miller (like, still canon but not EXACTLY canon, ya feel me?)

title from the noah kahan song of the same name - you can find it here and the strawberry wine playlist here.

part 10 onwards, reader is a named OC, still written in reader format, as little description as possible! read more about Liv here.

read on ao3

before

part one

part two

part three

part four

during

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen

part twenty

after

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight

part twenty-nine

part thirty

part thirty-one

part thirty-two

part thirty-three

part thirty-four

part thirty-five

[darknight3904]

Every Breath You Take

Chapter Nineteen- Arrival

Tommy Miller x Reader, Slowburn!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Deep into your travels, you and Joel come to a realization about each other.

Warnings for this part: Language, mild spice: make out session with Joel :)

Word Count: 3.1k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / The Last of Us Masterlist

Late November 2023, Wyoming 

When you wake up the next morning, you’re wrapped in his arms and his sleeping bag. He’s spooning you from behind, face buried in your hair as he snores into it. You don’t move, relaxing into him, you haven’t felt this warm and safe in years.  You think about what happened last night and how he’d felt against you. 

“I just had to one time, just once, before I die.”

You’re immediately pulling him back in, lips moving hungrily against his as he lets out a surprised grunt. Big hands wrap around your body, pulling you into him as you straddle his lap. The kiss is messy, all tongue and spit; it reeks of desperation and lust. Bottled up feelings run wild as you run a hand through those messy curls that had taunted you for so long. 

“Thought you didn’t like me.” You murmur into him when he breaks apart, forehead pressed to yours 

Joel scoffs hand dipping to squeeze your ass, “What’s not to like?” 

You laugh softly, “Guess I should’ve acted sooner, could’ve been doing this a month ago.” 

“A month ago?” He hums, “Thought I was goin’ crazy, thinkin’ you were staring at me all the time. Guess I’m not that old yet.” 

“Key word, yet.” You point out, capturing his lips again. 

Joel hums, hands running up and down your body, squeezing and loving on every inch of you as you wiggle above him. Have your jeans always been this uncomfortable, or was it just right now? He’s hard under you, a deep sound leaving his lips as you grind on him. He manhandles you onto your back, lying you down before reappearing above you, lips attached to your neck as a deep groan leaves his mouth. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, baby, Don’t know how I held out so damn long.” 

Joel’s hand is reaching down, popping open the button to your jeans, and brushing the waistband of your panties when a loud gasp fills the room. 

“Holy shit! I fucking knew it!” 

After that, the mood had died. Joel had immediately gotten off you, hands deftly rebuttoning your pants before grabbing his backpack to cover his lower half, an awkward cough leaving his lips as he turned away from the teenager that's two seconds away from laughing at the adults in front of her.

“I knew you two were fucking!”

Your face burns even now as Ellie’s words rattle around your brain. She’s a few feet away from you right now, passed out with her mouth wide open for a spider to crawl down her throat. 

You wiggle around in Joel’s grasp, turning to face him. He’s peaceful in his sleep, no frown on his face, his handsome features can really shine like this. You scoot closer, burying your face in his chest as your mind raced. 

How would last night change things? After Ellie had woken up, Joel had ordered everyone to bed, his cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment as Ellie giggled. You’d gone to collect your sleeping bag but Joel had grabbed you, pulling you into him and mumbling about letting Ellie keep both for the night. Then, he’d balled up an extra shirt of his and placed it between your ass and his crotch and told you goodnight. 

That same shirt is now discarded at your feet, tangled up in the sleeping bag as Joel’s leg rests between yours. You shift again, and this time Joel feels it, his eyes crack open, and that frown is back. 

“Morning.” You whisper 

“Mornin’” He grunts, arms loosening as he lets you go 

You watch from the sleeping bag as he gets up, putting his boots back on before going to peer out the window. You shiver, missing his warmth as you bring the bag closer to your chin. 

“It’s clear. Let’s get moving.” He says quickly, eyes dodging yours as he calls for Ellie 

Joel doesn’t speak about the kiss. You walk along with Ellie, listening to her read from the joke book. 

“You’re not pregnant, right?” Ellie asks suddenly, her voice laced with suspicion 

“What? No!” You say, wondering what could possess her to ask something like that, “Why?” 

“You got this…look on your face.” She shrugs, “Thought you might be holding in some big news.” 

“The look isn’t from being secretly knocked up.” You say, eyes fixed on Joel’s figure up ahead 

Ellie looks at the two of you, eyes darting between you and Joel’s back before she loudly says, 

“Oh shit was last night like…your first time? And I ruined it. Shit, sorry.” 

“Ellie. I’m 40, why would I still be a virgin?” You groan embarrassed 

“No! I mean…” Her voice drops to a whisper, thankfully, “First time with… him.” 

This damn kid was too perceptive. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” You huff, legs speeding up. You needed to get away from this conversation before it got worse. You already wanted to bury your head in the snow in mortification 

“I’m just asking!” She calls as she darts after you 

It’s around three when Joel spots it. Fresh deer tracks. You follow them into a valley, Joel has his rifle out, poised and ready. 

A doe stands in the clearing, Joel has barely taken aim when another gun goes off. The three of you immediately jump. Your eyes fall on the now dead doe, loud voices are heard and Joel pulls you into a bush right before they can see you. 

Two people, men, are mounted on horseback as they enter the clearing. They’re covered head to toe in winter gear, bandanas and mufflers cover their face to keep the snow away as they dismount. 

“Shit, not bad.” One of them says, patting his companion on the back

“Not bad? That’s a perfect shot.” The other says defending his shooting, a scoff on his lips

The second voice has a familiar twang to it, one that sounds like Fourth of July picnics and backyard bbq’s. You’d know it anywhere. Tommy Miller was standing over your dead deer. You’re readying yourself to stand up but Joel beats you to it, stepping out of the bush with Tommy’s name on his lips. 

One man turns around, pulling his bandana off his face at the sound of his name, his voice uncertain, “Joel?”

It comes again, this time joyful and excited as snow crunches, “Joel!” 

You stand up in time to watch them collide, brothers reunited after ten long years. You gesture for Ellie to stand up from the brush. 

“It’s his brother.” You tell her as she looks at the scene in front of both of you, “We’re safe.”

“As in, your ex boyfriend?” She asks 

Joel lets Tommy free from his embrace and you can feel your palms begin to sweat even though they’re covered by thick gloves. Ah fuck, you have no idea what you’re going to say to Tommy. 

Hi Tommy, been a long time. How’s it going? Last night I made out with your brother. Oh, here’s this immune kid. Do you know any fireflies? A thousand different things flow through your brain as your eyes meet his. Instead of speaking, your hand comes up, and all you can do is dumbly wave at him. 

Tommy has always been the better one in social situations. Even when they were kids, Joel was the quieter one, with fewer friends and more time to himself. Tommy was the social butterfly, a roster of friends, and more time out of the house than in. These traits had carried into their adult years, so Joel can’t be bothered to feel surprised when Tommy says your name before walking quickly across the clearing to wrap you in a bear hug. 

It’s not surprising, nor out of the ordinary, for his little brother. Yet, as Joel stands there, he feels his chest grow tight, jealousy flaming in his gut like an out-of-control wildfire. Just over twelve hours ago he’d been undressing you, hands squeezing that ass and slipping down your pants. 

He tried to keep the grin on his face, to remain happy that he was with his family again, that Tommy wasn’t dead or infected. Instead, he finds himself walking up to Tommy, tapping him on the shoulder before speaking, 

“You’re cuttin’ off her airflow, brother.” 

Relief finds Joel when Tommy lets you go. He swallows his jealousy; he can’t afford to act like a maniac right now. A hug was no cause to lose his shit. Tommy hugged everyone, once he’d even hugged his eighth-grade teacher after she’d given him a 90 on a science test. 

“Can’t believe it. You two are really here.” Tommy grins, patting Joel’s back with a heavy hand 

The bushes shift and Ellie slowly reveals herself, walking slowly over to stand next to Joel, her face uncertain. 

“Who’s the kid?” Tommy asks 

“Ellie. And I’m not a kid.” She huffs, arms crossed across her chest

“Yeah, alright.” You roll your eyes 

Tommy’s eyes scan over you and Joel, “We should get you three back to Jackson. Oliver?” 

The other guy, the one who was doubting Tommy’s perfect shot, walks over, “What’s up?” 

“We’re goin’ back early. Radio in and tell Maria to get a team to cover our shift for today.” Tommy says 

Joel watches Oliver nod and then walk off toward their horses. He takes note of how the other guy listened to his little brother's orders, no questions asked. 

“Y’know, you could start listening to us like that.” You say, nudging Ellie who scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“Funny.” She deadpans 

“Jackson, is that where you've been all this time? You got a camp or something?” Joel asks his brother 

“Yeah, something like that.” Tommy scratches the back of his neck, “We’re like a mile out, I can send Oliver back with the horses if you three are alright with walking. Don’t think the horses can carry all of us.” 

Tommy leads the way towards Jackson. He answers Ellie’s questions about the place with ease, boots crunching beside you as he walks along. Joel’s quiet on the other side of you, his face fixed in a deep frown like he’s overthinking. 

“So, you walked across the country with my brother. How’d that go for ya’?” Tommy asks 

“I mean, we started out with a car, lost it back in Kansas City.” You shrug, “Joel’s not that bad anyway.” 

You look over at Joel who dodges your gaze, his eyes fixed on the trees ahead of him and Ellie who is a few paces ahead of all of you, holding a stick that's double her height. 

Tommy nods, “Listen, when we get there, they’ll probably meet us out front with dogs and shit. It’s just standard procedures, no big deal. Less one of you is hidin’ a bite, they’ll probably lick ya and walk off.” 

Great. Dogs. 

You look at Ellie who is in her own world and then at Joel who gives you a subtle shake of the head. Alright, not the time to let Tommy in on the big world changing secret. 

Tommy had decided to make the understatement of the year when he agreed with Joel’s question about Jackson being a camp. You should’ve known better considering he was clean, nice clothes on and dark curls nicely trimmed. Still, how were you to know that he was living in a fucking apocalypse secret oasis? 

After the three of you, mainly Ellie, manage to pass the dogs, Tommy leads you into Jackson, a woman named Maria meets you and ushers you all into what was basically a big community dining hall. 

Whatever southern dinner manners you still had fight for their life as you devour your plate. You haven’t had chicken in so long you’re ready to cry as you bite off a piece. 

“There’s plenty more if you three need it.” Maria says warmly from her palace across the table 

“Thank you ma’am.” Joel swallows his own big mouthful of food, “It’s been awhile since we had a proper meal.” 

You nod, awhile was an understatement but you weren’t about to correct Joel in front of a stranger. 

“Actually. I dunno if I’ve ever had a proper meal. This is fucking amazing.” 

You and Joel turn to Ellie who sits on your right. You give her a kick under the table to her shin. 

“Sorry.” Joel says, giving her a look, “Ellie, let’s mind our manners.” 

Ellie’s answer is her shoving a big bite of mashed potatoes down as she stares at a young girl across the room, “What?” 

“Ellie.” You chastise, wishing she wasn’t coming across as so feral. 

After the three of you have stuffed yourselves, you sit at the table, sipping water as you think about how you could ask Maria how to get your hands on another slice of that pumpkin pie you’d polished off a few minutes ago. 

You clear your throat, the silence is awkward and unbearable. Tommy stares at you, you stare at Joel, Joel stares at Ellie who is staring at Maria. 

“Right, uh. Ma’am. “ Joel turns to address Maria, “We’re grateful for your hospitality, but it’d be nice to just have a moment alone, for family.” 

You watch Tommy’s hand rise to the table, unfolding as Maria places her own hand in it, “Actually, Maria is family.” 

Two golden rings glitter in the warm light of Jackon’s cafeteria. Your gaze burns a hole in Tommy and Maria’s connected hands. You look at Tommy, your eyes narrowing as you try to decide whether or not to kill him now or wait until it’s dark. 

“Oh shit! Congrats.” Ellie good naturedly says, “Say congrats…” 

You remain silent as Joel gruffly congratulates the couple across from you. Tommy’s lips form a tight smile as he keeps his gaze on you. 

“How bout’ a tour.” He says 

You aimlessly follow Maria around Jackson as she gives the tour. Ellie is probably the only one fully listening as you walk next to Joel, using him as a buffer between you and Tommy. At some point Tommy and Joel break off, disappearing into a building that says Tipsy Bison. You stay with Ellie, following Maria as she quite literally gives you a home. 

You stand under the hot water with your eyes shut. Letting the water wash away the grime from your body as you scrub a layer of your skin off. It takes a good quarter of the bottle of conditioner to free your hair from tangles. You emerge from the shower probably looking like a new person. You’d even been able to shave thanks to the little plastic razor that had been placed by Maria for you. 

You’ve beaten Ellie out of the shower, you listen to the water run down the hall as you dress before heading across the street to where Maria had asked you to come. 

You knock, it doesn’t feel right to be walking right into her home. She welcomes you in and your eyes instantly drink up your new surroundings. She sits you down in the kitchen, pours you a cup of coffee and then offers to cut your hair. 

You want to hate her, you probably should by the laws of ex-girlfriends. You can’t find any reasons to though. Even when you catch the small bump in her belly you can’t find yourself to be mad at her. 

“I know how this probably looks.” She starts, “Like I’m playing house with what’s yours.” 

You shrug, unsure of what to say, your eyes catching on a photo on the shelf of her and Tommy. It’s a wedding photo, Maria is in a white summer dress and Tommy is in a nice dark green button down, his hair combed and beard trimmed, their rings are clearly the focus here. 

“He’s told me all about how you guys met, that you’re Joel’s old baby sitter for Sarah. That you and him dated for years before he left.” Maria says, her hand gently rubbing her belly, “I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us. If you want, there is a place for you here.” 

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoid her gaze. Dammit why was this so hard? If she had been a bad person this would’ve been so much easier. 

“How’d you two meet?” You find yourself asking 

You half heartedly listen to Maria recount how she’d met Tommy. She really loves him, you can tell from the way her eyes crinkle a bit when she smiles as she talks about how he’d had to ask her out four times before she finally said yes. 

“You uh-probably don’t want to hear that though. I know things ended badly between you two.” She says, stopping herself. 

You want to tell her to go on, tell her to talk all about how Tommy had really pined for her but you can’t find the words. Instead you find yourself sucking a breath in and pushing your untouched coffee away. You excuse yourself, leaving the house, ignoring the way she calls after you about your hair. As you leave you pass Ellie who also calls after you. You mumble something about her going over there and manage to make it into your new house. 

The door slams shut and you disappear up the steps, finding the master bedroom where you’d dressed earlier. Joel is nowhere to be found as you toss your winter coat off before stripping down to the big t-shirt you’d donned when you got out of the shower. The soft blankets are a welcome luxury as you lay down, burying your head in the pillows as you sigh. 

Joel doesn’t show up until it’s dark out. He wakes you up when he sits down on the bed. His hair glistening from his own shower as he stares at the wall, a saddened look on his face. You sit up and scoot towards him, running a hand across his back as you quietly say his name.

He’s silent as you gently pull him into bed, pulling the covers up his body before settling beside him on your side. Eventually, he shifts to face you, sad eyes meeting yours in the low light. 

“Are you alright?” You ask more for yourself than for him 

He slowly nods, moving again, this time sitting up a bit before pushing you onto your back. You grunt in surprise when he rests his head on your chest, arms circling tightly around you. Boldly, you lean down, lips pressing to his still damp hairline as your arms pull him impossibly closer. Your voice is a gentle whisper as you hold him tightly, 

“Goodnight, Joel.” 

Next part

Guys. I forgot to add the taglist for the last part. So uh, to everyone that is tagged if you didnt see it, theres a part before this, a long one with Joel fluff and shit. So...go back and read that one if you haven't already.

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter; I carry the tags over to each part.

@freythecrazyfae @rae-gar-targaryen @keseqna @eniepascal @jakecockley @aphroditesblunt @soberbabes @daisyhams

@h0neylemon @womenlover0 @ghostofseattle @endurexxsurvive

@ashhlsstuff @buzzbuzzlilbee @thatoneperson38747

[littledes1re]

Hi! You’re one of my favorite writers on here :3 I was wondering if you could do a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? (Totally not filling my birthday fantasies)

Birthday Sex

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, pinv, praise kink, pet names, oral f!receiving, fluff

„Look at you. Like a present from god, and it‘s not even my birthday, baby.“

It was your birthday. And, as if scripted by the universe itself, Joel went all out—again. It wasn’t unusual for him to give you everything he had but somehow, he always made this day feel a little more magical. You woke up to a mountain of gifts, the kind you could practically swim in, each one wrapped with care and tucked with little notes that made you smile before you even opened them.

The house smelled like comfort and joy—vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of fresh coffee. Joel had been up early, dancing around the kitchen like it was his stage. You had a choice that morning: waffles or pancakes. Without hesitation, you picked pancakes. Because Joel made them exactly the way you loved—golden, buttery, and extra fluffy, as if each bite could float you a little higher above your worries.

You didn’t even have to glance at your phone. Joel had already taken care of it. He called in for you, told them you were „terribly sick,” with that charming blend of sincerity and mischief. All before your eyes had fully opened. You had nothing to do, nowhere to be—just you, him and the morning sun creeping through the curtains, making everything feel like it existed only for you.

The day stretched on like a soft melody—unhurried, comforting, and full of little delights that feel stitched together just for the two of you.

After the pancakes, you two lingered at the kitchen table, sunlight dancing through the windows as Joel refilled your coffee mug without a word. He played that one record you both love, the one that instantly makes everything feel slower, dreamier. There’s no rush, no pressure—just warmth and presence.

As evening slides in, Joel lights a few candles and pulls together something simple and lovely for dinner. You two toast with wine and laugh about inside jokes no one else would ever understand.

And when you think that beautiful day got already to an end, Joel has still a surprise for you.

„Lay down, sweetheart.“ a smirk forming in his face. He peeks your curiosity and you do as he says.

He presses wet kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching your skin, his breath giving you a slight breeze. And as he kisses his way up to your cunt, he stops—pulling down your pants and panties.

„Joel—please.“ you sweetly whimper.

He chuckles, hushing you and spreading your lips with his fingers—blowing cold air into your cunt, making you clench around nothing, your clit already beginning to throb.

„So wet f‘me, my sweet girl.“ he whispers and dives right in. He takes a big lap from your hole to your clit, then latches around your nub. Your head fall to your bed, you reach for Joels curly hair, as he starts to suck and lick you. The pleasure spreading trough your whole body, feeling his fingers suddenly in you—curling upwards so he can rub your spot.

Your eyes roll back.

„Cum for me, baby. C‘mon.“ he says against your cunt, the buzzing going trough your folds as you spasm, your legs locking and you gush around his two fingers.

„You don‘t even know how fuckin‘ happy I am, that you were born.“

And as you try to catch your breath, Joel is already filling you with his cock.

His arms go around your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed—so he is closer to you. He starts thrusting slow, locking eyes with you, searching for any discomfort in your face. But that doesn‘t come, instead, your moans get louder and louder.

„My pretty angel. Always good for me, every single day.“ he coos, his hand cupping your cheek, gently caressing it as his thrusts go harder.

„You’re makin‘ me so happy, Joel.“ you cry out.

A smile spreads across his face, followed by a groan as you clench on his cock. His thumb falls on top of your clit, a whimper leaving your lips.

„C‘mon birthday girl. Show me how good y‘are. Cum for me one more time.“

Joel gives you one final thrust, his body fully laying on top of you, locking your lips with him. His thumb never stops, as you bite into his lip, coming with a soft whine, making him grunt into your mouth. He thrusts a few more times into you, all while kissing you, devouring you and releases into you, filling you to the brim.

„Happy birthday, baby.“

I hope you like this @bluekat707 <33 And thank you!!

[fayesia]

Dilf!Joel + Gilf!Joel

Twitter Links 18+ MDNI

⤷ you both still got it after having a baby

⤷ giving his limp dick a thighjob

⤷ he's almost bigger when banging his bsf daughter

⤷ teasing your tight hole

⤷ rough awakenings from your stepdad

⤷ one night stand

⤷ his favourite nurse at the care home

⤷ makes you work for it

⤷ taking the blue pill made him cum everywhere

⤷ you love his softer body

⤷ hotel hookups

⤷ finally seeing you after college

⤷ you loved your old man

⤷ he's so much bigger than you

[dindjarinsslut]

this is my new favorite thing

Only in the Dark - DBF!Joel Miller x Reader

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Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Your dad’s best friend has been sneaking around with you for months. But secrets don’t stay buried forever.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Age gap. Secret relationship. Unprotected pi/v. Praise & light degradation. Breeding kink. Sneaky sex. Overstimulation. Soft choking. Oral (f receiving, from behind). Rough sex. Conflicted feelings. Emotional tension. Guilt. Possessiveness. Slight angst.

Word count: 15.2k

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It starts like it always does.

You look too long. And he looks back.

Joel’s standing by the grill with your dad, one hand wrapped around a sweating beer bottle, the other resting on his hip like he’s already sick of standing still. The sun’s high, heavy on his back, catching on the salt-slick sweat at the base of his neck. His shirt—an old gray one with the Miller’s Construction logo faded across the chest—sticks damp to his shoulders, clinging in places your eyes have no business landing.

He talks like he’s distracted. Answers half-asked questions. Grunts through conversation. And every time you glance his way, there’s tension in the set of his mouth—like his jaw is wired shut, like every syllable tastes wrong.

You’re across the yard, curled into one of those plastic lawn chairs that sinks in the middle, one leg tucked under you. Your dress rides up a little more every time you shift. It’s nothing obscene. Nothing anyone would notice.

Except Joel.

You take a slow sip from your drink. Run your thumb along the rim of the cup. Pretend not to notice the way his eyes track the movement. You cross your legs, careless, slow. The hem slides up again—just a touch. Not enough for anyone else to care.

But enough for him to clench the bottle tighter in his hand.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even glance at you directly.

But his fingers twitch when he sets the beer down. His brows pull in when he thinks no one’s looking. And when he shifts his weight, the fabric of his jeans pulls tight across his thighs—and you catch yourself looking just a second too long.

That’s when his eyes find you.

Direct. Steady. Loaded.

You freeze, your glass halfway to your mouth.

The air pulls tight.

It’s not innocent. Not casual. Not a glance that glances and forgets.

He looks at you like he knows. Like he’s already punishing himself for wanting to look.

And still—he doesn’t look away.

Not for a long second. Not until your stomach flips and your skin burns and your thighs press tight together under your dress.

You’re the one who looks away. You always are.

You shift again in your chair. Run your fingers through your hair. Let it fall back behind your shoulder in a soft sweep that feels just a little too performative.

You laugh when someone calls your name from across the yard. Smile. Sip again.

And all the while, you can feel him watching.

Even when you don’t dare look up.

Joel is careful. He always has been. That’s what makes it worse—how quiet he is about the way he looks at you. How long he holds back before finally giving in. Like his restraint is some kind of mercy. Like not touching you is the best he can offer.

He talks to your dad. Drinks another beer—then a third. Paces around the grill like something’s burning under his skin and there’s no fire he can put out. You see the way his hand curls tight around the neck of the bottle, how his gaze keeps drifting your way only to snap back, like it betrays him every time.

You’re crouched beside the cooler now, fingers digging through the ice as you pretend to search for something buried deep. The hem of your dress rides up against the backs of your thighs, and for a moment, you don’t fix it. You let your back arch just a little. Let your fingers linger.

There are voices nearby. Your cousin. Maybe your dad–Michael, again. You’re surrounded on all sides. But still—you feel him.

Before he even steps onto the patio, before the wood creaks beneath his boots—you feel the air shift. Heavy. Loaded.

His shadow stretches across the cooler. You don’t turn.

“I told myself I wasn’t gonna come over here,” he mutters.

You straighten slowly, your fingers brushing water from your wrist, letting your movements stay slow. Intentional. You smooth your dress down like you don’t know he’s watching your every motion.

“You always say that,” you murmur into your glass.

His voice stays low. Measured. Already strained, like he’s been losing this argument with himself all day.

“You always make it hard.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, lashes low. Your voice soft. Sweet. Dangerous. “Me? I haven’t said a word to you all day.”

“Didn’t need to.”

He’s closer now. Not touching you, but close enough that the heat radiates off him, thick and unmistakable. Close enough that if someone rounded the corner, you’d have to step back. Laugh. Pretend this was nothing. That it’s always been nothing.

Joel lowers his voice, just for you. “That dress. No bra. Nothin’ under it, is there?”

You turn—slow and deliberate. Let your gaze drag up his body, past his chest, his throat, until your eyes find his.

You smile. Sweet. Sharp. Like a blade in honey.

“No.”

His expression cracks—just for a moment. Like it hurts. Like he wasn’t ready to hear it said aloud.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. He never does—not out here. Not with your family buzzing behind the hedges. Not with your father three yards away, beer in hand and none the wiser.

Still, you can feel the weight of his want. Pressing. Building.

“This is gonna kill me,” he says softly.

Your dad calls out from the patio then, voice casual but loud enough to carry.

“Hey, Joel—you mind givin’ her a hand with that old cabinet upstairs? Damn thing’s been wobblin’ again.”

Joel blinks. You watch his throat work as he swallows something down.

He hesitates. Just for a second.

You can see it—the flicker in his expression. That split second of panic, of restraint, of God, not now, but your dad’s already waving him off like it’s no big deal.

“She’s been complainin’ about it all week,” he adds, tipping his beer toward the house. “Should only take a minute.”

Joel shifts his weight, eyes skating toward you like it hurts. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “Course.”

You smirk. Sweet as honey.

“Thanks,” you chirp. “It’s just the knob on the top drawer—it keeps sticking. Come on, I’ll show ya.” Your voice is softer than it needs to be. Your smile just a little too wide. Joel clocks it immediately. His jaw ticks.

And maybe your dad doesn’t notice, but you do.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. Doesn’t meet your eyes. Doesn’t say anything else as you lead the way into the house, your bare feet padding softly across the tile.

You don’t look back.

Not until the door clicks shut behind you—and the silence wraps tight around the two of you like a secret.

The house is cooler than it was outside, the air humming with the low whir of an old ceiling fan and the muffled sound of laughter spilling in from the patio. You lead him through the kitchen without a word, every step deliberate, measured. He trails a few feet behind you—just far enough to keep himself honest.

You open the door to the hallway and gesture toward your bedroom. “It’s just in here.”

Joel exhales slow, like he already regrets this. “Don’t know why your dad doesn’t just buy new furniture.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, your smile coy. “Maybe he likes things that are broken.”

Joel huffs. Doesn’t answer.

You walk ahead, hips swaying gently beneath the soft cotton of your dress. You can feel him behind you—feel the weight of his gaze pressed against your back like a brand.

The room smells like your lotion and the faint trace of summer air drifting through a cracked window. Joel steps in behind you and pauses, hands on his hips, eyes scanning everything but you. You point toward the old cabinet tucked beside the window.

“There,” you say lightly. “Top drawer sticks. Thought maybe it just needed tightening or something.”

He walks over to it. Crouches down. Pulls the drawer halfway out, just to see how bad it really is.

And you?

You step in behind him–too close. Close enough that the hem of your dress brushes his shoulder. Close enough that he can smell your shampoo—feel the warmth of your bare legs, the hum of your breath when you lean just slightly over his shoulder to peek at the drawer.

“Think you can fix it?” You ask, voice soft. Sweet. Barely above a whisper.

Joel stiffens. His fingers pause on the handle. You can see the tension in his arms, the way his shoulders rise just slightly—like every inch of him is screaming don’t.

“Maybe,” he mutters. “Maybe not.”

You hum. “Guess I’ll owe you either way.”

He pulls the drawer out farther than he needs to. Not really looking at it now. Not really seeing anything at all. He’s gone still, like something inside him is locking up. Holding him back.

Your chest brushes his arm when you shift your weight. You lay your hand on the top of the dresser like it’s nothing, fingers splayed, pink polished nails catching the light. Joel’s eyes drop to them for half a second before he jerks his gaze away.

“You’re not making this easy,” he says, low. Rough. Almost like it hurts.

You blink, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

He rises slowly to his full height. Not touching you—but close enough to tower.

You tilt your head and smile. “I haven’t done anything.”

Joel’s jaw clenches. His hands flex at his sides.

You turn back toward the dresser like you’re going to give him space, give him a chance to breathe—and that’s when he moves.

His hand wraps around your wrist, gentle but firm. “You really gonna keep pretendin’ this ain’t killin’ you too?”

His gaze drags over you slowly. Not like he’s trying to intimidate you—more like he’s trying to survive it. His eyes trace the outline of your parted lips, linger on the delicate curve of your chest, then fall to your thighs, pressed a little too tightly together in anticipation.

There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Like amusement. Like disbelief that you’re really here—doing this to him again.

“You know what your problem is?” He murmurs, voice low and hoarse.

You swallow hard. Try to speak, but nothing comes.

Joel steps in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You look at me like that,” he says, a half-laugh tucked in behind the words. “Bat those fuckin’ eyes… all soft, all sweet. Like I don’t know what you’re doin’.”

You feel heat rise up your spine. Your stomach clenches.

“And this dress?” He goes on, mouth brushing just beneath your jaw. “No bra. No shame. Bein’ real generous with your thighs all afternoon. In front of everybody.”

It’s not cruel. It’s not harsh. He says it like he’s teasing you for getting away with it. Like he’s impressed. Like it’s killing him and he doesn’t even want you to stop.

You shift your weight, unsure if you’re trying to get away or lean into him.

He doesn’t let you do either.

Your lips part. You want to play innocent. Want to tease him back. But your voice catches somewhere behind your tongue.

Joel sees it—sees the flicker of doubt, of want, of that same ache carved between your ribs that’s been digging into his all damn day. He smiles then. Not smug. Not cruel. Just tired. Like he’s been carrying this weight for too long and finally stopped pretending he can.

He doesn’t rush.

One hand slips to your hip, the other flattening against your lower back, guiding you—not roughly, but firmly—until your thighs brush the edge of the bathroom counter. His touch is steady. Certain. The kind of sure that says this has been a long time coming.

Then he turns you.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until his hand splays wide across your belly—warm and heavy, grounding you to the bathroom counter. Joel’s behind you, chest brushing your back, his mouth hovering over your shoulder like he can’t decide whether to kiss it or bite.

In the mirror, his eyes drag down your reflection—your parted lips, the tight grip you’ve got on the edge of the sink, the way your thighs press together like you’re trying to keep something in.

“Look at you,” he mutters, breath warm against your skin. “All worked up and I haven’t even fuckin’ touched you yet.”

You swallow hard. You’re soaked already. You know he can feel it—your heat bleeding through the thin cotton of your dress, your pulse fluttering just beneath his palm.

Joel’s hand slides up, slow and deliberate, over the slope of your ribs, the curve of your breast. He doesn't grope. He just holds—firm and steady, like he wants to feel the beat of your heart against his fingers.

You lean back into him, needy, aching.

He laughs—quiet, wrecked. “Knew this dress was gonna kill me. Knew the second I saw you sittin’ out there like you wanted to be dragged in here.”

You whimper, and he dips his head, nose brushing your jaw.

“Didn’t say a word all afternoon. Just sat there lettin’ that little thing ride up higher and higher—knowin’ damn well I was watchin’.”

His other hand slips lower—beneath the hem, over your thigh. His touch is light, maddening, fingers skimming until they brush the bare, soaking heat of you.

He hisses, teeth clenched. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Joel—” you whisper, but it’s nothing. A sound. A breath.

His fingers slide between your folds, slow and obscene, slick spreading across your skin. His palm cups you from behind, fitting against your body like he was made for it.

“So wet,” he groans, pressing in just enough to make your knees buckle. “You like this that much? Me watchin’? Bein’ this fuckin’ filthy with your whole family sittin’ twenty feet away?”

You don’t answer. Can’t.

His hand slides up your chest again—this time to your throat. Just resting. Not squeezing. But it makes your breath stutter anyway. Makes your knees tremble.

You nod—barely—and he smirks at your reflection.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then—

He drops to his knees behind you.

You gasp, hands tightening on the counter, heart pounding.

Joel grips your hips, pushes your thighs apart, and then presses a kiss—hot and open-mouthed—to the curve just beneath your ass.

“You’re drippin’,” he mutters, voice muffled by skin. “Fuck me.”

You whimper, try to look back, but he tugs your hips gently and says, “Eyes on the mirror. You watch what I do to you.”

You do.

You watch as he spreads you open with both hands, thumbs parting you gently, reverently. His breath hits your folds and you jerk, moaning into the air.

And then his mouth is on you.

His tongue licks a thick, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit, then circles back—slow and messy and devoted. Like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste. The way you shake. The way your body reacts to every drag of his tongue.

He groans against you, the sound low and guttural, like he’s the one losing control.

Your thighs quake. “Joel—oh my god—”

He sucks your clit into his mouth and your vision blacks out for a second. Your hands scrabble for purchase on the counter.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” you cry, biting your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Yeah,” he pants against you. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear it.”

He eats like a man starved. Sloppy, relentless, nose buried in you, fingers digging into your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

You’re shaking. Your knees nearly give out.

Joel notices.

He pulls back just long enough to rasp, “Don’t fall on me now—ain’t even fucked you yet.”

Then he’s back at it. This time with fingers.

He slides two inside you without warning—thick and rough, knuckles brushing your walls while his mouth stays on your clit.

You choke on a moan. “Joel—please—I’m gonna—”

He groans. “Come for me. Right now.”

You fall apart.

You come hard, gasping, legs trembling, one hand slapping against the mirror as your whole body locks up, your muscles clenching around his fingers.

Joel curses into your cunt. Keeps licking through it.

“Shh—it’s okay. Let me have it. Just like that. So fuckin’ good for me.”

You sob. Actually sob.

And he doesn't stop.

He lets you ride it out, lets you shake and pant, and then—he slides his fingers back in.

You jolt. “Too much—Joel—”

He hums. “I know. S’why I’m doin’ it.”

You cry out, forehead pressed to the mirror.

His free hand comes to the back of your calf—gentle again, grounding, petting, almost—and he nuzzles into the back of your thigh, licking soft and slow while he works you open all over again.

“You wanted this,” he breathes. “Wanted me wreckin’ you in your daddy’s house. Don’t go shy on me now.”

You moan. Loud. Messy.

“You’re mine, ain’t you?” His voice is a rasp now. Wrecked.

You nod.

He presses a kiss to your ass. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

He stands then. Fast. Pulls you back into him.

You can feel how hard he is—straining in his jeans. He fumbles with his zipper, breath ragged.

And when he pushes inside—

It’s blinding.

You both gasp. He grips your hips, steadying himself.

“Fuck—always so tight,” he growls. “So fuckin’ perfect for me.”

He thrusts slow at first. Long, deep strokes that make your eyes roll back. That make the mirror fog up.

Then faster. Rougher. Hands gripping you hard. Like he wants to leave bruises. Like he needs proof this happened.

Your cries are high-pitched now, desperate.

Joel leans in, mouth against your ear. “That’s it, baby. Take it. So fuckin’ pretty like this—face all flushed, eyes tearin’ up.”

He thrusts deeper. “You’re gonna make a mess, ain’t you? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl.”

You nod, mouth open, moaning.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Mine. All mine.”

And when you come again—when your whole body shakes and you scream his name against your own wrist—Joel fuckin’ loses it.

He groans your name, spills inside you, buries his face in your neck with a guttural curse that sounds like regret and worship tangled together.

And still, he doesn’t let go. Not right away.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close, hips still pressed to yours, his breath slowing against your skin.

The mirror’s fogged. Your thighs are soaked. The counter’s cold beneath your palms.

And Joel’s mouth is at your ear again, soft and real.

“You okay?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Fuck. Yeah.”

He kisses your shoulder.

And you smile—wrecked and ruined and still so full of him.

━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━

You show up just after lunch rush, a brown paper bag folded neatly in your arms, still warm against your chest. You’re wearing jeans and a loose shirt—something casual, safe. Your hair’s pulled back in a clip. No makeup. Nothing intentionally done to catch attention.

And still—he looks.

The construction site stretches out like a skeleton of something half-born. Steel bones. Exposed wood. Sawdust clings to the air like fog, and the sky above is sharp, cloudless, cruel.

You walk past the truck bays and toward the break area, boots crunching over gravel. A few guys nod as you pass. Most don’t.

You’re not here for them.

You spot your dad’s hard hat first—bright white with a strip of flaking duct tape across the front. He’s crouched beside a scaffolding rig, barking something at a worker below.

Joel’s standing a few feet off, one hand braced against the frame of the trailer office, his other wrapped tight around a water bottle like he’s trying to remember what it’s for. His shirt is stained at the collar. Dusty. Clings to his chest in places it shouldn’t. His pants hang low on his hips, a smear of something dark across his thigh.

He sees you before you call out. Sees you before you even mean to be seen.

The way his jaw locks—quick and brutal—tells you everything.

You wave at your dad. Lift the bag a little. “Brought lunch!”

He grins. “Jesus, you’re a lifesaver. That sandwich place?”

“Your usual.” You pass it to him and he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before digging in like he hasn’t eaten in days. His attention shifts immediately back to the site, already barking out instructions between bites.

Joel still hasn’t moved.

You turn toward him slowly. Tilt your head. Smile like you don’t know what you’re doing.

He shakes his head once. A warning. A plea.

You ignore it.

“You eat yet?” You ask softly.

He glances around—quick, sharp, like he’s expecting eyes.

“Don’t,” he mutters under his breath. “Not here. Not—fuck, not now.”

But you’re already crossing the distance. Not enough to touch. Just enough for the scent of your shampoo to reach him.

Your voice stays low. “You looked hungry.”

His jaw twitches. He steps back. Barely. Like it physically hurts to put space between you.

“Your dad’s right there,” he hisses.

“And?”

Joel’s eyes darken. His throat works.

“And I just spent the last two hours tryin’ not to think about what I did to you in that fuckin’ bathroom.”

You smile.

Then—quietly, sweetly, so softly it barely counts as a sin: “You wanna do it again?”

His eyes snap to yours. He looks at you like you just spit holy water on him.

And still—he doesn’t say no.

He doesn’t answer.

Not with words, anyway.

Joel’s hand shoots out—rough, calloused, certain—and wraps around your wrist. He doesn’t pull hard. Doesn’t have to. You stumble forward easily, chest brushing his as he backs you toward the side of the trailer, behind the stacks of lumber and plywood. The break room door creaks open just as you disappear from sight.

Someone calls out a joke. You barely register it.

Joel slams the trailer door shut behind you and locks it without thinking.

Then he turns to you.

His chest rises hard under the fabric of his shirt. There’s sweat at his temples, clinging to the curls behind his ears. His fingers flex at his sides like he doesn’t trust them not to grab you again.

“You got no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, stepping in so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. “Showin’ up like that. Smilin’ like you ain’t already got me on my knees.”

“I think you like it,” you whisper.

His eyes drop to your lips. His voice dips lower. Rougher.

“I think you like pushin’ me.”

You smile—barely—and Joel’s already moving.

He backs you against the trailer wall, one hand cupping your jaw, the other already sliding down your side, dragging over the curve of your ass with a low groan.

“This is so fuckin’ stupid,” he says, but his mouth is on yours before the sentence even finishes.

It’s not gentle. It never is with him.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth with a hunger that steals your breath, and he presses his hips hard against yours until you feel him—already thick and heavy through his jeans. You whimper into the kiss, fingers fisting the front of his shirt.

Outside, footsteps crunch over gravel. Laughter. Your dad’s voice, faint.

Joel curses and breaks the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours.

“We don’t have time,” he says.

“So don’t waste it,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

His hands are under your shirt in seconds—palms rough against your stomach as he drags the fabric up, exposing bare skin inch by inch. You reach for his belt, fumble with the buckle, but your hands are shaking too hard.

Joel growls low in his throat and does it for you.

He frees himself just as you tug your panties down, not bothering with anything else. The moment they hit your knees, Joel’s hands grip your hips and lift you—just enough to set you back on the edge of the supply table behind you, your ass barely balancing there.

The surface is cold. His body is hot. The air between you, electric.

You spread your thighs instinctively and Joel groans—deep and broken.

“Fuck, baby—already wet for me?” He runs two fingers through your slick, slow and deliberate, like he’s dragging it out on purpose. “You need me that bad?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Joel—please—”

That’s all he needs.

He lines himself up, grips your thighs hard, and pushes in—a slow, thick stretch that knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

Joel swears, low and dangerous.

“Every time,” he growls, bottoming out. “Every fuckin’ time you feel better than I remembered.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust—he starts moving, thrusting into you with sharp, desperate rolls of his hips, the table creaking beneath your weight.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs locking around his waist.

“Gonna get us caught,” he mutters, teeth grazing your jaw. “You that needy for me, baby? Can’t even wait till I get off work?”

“You didn’t stop me,” you pant.

He laughs—wrecked, breathless. “Didn’t fuckin’ want to.”

His rhythm picks up—fast, brutal, unforgiving. His hands grip your thighs, your hips, your waist—like he can’t decide which part of you he needs more.

Your back arches. The table groans again.

Joel leans in, mouth against your ear.

“Y’know what I was thinkin’ about all mornin’? That mirror. That look on your face when you came all over my fuckin’ tongue. Thought about it till I was fuckin’ hard in the damn truck.”

You moan, loud.

He clamps a hand over your mouth. “Shhh—don’t you dare.”

Your eyes flutter. He slams into you again.

“You wanna get caught? You want your daddy to come lookin’ for you and see me buried in his little fuckin’ girl like this?”

You whimper against his palm.

He growls.

“God, you do.”

He lets go of your mouth just long enough for you to moan his name.

Then he grabs your throat.

Gentle. Steady. But enough to make you whine.

“Mine,” he whispers. “Say it.”

You’re barely holding on. “Yours. I’m yours.”

Joel loses it.

He fucks you hard, fast, reckless—his breath ragged, forehead against yours. You come with a cry, clenching around him so tight it nearly brings him to his knees.

“Ah, god damnit—” he gasps, thrusting deep once, twice—

And then he comes.

It’s raw. Guttural. He groans into your neck like he’s falling apart.

You stay like that for a second—just breathing. Just shaking. Just trying to remember where you are.

Then—

“Hey!” Your dad’s voice cuts through the open air like a gunshot. “You see my daughter? She wander off again?”

Joel jerks back, eyes wide.

“Shit—”

He pulls out, tucks himself away fast, grabbing for a rag off the table to clean you up with. You’re still gasping when he yanks your panties back into place, helps straighten your shirt.

Footsteps. Closer.

Joel grabs your jaw, kisses you once—fast and rough.

“Act normal.”

Then he’s out the door.

You follow a second later, cheeks flushed, fingers shaking as you tuck your hair behind your ear. You can’t help the grin that threatens to pull at your lips, still feeling Joel’s.

Your dad’s already turning the corner.

“Where the hell’d you go?”

You smile. “Bathroom,” you lie. “You good?”

He nods, takes another bite of his sandwich.

Joel doesn’t look at you.

But you can feel him still.

Burning through every inch of your skin.

━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━

It’s already dark when you grab your keys.

Not late—not quite—but the kind of dusk that hums with quiet. The heat’s still clinging to the windows, thick and sticky, and every room in the house feels like it’s holding its breath.

You check the mirror again.

One last time.

Hair loose, brushed soft over your shoulders. A sundress—low-cut, thin-strapped, clinging in the summer heat. You told yourself it was nothing special. Just enough to keep cool. But the way you keep tugging at the hem, the neckline, the way you keep glancing at your reflection like it might betray you—

Yeah. You know who you’re dressing for.

You slide on a light sweater anyway, just to be safe. Something to keep things modest enough for your dad to glance at you and not look twice.

He’s still on the couch when you step into the living room, one hand nursing a half-empty beer, eyes glazed from the TV. He doesn’t look up right away.

“Where you headed?” He asks, voice rough from too many years and not enough sleep.

You slip your keys into your pocket. “Lisa’s. Just for a bit. Movie night.”

He grunts. “You drivin’?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Her place is further out now. New apartment.”

He doesn’t question it. Just nods, eyes still on the screen. “Be smart. Don’t drive back too late.”

“I won’t.”

Your voice is sweet. Normal. The way it always is.

“Alright. Love you, kid.”

You give him a smile—one that doesn’t tremble—and head for the door. “Love you too.” You call out over your shoulder, willing your voice to stay neutral.

The porch creaks under your feet. The air outside is cooler than inside, but not by much. You walk fast across the gravel, sweater tight around your waist now, already feeling the sweat bloom at the nape of your neck.

Your car sits in the driveway. Engine still warm from earlier.

You slide in, shut the door soft and start the ignition.

And when you pull away, your fingers are already shaking on the wheel.

Not from nerves. Not exactly.

From want. From anticipation. From knowing exactly where you’re headed.

There’s no Lisa. No movie night.

Just a field about fifteen minutes out past the highway, where Joel’s waiting in the back of his pickup, cooler packed, blankets laid out in the bed, headlights off.

No one for miles.

Just stars.

You park a little ways down the road from the pickup, engine ticking as it cools beneath the hood. Lights off. Windows cracked. The air outside hums with cicadas and the faint rush of night wind, warm against your bare skin where the hem of your sundress brushes your knees. You tug the cardigan tighter around your shoulders, heart beating too loud in your chest.

He’s already there.

You see the outline of his truck up ahead—just beyond the bend where the woods break open into a patch of field, stars spilling wide across the sky like they’ve been waiting all day just for this.

You sit for a second. Breathing.

It’s been weeks.

Too many hours spent pretending not to care. Dodging glances at family dinners. Playing dumb every time your dad mentioned him in passing. And now—you’re here. Heart caught in your throat. Thighs already pressed a little too tight together.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat. Slam the door quieter than you mean to.

Your sandals kick up dust along the roadside, gravel whispering beneath your steps. The sweater hangs off one shoulder. The sundress sways with every movement. And even though you’re alone, even though there’s no one to see—you feel watched.

Anticipated.

The moment you round the front of his truck, the door swings open.

And there he is.

Joel stands just behind it, leaning one shoulder against the frame. T-shirt stretched across his chest. Jeans slung low on his hips. Hair a little messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times waiting for you. His eyes catch the light from the dash and flash warm. Familiar. Wanting.

His mouth curves slow.

“Hi, darlin’.”

Your stomach drops. That voice. That look. That fucking pet name. It never fails—it gets you every time.

You smile, soft and breathless. “Hi.”

Joel watches you walk the last few steps like he’s soaking it in. Like you’re something he’s starved for. His gaze drags down over the dress, the sweater sliding off your shoulder, the bare stretch of thigh, the faint pink polish on your toes.

“You look…” he trails off, shaking his head. Doesn’t finish the thought.

You stop in front of him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his chest.

“What?” You murmur, tipping your head.

He just looks at you.

And then—he sighs, stepping forward to wrap both arms around your waist, dragging you in against him like he doesn’t trust himself not to fall apart.

“Missed you,” he says into your hair. Quiet. Hoarse.

Your hands slide up his chest. You nod into his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

Joel pulls back just enough to look at you. His fingers trail down your arms, over the sides of your waist, grounding himself.

Then he gestures toward the back of the truck. “Come on. Brought a blanket.”

You climb into the bed of the truck with him, the old metal groaning beneath your weight. It’s already spread out—a thick old quilt, fraying at the edges, familiar from a dozen other nights you weren’t supposed to share.

You sit cross-legged, facing the field. He sits beside you, knee brushing yours.

There’s no rush.

The stars stretch wide overhead, sharp and endless. The wind moves through the tall grass like it’s whispering secrets you’re not meant to hear. Everything smells like earth and woodsmoke and a hint of his aftershave.

He reaches for your hand.

You give it to him.

His thumb rubs slow along your knuckles, rough calluses dragging over soft skin. He doesn’t say anything for a while—just looks out at the dark. Like the silence is safer than whatever he’s feeling.

You lean your head on his shoulder.

He lets you. Presses a kiss into your hair.

Then—quiet, steady, honest—

“I think about you all the time.”

Your breath hitches. You sit up, just enough to look at him.

His jaw is tight. His brows pulled. Like it hurt to say. Like it hurts more to mean it. “I know it’s fucked up,” he says. “But I can’t stop.”

Your heart breaks a little.

Because it is fucked up. And neither of you have ever pretended otherwise. But this—this moment, this night, this feeling—it’s real. It’s been real.

“I think about you too,” you whisper.

He turns toward you then. Cupping your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing your jaw. His eyes search your face, like he’s looking for something he lost.

And then—barely audible, barely real— “I love you.”

You freeze.

Not from fear. Not from regret. But from how deeply it lands. How fast it settles into your bones.

Your lips part. You blink.

And you say it back.

Not loud. Not sure. But true.

“I love you too.”

Joel closes his eyes like he’s in pain. Pulls you in. Kisses you.

Slow. Reverent. Like he’s praying.

And when he lays you down on the blanket beneath the stars—he takes his time.

The quilt scratches softly beneath your spine, the summer air curling around your skin, and Joel’s body hovering above yours feels too heavy and too perfect all at once. His palm braces beside your head, the other smoothing along your thigh, pushing the fabric of your sundress higher until it bunches at your waist.

He’s already looking at you like he’s trying to memorize everything. Like the moment’s too big, too fragile to rush.

You reach for him—one hand curling around his wrist, the other brushing along the side of his neck, feeling the soft bristle of his beard beneath your palm.

Joel bends down slowly and kisses you again.

It’s different now.

Not just slow. Not just sweet. But intentional. Like every touch is something he means. Something he’s been waiting to give you.

When he pulls back, your lips are kiss-wet and parted, your breath catching as his fingers slide up beneath the hem of your dress, dragging the cotton-soft fabric higher until it’s no longer in the way. His touch lingers on the inside of your thigh—just enough to make you whimper.

“You sure?” He asks softly, voice low and rasping.

You nod, eyes wide.

But he doesn’t move—not until you say it.

“Please,” you whisper, so soft it barely makes it past your lips. “I want you.”

Joel exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days.

His hand shifts, fingertips brushing between your legs, finding you already soaked. He groans low in his throat, almost reverent.

“Goddamn.”

He sinks two fingers into you, slow and careful, watching your face. You gasp, your back arching, thighs twitching. His thumb brushes your clit once—light as a whisper—and you nearly come undone already.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in to press kisses down the side of your neck. “Didn’t even have to work for it, did I?”

You shake your head, panting. “Wanted you all day.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow and deep, curling them just right. “Yeah?” His voice is lower now. Tighter. “Thought about me?”

“All the time,” you breathe. “Joel—please—”

“Alright,” he says, kissing your cheek, your temple, your jaw. “Okay. I got you.”

He pulls his hand away just long enough to unbutton his jeans, shove them down past his hips. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already dripping for you. You watch him stroke himself once, twice, his eyes still locked on your face.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs. “Laid out for me. Dress bunched up, legs spread, beggin’ for it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, squirming. “Please. I want you—”

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know. Gonna give it to you.”

He lines himself up, the head of his cock slipping through your slick folds, and he groans when he feels how wet you are—how ready.

Then—slowly—he pushes in.

You gasp, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he sinks deeper. It’s overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the intimacy of it.

Joel’s head drops to your shoulder. “Fuck—you’re so perfect—”

He doesn’t thrust. Not yet. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, his chest pressed to yours, your breaths syncing in the heavy silence.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, your hands clinging to his shoulders, nails digging in.

Joel moves then.

Slow. Deep.

His hips roll into yours like waves—long, dragging strokes that have you gasping into the night air. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, every movement laced with something tender and breaking.

You whimper, arching into him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

“Not gonna,” he pants, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Not stoppin’—not ever.”

You come with a sob.

It builds like a storm, low and tight and aching—and then it snaps. Your body seizes around him, thighs squeezing, fingers clawing at his back. You cry out his name, helpless and wrecked, trembling beneath him.

Joel curses, barely holding on. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck—so good for me—so fuckin’ good—”

And then he’s chasing his own release, hips stuttering, breath hitching in your ear.

You feel it when he comes.

The way his whole body tenses. The way his arms tighten around you like he’s afraid to let go. The soft, broken sounds he makes into your hair—like he’s praying and falling apart all at once.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move. Just stays pressed against you, his cock still inside, one hand cradling the back of your neck.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest.

You kiss his shoulder. Whisper against his skin.

“I love you.”

Joel’s eyes are closed, his face tucked into your hair. “I love you too, baby.”

The stars stretch quiet and endless above you, the warm breeze rustling the grass around the truck bed.

And for once, neither of you say anything else.

Because you don’t need to.

You lie on your side, one leg slung over his, the weight of your body still settling from what just happened.

Joel’s hand rests on your thigh. His thumb moves slow, back and forth, the barest touch, like if he lets go you might vanish.

Neither of you have spoken in minutes.

Not since you curled into him, still trembling, breath catching from the last wave that rolled through you. Not since his lips brushed your hairline and stayed there, unmoving, like maybe he was afraid of what would slip out if he opened his mouth.

The night stretches wide above you—quiet, open, endless. The stars are the only witnesses.

You draw in a slow breath. The truck smells like him. Sweat and soap and heat.

“I hate this part,” you whisper finally.

Joel doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows.

“This is the part where everything starts to feel too real,” you murmur. “And then it gets quiet. And then I start thinking.”

He hums low in his throat, almost like a warning. “Don’t do that.”

“I have to,” you say. “One of us has to.”

Joel shifts beside you, the mattress rustling under his weight. He’s still not looking at you. “We’ve already talked about it.”

You blink up at the stars, throat tightening. “We said we’d wait. We never said when.”

“Back then it was still a maybe,” he says quietly. “Now it’s not.”

There’s a pause. Long. Heavy.

His hand is still moving on your thigh.

You swallow. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

Joel’s voice comes quieter than before. “You think I do?”

“I’m scared,” you admit.

He nods. Not mocking. Just… understanding. “Me too.”

You press your face into his shoulder for a second. Breathe him in. Let your fingers drift across the inside of his forearm, the soft patch of skin that always feels too intimate to touch.

“I keep thinking about how it’ll sound,” you whisper. “Like—‘Hey, Dad, you remember your best friend? The one you’ve worked with for twenty years? Yeah, I’ve been sneaking around with him for months. He makes me scream his name and then drives me home like nothing happened.’”

Joel flinches. Not visibly—but you feel it, in the way his stomach tightens beneath your hand.

“I don’t feel proud of it,” you murmur. “Even though I… I care about you.”

Joel finally turns toward you then. Really turns. His hand stills on your leg.

“I never wanted you to feel ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “I just—this isn’t what I expected.”

His brow pulls. “You mean us?”

You shake your head. “I mean how much it hurts.”

Joel doesn’t respond. He just watches you. Quiet. Intense. Like he’s trying to memorize every word without letting it show.

You trace a small circle against his arm. “You were supposed to be the one I couldn’t have. You know that?”

He exhales through his nose. “I was the one you couldn’t have.”

“And now I do,” you say softly.

Joel shifts. His hand slides from your thigh to your waist, curling there. Holding. Steady. He leans in until his forehead brushes yours.

“You don’t just have me,” he says quietly. “I’m yours.”

━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━

It’s been a few weeks since that night in the truck.

Since the stars and the slow touches and the whispered I love yous that neither of you could take back—even if you wanted to.

And you don’t. Not even a little.

Things haven’t cooled off since then. If anything, they’ve deepened—evolved into something even more dangerous. Even more fragile. You see him more now. More than ever. Little excuses. Stolen afternoons. Late-night drives that last until morning. Joel’s been sweet, too—so much sweeter than anyone would guess. Like saying it out loud cracked something open in him. Something he’d been holding back for a long, long time.

It’s made the hiding worse.

Harder.

And tonight… tonight will be the last time.

You’re standing in the doorway, sweater slung over one arm, keys dangling from your fingers. The sun’s dipping low, the light slanting soft through the living room windows. Your dad’s on the couch, half-watching a ballgame, a soda sweating in his hand.

“Hey, I’m headed out,” you say, casual.

He turns his head. “Another night with the girls?”

“Yeah,” you lie smoothly. “We’re doing that stupid wine and paint thing. Someone’s gonna end up crying over a sunflower again.”

Your dad huffs a laugh. “Sounds tragic.”

You grin. Shrug your sweater on.

But his gaze lingers a little longer than usual. Not suspicious—just soft. Curious. Thoughtful.

“You’ve been out a lot lately,” he says. “Smilin’ more, too.”

You pause in the act of tucking your phone into your bag. “That a bad thing?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Hell no. It’s a good thing. Just…” He tips his head a little. “What’s got you so happy these days?”

You freeze.

Just for a second.

He doesn’t notice—or at least he pretends not to. He takes another drink, smiles around the rim of the can.

“It a boy?” He teases gently. “Someone new?”

You laugh. It sounds almost normal. “What makes you think that?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got that look. That… light. Whoever he is, he must be a good one if he’s put it there.”

Your chest aches.

Your fingers tighten around your keys.

He doesn’t know. Not yet.

You step toward the door and force a smile over your shoulder. “Yeah. He’s a good one.”

You wave once before slipping into the driver’s seat, shutting the door quick, before he can see your hands shaking.

You sit for a second. Just breathe.

Then you pull out of the driveway and head down the road, stomach fluttering like it always does when you’re about to see him.

It’s not the first time you’ve pulled into Joel’s driveway.

The gravel crunches beneath your tires the same way it always does. The porch light glows soft and golden in the fading dusk, casting long shadows over the steps you’ve memorized by heart. You park behind his truck, cut the engine, and sit for just a moment—fingers loose on the steering wheel, stomach fluttering.

You’ve been here before. Countless times now. But tonight feels different.

Because it’s the last time you get to come here like this—sneaking away under a lie, knowing he’s waiting behind the door with that look in his eyes and his shoulders already easing the moment he sees you.

You step out, the hem of your sundress catching on the breeze, the sweater sleeves bunched at your elbows. Your shoes scuff against the walk as you make your way to the porch, and before your hand can even reach the door—

It opens.

“Hi, darlin’.”

He says it soft. Like a prayer. Like the sound of you on the gravel was enough to pull him out of the living room.

Your breath catches. Joel’s leaning in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He looks like he’s been pacing. His hair’s a little tousled, like he’s been running his hand through it. There’s a crease in his brow that only softens when his eyes land on you.

He doesn’t smile—not fully—but there’s something close to it. Something warm. His eyes flick over you, quick and reverent. Sweater. Dress. Bare legs. Familiar.

But the way he looks at you? That part still makes your chest ache.

“Hey,” you say, breathless.

He steps back without a word, just enough to let you inside.

The door clicks softly behind you. The quiet of his house wraps around you like a blanket—low hum of the fridge, scent of laundry and sawdust and the faintest trace of his cologne still lingering in the air.

You drop your keys into the little dish by the door. Joel’s watching you like he always does—silent, heavy-lidded, like he’s drinking you in. Like he’s already wondering how he’s supposed to let this part go.

“You nervous?” You ask.

He huffs a breath, steps closer. “A little.”

You nod. “Me too.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours like they’re meant to be there. His grip is warm. Steady.

Then finally, he murmurs, “Feels like this might be the last time it’s just us.”

You look up at him. “It won’t be.”

But even as you say it, your voice wavers.

Joel exhales through his nose. His thumb drags across your knuckles.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what your dad’s gonna say,” he mutters. “What he’s gonna do.”

You nod. “I know.”

His eyes find yours again—tired, worried, but still so soft.

“You still wanna tell him?” He asks.

You hesitate. Not because the answer isn’t yes. But because yes is terrifying.

And you both know it.

You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “I do.”

Joel pulls you in slowly, arms sliding around your waist, his chin resting against the top of your head. The beat of his heart is steady beneath your cheek. Familiar. Safe.

“We’ll tell him together,” he says.

You close your eyes.

And hold on tight.

⁂

Joel makes dinner.

You offer to help—more than once—but he waves you off with a quiet go sit down, sweetheart, and the kind of stern look that makes your heart flutter in your chest. So you perch at his kitchen table instead, sweater sleeves tugged over your hands, watching him move around the small space like he’s done it a thousand times.

He’s good at it. Fast. Focused. Efficient without being rushed.

He cooks the same way he does everything else—with purpose. With care.

Chicken and vegetables. Roasted potatoes. Garlic bread that fills the kitchen with the warm, buttery smell of something that feels suspiciously close to home. He doesn’t talk much while he works, but you can tell he’s nervous by the way he wipes his hands on the same dishtowel over and over again, the way he keeps glancing at you like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there.

When he finally sets the plate down in front of you, you laugh under your breath.

“What?” He grunts.

“This looks incredible,” you murmur. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Joel shrugs. “Wanted to.”

You both eat quietly for a while. There’s music playing softly from the old speaker in the corner—something with strings, low and meandering. Every now and then your knees bump under the table, and neither of you pulls away.

He watches you when you take your last bite. Quiet and full of something like pride. Or awe. Like he still can’t quite believe you’re here.

And when he clears the plates and turns back toward you, his expression shifts.

It’s subtle. But you know that look–you know what comes next.

The shower is steam and skin and whispered promises.

You laugh when he pulls you in, still half-dressed, your sweater hitting the floor before the bathroom door even clicks shut. His hands are slow on your skin, warm beneath the spray, and everything feels both too fast and too soft—like you’re holding onto something fleeting. Like the world might shift the moment you step out of this room.

His mouth finds your shoulder. Your neck. Lower.

You gasp.

He groans.

But this time—it doesn’t go further. It stays slow. Gentle. The kind of touch that says I love you without needing to say anything at all.

Later, when you’re curled beneath the sheets, your head tucked against his chest and his arm slung heavy over your waist, you feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Hope.

Fear.

Everything in between.

Joel kisses your hair and doesn’t say a word.

You fall asleep with your fingers curled in his shirt and the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

⁂

The sun is barely up when you wake.

Your clothes are folded at the foot of the bed. Joel’s already up, padding around the kitchen in quiet half-steps, trying not to make too much noise. You sit on the edge of the mattress, staring down at your hands. Everything in your body feels slow. Floaty. Like you’re walking through someone else’s dream.

This is it.

You dress in silence. Joel helps you with your sweater like it’s a ceremony. And then you both stand in the doorway, keys in hand, looking at each other like there’s too much left unsaid.

“You sure?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel reaches for your hand. Holds it just long enough to make your chest ache.

Then you both step outside.

Together.

The walk to the house is slow.

You’d driven separately, like always. Parked down the street like always. But this morning—there’s no space between you. Joel walks close. His hand brushes yours once, then again, until you finally lace your fingers through his and hold tight.

You both know you shouldn’t be touching.

Not here. Not now.

But it’s your last chance to do this before everything changes, and you can’t let go. Not when your chest is aching. Not when your palms are sweating. Not when every step feels heavier than the one before it.

Joel’s quiet beside you.

His face is set. Determined. But the muscle in his jaw ticks, and he keeps flexing his free hand like he can’t stop fidgeting. Like if he doesn’t move, he’ll explode.

When you reach the porch, you both pause.

The house is still. Quiet. You hear the creak of a chair on the back deck, the faint clink of a mug being set down. Your dad’s up. Probably halfway through his first coffee. Probably has no idea his entire world is about to tilt sideways.

You glance up at Joel.

He’s looking straight ahead. His jaw clenches.

You squeeze his hand. “You sure?”

His eyes drop to yours—warm, steady, terrified.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. Swallow hard. And knock.

Your dad answers the door with a smile already forming—slow and a little tired, like it’s too early for anything heavy. He’s barefoot, still in his T-shirt and sleep pants, a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm.

His eyes flick between you and Joel. The smile falters, just a hair.

“Joel?” He says, blinking. Then back to you. “You’re with her?”

Joel nods once. Quiet. “Hey, Mike.”

Your dad hesitates—but only for a breath. Then he steps back slowly, still watching the two of you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with only half the pieces. He waves you in anyway.

“Come on in. Coffee’s fresh.”

The door clicks shut behind you with a final-sounding thud.

You follow him inside, every footstep sounding louder than it should. Joel stays close behind, his hand brushing yours like he can’t help it—even now, even here. You don’t look at him. Not yet.

You step into the living room like it’s the last time you’ll ever see it exactly this way—unchanged, safe, familiar. The couch you grew up on. The crooked photos in the hall. The faint scent of laundry detergent and leftover coffee and something warmer you can’t name.

Joel hovers behind you, quiet. Not fidgeting, not nervous—but held still by something heavier. He hasn’t said a word.

Your dad moves into the kitchen, setting his mug down with a clink before turning slightly, watching the two of you over his shoulder.

“You two carpoolin’ now or somethin’?” he asks, trying for light, but there’s a thread of confusion woven through it.

You can’t lie. Not today.

You shake your head once. “We came to talk.”

That gets his attention.

He straightens, blinking at you both like he’s waiting for the punchline. “Everything okay?”

Joel’s voice is quiet. Steady. “We just need a few minutes of your time.”

Your dad narrows his eyes—not angry, not yet. Just… off-balance. Guarded. “Alright…” He jerks his chin toward the living room. “Let’s sit.”

He walks first. You follow second. Joel follows last.

Already, you feel it—that subtle shift in the air. Like the house knows something you haven’t said yet. Like the walls are listening.

He shuffles toward the kitchen again, calling over his shoulder as he moves, “You guys eat yet?”

You glance at Joel—at the man who still hasn’t said a word since you stepped inside—and then call out, “We’re good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Suit yourselves.”

He’s humming now. Something soft and tuneless. You hear the cabinet open, the scrape of his mug being set down again, the clink of the coffee pot. Everything is so normal. So painfully, dreadfully normal.

Joel shifts beside you, leans close enough to murmur, “You wanna wait, or…?”

Your stomach flips.

“No,” you whisper. “We tell him. Just… let him sit down first.”

Joel gives a tight nod, his fingers brushing yours again, quick and fleeting.

Your dad returns a minute later, fresh coffee in hand, newspaper folded beneath his arm. He sinks into his usual chair—the one that groans under his weight, the one no one else dares sit in—and leans back with a sigh.

He looks at you first.

Then Joel.

Then back again.

“What’s got you both lookin’ like you just ran over somebody’s dog?”

You try to laugh. It comes out too sharp, too thin.

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s goin’ on?”

Then his face hardens—not with understanding, but with something more hesitant. More off.

“Didn’t think you two spent much time together,” he says slowly. His voice is still casual, but there’s something behind it now—something cautious. “Figured it was one of your friends makin’ you sneak out all the time.”

He chuckles once. It’s dry. Strained. “Sure as hell didn’t think it was Joel.”

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Choking.

Your dad’s eyes narrow just slightly. He looks at Joel now—really looks at him. And you can see the pieces beginning to shift behind his eyes. One by one. Every memory. Every absence. Every little thing he didn’t question before.

He laughs again. But it’s empty this time.

“No,” he says flatly. “No, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Dad—”

“No.” His voice is louder now. Sharper. “You’re tellin’ me this’s been goin’ on behind my back? You and him?”

You flinch. Joel stays still. Tense. Silent.

Your father stands, coffee forgotten on the side table, paper sliding off his lap.

“You’ve been lyin’ to me. Both of you.” He looks at Joel, betrayal breaking clean across his face. “You were supposed to be my friend.”

You open your mouth. Try to speak.

But Joel steps in first—just a little. Not enough to crowd. Not enough to scare.

But enough to stand beside you. Steady. Certain. “Mike,” he says, low and careful. “Let us explain.”

Your dad stares at Joel like he doesn’t recognize him. Like the man standing in front of him—the one he’s known for years, trusted with goddamn everything—is a stranger wearing Joel’s face.

“Explain?” He repeats, voice low and tight. “You want to explain?”

Joel doesn’t flinch. “We didn’t plan it this way.”

“Plan it?” Your dad’s voice breaks, somewhere between disbelief and rising anger. “Jesus Christ, Joel, she’s my daughter. You think that justifies it? That you didn’t plan it?”

You step forward, heart pounding. “It’s not what you think—”

He cuts his hand through the air, eyes blazing. “Don’t. Don’t tell me this is anything but betrayal. From both of you.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “It wasn’t like that.”

Your dad rounds on him. “Then how was it? Huh?” His voice is raw now, sharp. “You just woke up one day and thought, yeah, let me fuck around with Mike’s daughter behind his back? Sneak around like some goddamn teenager?”

“Hey.” Joel’s voice finally cracks through, firmer. “That’s not what this is. I care about her. You know I do.”

Your dad laughs once. Bitter. Disbelieving. “You care? That’s what you’re going with?”

You can barely breathe. You feel the shame hot on your skin, the panic twisting deep in your chest.

“Dad, please—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “You think this doesn’t gut me? You think I don’t sit here feelin’ like an idiot? My best friend and my kid—”

Joel steps forward, tone even. “I would never hurt her, and I sure as hell don’t wanna hurt you.”

“That’s the fuckin’ point, Joel!” Your dad yells. “You already did! You both did.”

Silence falls—heavy and vibrating with tension.

Your dad turns his back. Paces. Runs a hand through his hair. And then, quieter, voice cracking: “I trusted you. Both of you.”

Joel doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

You do.

You step forward, voice soft but steady. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this. But it’s not a fling. It’s not a mistake. I love him.”

Your dad’s shoulders tighten.

Joel breathes in deep, like the words settle in his bones.

And when your dad turns again, there’s no disbelief left—just hurt. Real and bare. “I need some time,” he says finally. “I need you both to go.”

The words hang in the air like smoke.

I need you both to go.

You freeze, mouth half open. “Dad—”

“Go.”

He doesn’t yell this time. Doesn’t bark or snap. But it’s worse that way. Worse because it’s flat. Final. Said with the kind of hollow certainty that doesn’t need to be loud to be devastating.

Joel shifts beside you. “Mike…”

Your dad doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look at either of you.

He stares at a spot just left of the couch, like if he keeps his eyes on anything else—anything but you—he might be able to keep from breaking.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

And for a second—just a breath—you almost fight. Almost tell him that you’re not a child anymore, that you don’t need permission to feel the way you do. That you’re happy, maybe for the first time in your life.

But you don’t.

Because he’s still your dad.

Because he’s right.

You lied to him. Both of you did.

Joel’s voice is quiet when he says, “Come on.”

You don’t look back as you follow him to the door. Your feet feel numb. Your heart feels worse.

The silence stretches behind you like a wound.

You step onto the porch. Joel shuts the door gently behind you, like closing it soft might make it hurt less.

But it doesn’t.

Not even close.

The morning air is too bright, too clean. The world feels wrong in the way it keeps moving—birds singing, cars passing on the street, nothing stopping just because your chest feels split wide open.

Joel walks you to the truck, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

Once you’re inside, seatbelt fastened with shaking hands, he exhales slowly—like he’s been holding his breath since the moment your dad opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice is small. Barely there. “I shouldn’t have—”

Joel cuts you off, not harsh, just firm.

“No,” he says. “Don’t.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

He’s pale. Sweating. His hand trembles faintly against the steering wheel like it hurts to keep still. But his jaw is set. His eyes are dark with something deeper than guilt.

“He’ll come around,” Joel murmurs, though you can’t tell if he believes it or if he just needs you to.

You nod. Because you have to.

Because the only thing worse than what just happened… is the thought that it could undo all of this.

━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━━━━━━✵━

The first two weeks were good.

Not perfect. Not easy. But good in a way that made you start to believe maybe it could last.

You stayed with Joel. Slept in his bed, wore his old shirts, woke up with his hand already on your waist like his body didn’t know how to let go. He made you coffee every morning, cooked dinner every night—real meals, too. Not just quick shit. The man slow-roasted vegetables. Seared steak like he’d been born doing it. He kissed your shoulder while you washed your hair. Held your hand on the couch. Smiled more.

It wasn’t always soft—sometimes it was messy, sometimes quiet—but he tried. Harder than he ever had before. Like he was making up for all the time you’d spent hiding. All the guilt. All the fear. You could feel him working at it, even when he didn’t say much.

And for a while, it worked.

You laughed. Ate better. Stopped checking your phone every time it buzzed, afraid it was your dad, saying the worst had finally come.

But then Joel started to pull away.

It was subtle at first. Long pauses between conversations. Nights where he’d sit out on the porch too long with a beer, staring at nothing. You’d touch his arm and he’d flinch—not away from you, but like he was startled. Like he’d forgotten you were there. Like he’d been somewhere else entirely.

When you asked what was wrong, he said nothing.

When you asked again, he kissed you too hard and pressed you into the mattress like he could convince you with his body instead of his words.

You should’ve known.

He picked the fight the next morning.

Over something small—something about the dishes, maybe, or you staying past the weekend. Something dumb enough that you almost laughed. But Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look at you. Just stood by the kitchen counter with his jaw clenched, arms crossed, saying words that didn’t sound like his.

He said maybe you should take a break.

Said maybe you needed time to patch things up with your dad.

Said maybe he’d made a mistake.

But you saw it—clear as day. In his face. In the way he stood like he was bracing for something awful. He was lying. Not about how he felt—but about why. He thought pushing you away would fix it. That if you hated him, maybe your dad would forgive you. Maybe things could go back to normal.

So you left.

Packed what little you had, still crying, too angry to speak. Joel didn’t stop you. Didn’t follow you. Just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching the door like it was some punishment he deserved.

You went home.

Your dad didn’t ask questions when he opened the door. Didn’t yell, didn’t gloat. Just stepped aside and let you in. You walked past him, dropped your bag in the hallway, and shut yourself in your room without a word.

He didn’t come in. Not that night. Not the next one either.

He let you stay.

That was all.

⁂

Time passed.

Not quickly. Not gently. But it passed.

You stopped texting Joel. Stopped checking to see if he had texted you back. At first out of pride. Then out of pain. Then because you couldn’t bring yourself to open the thread. Couldn’t stand to see his name sitting there, untouched, like a bruise you kept pressing just to prove it still hurt.

Your dad didn’t bring him up. Not once. Not even when you passed each other in the hallway. Not when he made dinner for two but only ate one plate. Not when you sat beside him on the couch but didn’t speak, didn’t laugh, didn’t look like the daughter he knew.

He didn’t ask if you were okay, but he also didn’t ignore it.

Not really.

He started to notice things.

The way you didn’t go out anymore. Didn’t see your friends. The way you pushed food around on your plate and took your dishes to the sink half-full. How you stayed curled up on the couch long after the TV had gone dark, long after he’d gone to bed.

He noticed the crying, too.

You tried to be quiet. Covered your mouth, turned your face into the pillow. But the walls weren’t that thick. And the silence between you had become a living thing—heavy, breathing, always listening.

One night, he stopped in the hallway. You didn’t hear him at first—just felt the way the floorboards creaked under his weight, how the air shifted near your door. He didn’t knock. Didn’t open it.

But he stood there for a long time.

Just stood there, while you bit your lip and let the tears roll silently down your cheek, hoping the weight of him outside the room meant something was still left between you. That he still cared. That maybe he just didn’t know how to fix it.

Neither did you.

⁂

It starts small, deliberate.

A mug set down beside yours at the table. A fork pushed toward you with a quiet, “Eat.”

He doesn’t say much at first. Doesn’t press.

You pick at your food like always—slow, mechanical, dragging your fork through syrup that’s already gone cold. He watches you across the table, hands wrapped around his own mug like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“I was thinkin’ about takin’ the boat out this weekend,” he says casually, eyes on his coffee. “Could use the company. Not as fun drinkin’ beer alone on the water.”

You don’t look up. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t push–just nods. Swallows it down.

The silence stretches. Long and uncomfortable. You stare at your plate like it might swallow you back if you sit still long enough.

Then he tries again. “You sleep okay?”

You nod.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t believe you. You both know it. But he nods anyway, pretending to accept it—pretending he didn’t hear you crying last night. Or the night before that. Or every night since.

“You been talkin’ to anyone?” He asks gently. “Your friends? That girl with the red Jeep—what’s her name?”

“Jess.”

“Yeah. Jess.”

You shake your head. “Haven’t really felt like it.”

Your dad shifts in his chair. Rubs a hand over his jaw. Looks older today. Tired. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You finally glance up.

The look in his eyes nearly breaks you. Not angry. Not disappointed.

Just… lost.

“I’m fine,” you say. It comes out flat. Unconvincing, but he nods anyway.

“Alright.”

He doesn’t believe you. He’s trying not to let it show. Trying to reach you without making you run.

But when he stands to clear the plates, you see the weight in his shoulders. The way he pauses at the sink—quiet, thoughtful—like he’s already halfway to making a decision he hasn’t told you about yet.

⁂

You’re outside when it happens.

Wrapped in a sweatshirt too big for you—one that still smells like sawdust and cedar and Joel’s damn soap. You shouldn’t be wearing it. Should’ve stuffed it in the bottom of your drawer the moment he left. But it’s the only thing that’s felt warm these past few weeks, the only thing that hasn’t asked you to explain.

You’re curled up in the corner of the porch swing, knees tucked into your chest, eyes unfocused as the late afternoon light drapes gold across the yard.

You don’t hear the truck. Don’t notice the front door open, or the footsteps across the porch boards. Not until—

“Hi, darlin’.”

Your heart stutters.

You look up too fast.

He’s standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jeans, boots scuffed like he never stopped moving after that night. There’s a hollow behind his eyes. His face is drawn, unshaven. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping either.

Like he hasn’t been breathing right without you.

You don’t speak.

The porch swing groans beneath your weight, the night air thick with humidity and the distant hum of crickets. You keep your legs pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tight around your knees, drowning in the oversized, faded navy sweatshirt that was soft from too many washes.

Joel sits beside you. Not too close. Not far either. Elbows on his knees, hands clenched, head bowed like he’s waiting for a verdict.

Neither of you says anything.

The silence stretches. Long. Awkward. Familiar in the worst kind of way.

You keep your eyes forward. On the edge of the yard. On the dark tree line beyond it. On anything but him.

He doesn’t look at you either.

And still—you feel him. The weight of him next to you. The guilt rolling off his shoulders like smoke.

You break first.

“You didn’t even fight me on it.”

Your voice is quiet. Flat.

Joel’s jaw flexes.

“You made me think you didn’t care.”

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

Didn’t have to. You can feel the ache moving through him, the same ache that’s been living in your chest since that night. The one that cracked open when he raised his voice. When he said maybe you should go. When he didn’t come after you once you turned your back.

Joel’s voice is low when he finally speaks. Rough. Like it costs him.

“I thought it’d be better for you.”

You laugh. Bitter and tired. “You thought pushing me out would help?”

“I thought maybe if I was the one to break it,” he says, eyes still on the floorboards, “maybe you and your dad could put it back together.”

That’s what shatters you.

Not the fight. Not even the silence after.

But that.

Because even now—even now—he’s still trying to save you from the mess he made.

You blink hard.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off gently. Finally meets your eyes. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

The words aren’t pretty. Not dressed up. Just true.

And they ruin you.

⁂

Your dad doesn’t say much at first.

Not after Joel showed up that night, standing on the porch like the weight of the world had finally broken him down. Not after you folded the second he said “Hi, darlin’”—barely more than a whisper—and collapsed into his arms right there on the steps. Not after he sat beside you without speaking, just staying, like that was the only way he knew how to ask for forgiveness.

And not after your dad let him.

Because he didn’t say much then, either.

Now, days later, the worst of it has passed—but only in the way a storm moves through. There’s still water pooled in the aftermath. Still wreckage in the corners.

You’re already on the porch when your dad steps outside. The sun’s low, brushing amber against the grass, and the old hoodie hanging from your frame is one of Joel’s—left behind in a moment of weakness or maybe given on purpose. You haven’t taken it off.

He settles next to you with a quiet groan, the boards creaking under his weight. There’s a pause. He doesn’t speak, just exhales hard through his nose, like he’s been carrying something for too long and still doesn’t know how to set it down.

Then he says, not looking at you, not even really to you—just out into the yard:

“Y’know I was gonna ask him to help with that busted drawer again this week.”

Your heart jumps.

He doesn’t need to say Joel’s name. Doesn’t need to explain who him is. The meaning is already in the silence between his words.

He taps his thumb against his coffee mug. “Could still use the help.”

You don’t answer right away. Don’t even know if he’s really saying it to you. But your hands are clenched around your knees, and you can feel the pulse rising to your throat.

So you just nod. Barely.

Your dad shifts beside you, takes a sip, then mutters, “He looked like shit when he showed up.”

You let out a breath. Almost a laugh. “He wasn’t the only one.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost softer than the breeze. “I know.”

For a while, you just sit there. No big resolution. No sweeping, emotional reunion. But something loosens in your chest, anyway. Something tired and hopeful and trying.

It’s not forgiveness.

But it’s a start.

[stylesispunk]

"The days of you and I" | part 3

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The passing of time leads you to remember how things used to be between you and Joel. Joel starts healing while you start losing yourself.

w.c: 10.1 k

warnings: angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of blood, suicidal thoughts, mentions of panic attacks. No proofreading. English is not my first language.

A/N: Hello. If you had felt like I've been lost for the last few days. You're right. I hope you like this chapter; it made me cry a bit as well. Happy reading, please share your thoughts with me.

AO3 account

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Jackson. One week before the attack.

Winter had dug its claws in early this year. The snow felt heavy almost every day of the week, the flakes clinging to the branches and over the ground. The cold was difficult, sharp, clinging into your bones even breathing stung on your chest.

Joel wasn’t very fond of this time of the year. Not for the snow or the cold that made his joints ache a little bit more nowadays, but because coffee became a scarce.

And you were aware of it.

So, when a passing trade group from the south came by, you’d given up half or your belongings and winter preserves for a single bag of those beans. Even the trader had looked at you as if you were mad. Perhaps you were a bit stupid for doing this, but everything would be worth it for the look on Joel’s face when he gets to try a cup of coffee.

You didn’t know at what stage of your pregnancy you were right now, but you knew that things were more emotional for you, and you would do everything to get to see Joel smiling at the little things.

You found thermos inside the cabinets at home, you cleaned it a bit and filled it with the dark brew liquid. The scent made your mouth water, but you were aware you couldn’t drink coffee now. Then, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you crossed through Jackson, boots crunching in the snow. The wind bit at your cheeks, turning them pink, but with your fingers wrapped around the thermos, warmth spread through your veins.

You found Joel at the house he’d been working on, hammering at a frame with the help of Tommy, a few others scattered around the site. The place was barely a house yet, wood stacked and windows not even set, but Joel was there, sleeves rolled up over his flannel.

You lingered for a second, just taking a look of him. Focusing on the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the little grunt he made when something didn’t line up right. You were so in love with him it made your chest hurt sometimes.

He was too focused he didn’t even notice you right away. Not until you called out.

“Hey, Miller.”

He looked up at the sound, and his face softened the moment he saw you. That small, personal smile he got just for you.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart? You’ll freeze your ass off.”

You held up the thermos with a grin, “Oh, I just brought you a little gift for you.”

Joel’s brow arched in amusement as he set the hammer down and walked over to you. You uncapped the lid, letting the steam curl up between you, and his eyes went wide when the scent hit him.

“Did you bring me—"

“Real coffee, yes.” You replied, not getting a chance to hide a grin. “I traded something for it this morning. I know how much you missed a good cup of coffee.”

For a second, he stood there without saying anything. Just stared at you like he still couldn’t believe you were his girl. The woman he had devoted his life to for the last years.

Without a warning, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that tasted like snow, cold and the taste of coffee because when he pulled away, his forehead rested on your neck, planting a kiss over your it.

“You’re a miracle.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This shit’s expensive.”

He chuckled, taking a sip from the thermos, groaning in pleasure like it was the first good thing he’d tasted in his life.

“Goddamn it.”

You smiled, watching him like it was the only thing keeping your body warm.

“I thought you need it. Winter is only getting worse and colder.”

His eyes softened, a thumb brushing over your cold cheek. “As long as I got you, baby, I can get through any winter.”

You leaned on his palm, kissing the back of his hand, sealing a promise you both had made to each other.

I’m always going to be there,

I’m always going to have your back,

until the day death tears us apart.

Jackson, present day

You barely remembered the walk home. Your legs had stumbled more than three times and your tears didn’t stop falling.

The cold bit at your skin, the world blurring past you like it wasn’t really there. The ache in your chest wasn’t sadness settled there anymore but rage. A vicious, clawing thing that crawled up your throat and made your hands shake as you slammed the door behind you.

You made it to the bedroom before it burst out of you.

A lamp went first, shattering against the floor with a satisfying crack just as the sound of your heart. Then the chair by the window, the one Joel used to sit in when he couldn’t sleep. You grabbed the small wooden carving Joel had been working on the week before the attack, and it hit the wall so hard the pieces splintered across the floor like scattered bones.

Your hand bled where a sharp edge caught your palm, but you didn’t feel it.

You reached for the framed picture by the bed, the one taken in Jackson months ago. You standing beside him, his arm around your waist, both of you caught in a rare, unguarded moment of laughter.

The glass shattered beneath your grip. The frame clattered to the floor.

For a second, just a second, your hand hovered, and something in your chest begged you to stop.

But it was drowned out by the storm roaring in your blood.

And when it was done, when there was nothing left to throw or break, you slid down against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling.

The pain on your chest increased with each breath. It felt like a bruising mark had settled there in the middle of your sternum, it even felt like some pair of hands tightening around your heart until every fiber of it was hurting your body, taking your life out, your breath and you will of living.

Some pairs of hands you never thought they would even hurt you.

Joel’s hands, Joel’s words, Joel’s second chance of living.

Everything you had done. Everything you had lost…Grieving the death of somebody who wasn’t dead. Someone who was alive but felt like breathing reeking air.

You could come to touch him but not to caress him anymore?

How big was the damage you had done to him to make him hate you this much to push you away as if your closeness had burnt his skin, his broken bones.

The tears couldn’t stop falling. You stood up, walking towards the closet where you kept the test and onesie hidden beneath your clothes.

You had never wanted to become a mother. In fact, you had never thought about it. This world was too cruel to bring little babies to it. To have their innocence stolen or tainted by creeps committing horrors.

Joel had also gotten older. Being a father again at his age wasn’t part of his plans and you knew it, but nature didn’t stop because the world has it. But for him, being a father again wouldn’t be a source of happiness when the girl he had taken as a daughter and committed more than thousand of mistakes to keep her alive, didn’t want to be close to him.

That had scared you that much you couldn’t utter the truth for weeks.

But the moment you had found the truth, the idea of holding a baby, your own baby, started to consume your thoughts. You had started dreaming of it, of the life growing inside you. About how that baby would look like.

And that was the exact moment you had become a mother. ´

You could remember one day patrolling with Joel, and as usual, he didn’t allow you to be paired with another person who wasn’t him. Not that you complained. In the way, the both of you found a store you decided to scavenged, expecting to find something that would serve to community.

Joel was busy roaming some old stuff that would help him to fix something at home, while your gaze had lingered over a little onesie hidden under some worn out papers.

The same one you were holding now, yellow with a duck in the middle of it.

You had become a mother and you hadn’t had the chance to taste it and you couldn’t help but ask yourself a constant why.

Why you?

Why him?

Why the baby?

What have you done to lose them both?

You came back to the room but it felt too quiet now, too strange. It was too cold for you now. You sat on the ground by the bed and you started crying, but not the silent one. The kind of crying that came with tears no one couldn’t hide.

 It was a sob that tore out of you in ragged, broken sobs, your chest heaving like it was being split open.

The tears weren’t just for Joel but for everything you had gain and lost in a flicker of time. For what you’d lost. For what you still had. And for the awful truth that loving Joel Miller would never be easy.

The last remnants of twilight slipped through the window, broken glass catching the last of the light like dying stars.

Perhaps they weren’t the only losing the spark.

After going to hell and clawing your way back. After sleepless nights at his side, after forcing breath inside his book, with blood-stained hands. After watching him fight for every inch of life he didn’t want, while you begged the universe not to take him from you.

And in the middle of all that, you lost that tiny baby.

A tiny life that you hadn’t even let yourself imagine until it was gone. And no one knew. No one but Tommy and Maria. And you’d buried it so deep, let the grief fester beneath your skin, because there was no room for grief when Joel was dying.

But now, sitting there on the floor of your now ruined bedroom, surrounded by the wreckage of the quiet life you had built with him, the weight of it hit you like heavy force.

There was gnawing fear that maybe Joel Miller wasn’t coming back.

At least, not to you.

The house was dark, save for the weak, flickering light glowing from the window.

Ellie hesitated at the front door, her stomach twisting in that way it did when something wasn’t right. She wasn’t even sure what had brought her here, maybe the quiet stillness, maybe the aching pull in her gut that told her to check. She hadn’t been here much since she moved into the garage behind. Since everything had changed.

The door creaked open under her hand.

“Hello?” she called out your name, softly, but no one answered.

The stairs groaned beneath her weight as she climbed, the flicker of light guiding her like a warning. And then she reached the bedroom.

Glass crunched under her boots. The room was wrecked, drawers pulled out, shattered picture frames. And in the middle of it all, you sat on the floor, your back against the bed, face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with the kind of grief Ellie hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Shit,” Ellie whispered, rushing forward and dropping to her knees beside you.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” she said, voice rough as she reached for your wrists, trying to pry your hands away so she could see your face. “Talk to me. Please. Hey, please.”

But you just shook your head, a sob left your throat, while tears streaked your cheeks.

“I can’t…” you choked out.

And for the first time since she had met you, Ellie felt something crack open in her chest. She’d spent all these weeks worrying about Joel, she hadn’t seen how bad it had gotten for you too. How lost you seemed, how your eyes were nothing but a reflection of sadness.

Without another word, Ellie pulled you into her arms, holding you like Joel used to hold her when the world outside was throwing pebbles at her.

“I got you,” she whispered against your hair as if her words could soothe you into a lullaby, in a way a daughter must console her mother the first time you saw her breaking in front of you the realization that her isn’t an indestructible hero.

You didn’t even hear or flinch when Tommy and Maria came inside the room. You didn’t say a word when they gently coaxed you to your feet. Ellie stood back by the door, arms crossed tight around herself, her face pale as she took in the mess you had made.

And you, there with your hands bloodied, a yellow onesie crumpled in your fist like a scrap of hope you didn’t know you were still holding onto.

Maria stood beside you, her face etched with concern, one hand reaching for your wrist. She sucked in a breath.

“You cut yourself pretty bad,” she murmured, brushing gently at the drying blood.

You just looked past her, no crying, no speaking. There was something eerie about it, about the dead quiet in your expression. Like the light behind your eyes had gone out, and no one knew how to bring it back.

Tommy exchanged a look with Maria, something heavy without words between them. Ellie saw it, felt it settle in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

“You’re coming home with us,” Tommy said softly, like he was telling a wounded animal it was okay to come out of hiding. “We’ll clean up the-”

“The mess I made,” you finished, voice flat, detached, and it made Ellie’s stomach twist.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her eyes fell to the scrap of fabric clenched in your hand. The tiny onesie. It was old, worn soft from time, a faded duck stitched onto the chest.

Ellie’s throat tightened. She hadn’t known, but now she understood.

She stepped closer; her voice quiet, thick. “Hey… can I… can I hold that for you?”

But you didn’t even look at her. Just kept staring out the window as if something far beyond it was pulling you away.

Tommy gently pried the fabric from your fingers, and Ellie took it, holding it to her chest like it was the most fragile thing in the world. She felt her own eyes sting.

Maria helped you to your feet, one arm around your shoulders. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she murmured.

And as they led you out of the ruined room, downstairs to the kitchen. Ellie stayed behind a moment longer, holding the onesie tight in her hands, the weight of what you’d lost settling over her like a second skin.

The warm sting of water hit your hands as Maria guided them under the tap. The blood had dried, leaving dark stains in the creases of your skin, around your fingernails. You didn’t flinch when the water touched the cuts.

You said nothing. Just stared at the wall behind her like it held some answer you couldn’t quite see.

Maria’s hands were soft, careful as she dabbed at the cut with a clean cloth.

“You should let me stich this one,” she murmured, like speaking any louder might shatter what little you had left.

Out in the hallway, Ellie stood with Tommy, the dim light from the kitchen bleeding across the floor between them. She clutched the tiny onesie in both hands, her fingers fisting in the soft fabric.

“Is she…?” Ellie’s voice cracked, and she didn’t finish the question.

Tommy let out a long, tired breath, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He scrubbed a hand down his face before shaking his head, his voice low and rough.

“She lost it that night.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “What night?”

Ellie’s throat closed up, her chest aching sharp and tight. “And nobody told me?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered toward the bathroom where Maria worked in silence. He swallowed hard.

“The night we brought Joel back. Yes, she was pregnant. None of us knew. She lost the baby when she got here.”

Tommy looked at her then, his gaze softening. “It wasn’t about you, kid. It was hers to carry.”

Ellie looked down at the onesie in her hands, stained by the blood of your hands, her eyes stinging at the thought of the storm you’d been drowning in. The hollow in your chest. The way you hadn’t been able to let Joel go, because you’d already lost too much.

That maybe the blood in it was the closest thing you have had to caress the baby that should be wearing that in a few more months.

Her thumb ran over the soft, faded stitching of the onesie clutched in her hands. She could still hear the distant sound of water, the quiet murmur of Maria’s voice, trying to coax you back from wherever you’d gone.

She swallowed hard. “Does Joel know?”

Tommy’s jaw worked, his eyes dark and lined with exhaustion. He shook his head, a weight behind the gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “And he won’t. Not yet.”

Ellie’s throat tightened. “But he should—”

“I said no.” Tommy’s voice was firmer now, though it wasn’t mad. He was just tired. “He is not in any place to carry that. Not with the way things are between then, and not while he’s looking for reasons to push her away.”

Ellie bit her lip, blinking fast. “Maybe this it’s the reason he shouldn’t.”

Tommy’s gaze softened a little. “Maybe. But people like us… sometimes we don’t get to heal things in the right order.”

Ellie glanced down at the onesie again, her grip tightening. The house felt too still, too quiet, a space heavy with things unsaid.

Boston QZ. 6 years ago

The apartment was too quiet when Joel got back. The thrum of soldiers passing by, talking’s, FEDRA looming over, it was all swallowed up by a stillness that made his skin crawl.

Tess was sitting by the door, with her arms crossed tight over her chest, and there was something in her eyes that snapped every nerve in Joel’s body to attention.

“Where is she?” he asked, already moving past her before the words even left his mouth.

Tess caught his arm. “I gave her something to sleep,” she said carefully, her voice softer than he was used to hearing it. “You don’t want to-”

But he was already inside the bedroom. And there you were, curled under blanket on that old bed, a faint swell of bruises marking your cheek, your lip split. The dim light made your face look paler than it should’ve been, but you were breathing. You were here, that was the most important thing for him.

Joel’s knees hit the floor by your side. He reached out with calloused fingers, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch so gentle it barely stirred the strands.

“Jesus, baby…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “Who did this to you?”

Your eyelids fluttered open at his voice, hazy and slow from whatever Tess had slipped you. And when your gaze found him, even though the busted lip, you smiled, faintly.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hi, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I got you.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the filth outside these walls, not the people who’d done this to you, not the bloody trail Joel would leave in his wake come morning. Only this. Only you.

“The thing went wrong” you murmured, emphasizing the “thing.” When it came to you, he was always protective. He didn’t like you were doing his business by yourself, not because he didn’t trust you or thought you weren’t good by yourself, but because he couldn’t prevent.  

“I can see.” he told you, brushing your cheek with his fingertips. “Rest, baby. I got you.” He kept caressing the skin there until your eyes closed again.

“I’m always going to be next to you, baby.”

Jackson, hospital, present time.

The transition between winter and spring was going slow, the grey of the days bleed through the blinds in thin, reluctant slants. Joel woke up to the sharp, familiar ache on his chest, the one that made his breath difficult to leave his lungs. His heart felt heavy.

His hand instinctively moved to his side, expecting the familiar warmth, the weight of your head resting there the way it had every morning since he came back from the death.

But there was nothing but just the cold stretch of empty mattress, and the quiet silence of your absence.

For the first time, you weren’t there.

His throat tightened as his gaze flicked to the chair beside the bed. The blanket you always used was draped neatly over the back of it. No cup of cold herbal tea on the nightstand, no faint scent of your shampoo clinging to the air. The room felt wrong without you in int. Heavy in a way he hadn’t noticed until it was stripped of him.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, the weight in his chest something different now. Something he couldn’t blame on busted ribs or torn muscles.

He told himself it was what he wanted, what you needed. But the hollow in the room, in him, said otherwise.

The door creaked open and Mara stepped inside with her usual clipboard and soft expression. But the moment she saw the look on his face, her steps slowed.

“She’s not coming today,” she said quietly, as if testing the weight of the words before speaking to them.

Joel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mara crossed to the other side of the room, busying herself with the medication tray, giving him the space to be what he was. But Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He sat there in the quiet, and for the first time in weeks, the nightmare that haunted him wasn’t some bloodied memories, that fist beaten his face, or the disappointment on Ellie’s eyes.

It was your face, your tears falling down your cheeks.

It was the fear of you leaving him forever.

Mara lifted her gaze, looking at Joel’s brown eyes and there was hurt written all over them.  “I haven’t seen her, but if she isn’t here must be because she doesn’t want to.”

Joel’s voice was rough, catching on the words before he could fully get them out.

“Is she… is she okay?”

Joel’s gaze broke, but he tried hard to hide the pain.

“I’m coming back later to do the exercises, okay?” Mara said, changing the subject.

“Okay.”

Mara lingered a moment longer than she should’ve, her lips pressed into a tight line, as though she wanted to take the words back, but she didn’t. She just gave a small nod, then turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind her sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand coming up to rub his face, the coarse scrape of his beard rough against his palm. The ache in his chest wasn’t from his injuries, it was deeper, old and new grief twisting together.

He looked over to the empty chair by the bed again.

You weren’t there and his stomach turned, the air too heavy in his lungs.

Some minutes had passed, heavily quiet, that thick, oppressive quiet that Joel had come to dread in the last few weeks. He sat in that bed, staring out the window as the light bled from the sky, the colors outside turning from grey to light blue in mere second. Every now and then, his fingers twitched, aching to hold something, to fix something. But there was nothing left in the room except the steady silence torturing him.

When the door creaked open again, Joel’s heart stuttered.

Tommy stepped inside, his posture tense, the lines of exhaustion deeper on his face. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Joel knew he was responsible for most of it.

Joel cleared his throat. “How is she?” It came out rougher than he meant, but the need in it was sharp.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just crossed the room, setting down a bundle of clean clothes on the dresser before finally turning to face Joel.

His silence stretched, thick and weighted.

Joel’s stomach twisted. “Tommy,” he rasped. “Just— tell me.”

Tommy let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“Well, she’s finally sleeping,” he said quietly. “First time since…you know.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache in his chest like a fist tightening around his ribs. “Is she… eating? Is she talking?”

Another hesitation.

“She’s quiet,” Tommy admitted. “She didn’t react very well to whatever thing you told her.”

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “Did she… ask about me?”

Tommy hesitated, and that alone was answer enough. “You don’t get to do that, brother.”

Joel’s throat worked around a knot of grief. “I deserve that,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“Listen… whatever happened between you two, whatever you think you were doing by pushing her away…you’re killing her, Joel. How could you do that to her after she…?”

Joel’s gaze stayed on the floor; his jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Joel whispered. “I was trying to…” He trailed off, not even sure what excuse he was reaching for anymore.

“You wanted her to stop loving you,” Tommy finished for him, bitterness in his tone. “But it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to decide when someone gives up on you.”

Joel flinched, the words cutting deep because he knew they were true.

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, then finally spoke, softer this time. “She already lost—” He stopped himself before he could spill your truth.

“What?” Joel pressed. But he was met by Tommy’s silence

“What did she lose?” Joel pressed further.

“You should rest, brother. Because one way or another you’re going to have to face her soon.” He said, changing the subject. As much as Tommy loved his brother, he also loved what you were, to him, to this community, to his family and he owned your loyalty and secrecy.

“I’ll come back later, okay?” He said before leaving Joel alone with his guilt and the quiet.

You woke to a dull, deep ache in your muscles, your head pounding like you’d been dragged through hell and back, and maybe you had. The dim light in the room felt too sharp against your eyes, and a low groan escaped your throat as you shifted, your body stiff and sore like you’d been fighting ghosts in your sleep.

It took a second before you realized you weren’t in your bedroom and another before you noticed the figure sitting quietly beside the bed.

Ellie was there.

She was perched on the edge of a worn armchair, legs pulled up to her chest, eyes shadowed but sharp as they fixed on you. There was a guarded kind of worry in her face, the kind she usually tried to bury under jokes and sarcasm.

You blinked at her, throat dry, words slow to form.

“Ellie,” you rasped.

You tried to sit up, but a fresh bolt of pain shot through your whole body and your hand, you winced, hissing out a curse.

Ellie let out a breath you hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, her shoulders sagging a little.

“You scared me last night,” she muttered, but there was no bite in it, just something soft, frayed at the edges.

Ellie moved fast, steadying you with gentle hands on your shoulders.

“Easy, easy. You’re got your hand pretty banged up,” she said quietly.

Your gaze drifted around the room, not yours, you realized now. Tommy and Maria’s guest room. A glass of water on the nightstand. A blanket draped across your legs you didn’t remember pulling up.

And then you noticed the little bundle in Ellie’s lap. The onesie.

Your breath caught. Ellie followed your gaze and swallowed hard.

“I, uh… I thought you might… I didn’t want to leave it there,” she said, voice small.

Your chest twisted, a sharp, awful thing. The grief pressed so tight against your ribs you felt like you might break open again.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurted, her words rushing out now. “I… I didn’t know. I— when I saw you like that, I thought… fuck, I don’t know what I thought. But I should’ve been there. Before. I should’ve noticed.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free despite yourself.

“It’s not your fault, Ellie,” you murmured hoarsely.

“It’s not yours either,” Ellie shot back, voice firm, a little desperate.

A long, thick silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of the clock ticking somewhere in the room.

Finally, Ellie spoke again, quieter now. “Tommy told me not to tell Joel.”

You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, a bitter edge to her voice.

“Because you don’t need to see him right now. Not like this. Not when you’re barely holding it together.” She hesitated.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

Ellie let out a sigh, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two,” she said. “But whatever it is… it’s eating you alive.”

“He told me to leave and that he wasn’t sure if he even loved me.” You replied.

Ellie’s head snapped up at that, like you’d struck her with a thunder.

For a second, she just stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between shock and fury.

“He what?” she spat, her voice sharp.

Your throat tightened again, fresh tears burning at the edges of your vision, but you forced yourself to swallow them down. You were so tired of crying.

You let out a humorless, broken little laugh, wiping at your face with trembling fingers.

“Yeah,” you rasped. “He said he wouldn’t have done for me what I did for him, what he did for you in Salt Lake. Told me to go. Like I was a burden to him.”

Ellie was silent for a long, thick moment, her jaw clenched so tight you could see it ticking.

“That’s bullshit,” she finally ground out, voice low and shaking with anger. “That’s not true. I don’t care what the hell came out of his mouth — it’s not true.”

You didn’t answer. Because maybe part of you knew that. Knew Joel Miller didn’t have it in him to stop loving you, not after everything. But pain makes people cruel. And grief? It turns them into something else.

“He’s scared,” Ellie said, like she was trying to convince herself as much as you. “He’s scared and stupid and he’s pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this shit.” She gestured toward the onesie still clutched tight in her lap.

You closed your eyes, breathing through the ache.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered.

Ellie’s face crumpled, her eyes stinging. Ellie’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke.

“How… how far were you?” she asked, so quietly it was almost a breath.

You opened your eyes but didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. The ceiling above you blurred, swimming in a fresh sheen of unshed tears.

Your voice cracked when you answered. “Six weeks.”

Just two words, but they felt like a scream.

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the fabric of the onesie in her lap.

“Jesus…” Ellie murmured, like the air had been punched from her lungs. She didn’t know what to say. What the hell could she say?

You gave a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t… anything. I didn’t even tell him.”

That made Ellie flinch. She wiped at her face, trying to keep herself steady for you, but her eyes were glassy.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it feel real.”

And for a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the clock on the wall ticking too loud in the quiet.

“I pictured her,” you cut the silence, voice raw, like it hurt to drag the words out. “I pictured her as baby girl, how she would look like, with dark hair, brown eyes just like Joel’s. Maybe his crooked smile. I used to—” your breath hitched, but you pushed on, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, “I used to imagine him holding her in the mornings, making him coffee while she slept on his chest.”

Ellie swallowed thickly, blinking fast as her heart splintered.

“I’d think about how he’d grumble about diapers at his age, or how he’d fall asleep on the couch with her on his chest.”

You let out a shaky breath, a ghost of a laugh, so heartbreakingly sad it barely sounded human.

“And now I keep wondering if it would’ve hurt less if I’d never let myself imagine any of it.” You sobbed, “If I wouldn’t have gone there I would have her growing inside me, but I would have lost Joel.”

“And now anything of that matters because he doesn’t even love me.” Ellie was crying now, though she tried like hell to pretend she wasn’t. She reached out, hesitating, then carefully slid her hand over yours.

It was cold. Your skin rough and cut, but she didn’t let go.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Ellie whispered. “Even if he’s too fucking broken to remember how to hold you right now. You’ve still got us.”

Your jaw trembled; your free hand still clutched tight around that onesie.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” Ellie’s voice cracked. “But I’m not going anywhere from you.”

You stared at her for a moment before hearing the steps outside the bedroom, Tommy stepped inside, worry evident on his eyes.

Worried about you, about Joel.

He was the perfect image of a helplessness man watching two people he loved tearing themselves apart.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

You didn’t answer right away. Ellie’s hand still gripped yours, her thumb brushing against your skin in small, grounding circles.

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asked, voice rough.

You shrugged; the onesie still balled up in your fist. “I’ve been better.”

A sad huff of air left Tommy’s chest, and he rubbed a hand down his face before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course, you have.” Then, he cleared his throat “I… uh, I told Joel you weren’t feeling really well. That you were resting.”

Your stomach twisted at his name. “And him?” you asked, your voice barely there.

Tommy hesitated, then finally spoke.

“He asked about you. First thing when I saw him.” He glanced at you; his gaze gentle but heavy. “He didn’t say much. He just asked if you were okay.”

Your throat tightened.

“Is he mad?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Not mad. He is scared and lost as hell without you, if you ask me. I know that face of him. I know him” He let out a breath, leaning forward on his knees. “I think he doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”

A sharp ache flared in your chest. The silence stretched, thick with everything no one could fix.

“I don’t know if it matters anymore,” you whispered, voice catching.

“It does,” Tommy said firmly. “You matter to him. He is broken to say it right now. And I know it don’t make up for what you’ve been through. But you aren’t alone, alright? Me, Maria, Ellie, we all got you.”

Ellie squeezed your hand, her eyes shimmering again but her jaw set.

And though it didn’t fix the hollow in your chest, for a moment the thought of having a family warmed your heart.

The room went quiet again.

“I’ll check on him later,” Tommy said, rising to his feet. “You just rest, okay?”

You nodded, your grip loosening around the onesie at last.

As he stood up, you could hear his thoughts roaming inside his head, “I think you should keep seeing Gail.”

You let out a tired, humorless breath through your nose. “I don’t need a shrink, Tommy.”

Your voice wasn’t sharp, it was flat, worn down like something eroded by the tide over too long a time.

Tommy hesitated by the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Just keep talking to her.”

You looked away, your eyes tracing the ceiling. Ellie still held your hand like she was afraid to let go.

“I’m not good at talking about that.”

“No one is,” Tommy murmured. “That’s why it eats people up when they don’t.”

The quiet stretched again, thick with everything you didn’t have the strength to argue.

Finally, Tommy gave a small, weary nod. “Sleep more, you need it.”

“Okay, at the count of three?”

“Okay.”

Joel held Mara’s hand tightly. His breath coming ragged, muscles in his arms trembling as he forced himself upright.

Mara stood beside him, steadying his elbow with one hand, the other curling tight around his rough, calloused palm.

“Come on, Joel” she teased gently. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

Joel huffed out a dry, breathless laugh as he finally managed to stand, his weight swaying just a little before he found his balance.

“Fuck” he rasped, “I didn’t think I’d miss feeling my own legs.”

They both laughed then, the kind of laugh born from something new blossoming.

Mara smiled up at him, her hand still around his. For a second, it felt like the heaviness that clung to his chest loosened, just a fraction. Like maybe, in this one brief moment, he wasn’t carrying quite so much grief inside his heart.

He laughed so much he didn’t even notice Ellie standing on the door, watching all this interaction happening with her hand on the frame, watching them.

The way Mara’s head tipped back when she laughed. The way Joel smiled, really smiled, for the first time in what felt like weeks. And something sharp twisted in Ellie’s gut.

I felt almost like a betrayal because while you lay at home, alone in a bed, clutching that onesie to your chest, Joel was here with someone else. Smiling as if he hadn’t broken the love of his life heart.

Like he could learn how to laugh without you by his side.

“Am I interrupting?”

Joel’s head snapped up, that smile on his face faltering from his face as he saw her standing in the doorway. Mara’s hand dropped from his arm, her expression shuttering into something serious.

“Hey kid.” Joel rasped, like he hadn’t expected to see her there at all.

“I came here to check on you.” Ellie said, her tone carefully neutral but her eyes didn’t hide the bitterness. She flicked a glance at Mara, then back to Joel. “Didn’t realize you were getting so close with your doctor.”

Joel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, to stop her maybe, but the look Ellie gave him made him hesitate.

Mara took a careful step back, brushing her hands together as though dusting them off.

“I was just helping him with his exercises,” she said quickly, trying to defuse whatever tension was thickening the air. “I will go.”

Mara gave a brief nod to them both and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room felt heavier after she left.

Joel let out a slow breath, sitting back against the bed with a wince. “What’re you really here for, kid?” he asked quietly.

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, the scars those palms emotionally held, the way they trembled just a little.

Ellie’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, laughing bitterly at the tone on his voice.

“I told you I came to check on you” she muttered. “Perhaps, you could ask about her, you know?”

“I asked Tommy.” It sounded weak, even to him.

Ellie wanted to shout angrily at him, to tell him the truth you hide beneath your heart but even in her anger she understood better, she was aware it wasn’t her place to tell the truth.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should’ve asked her, Joel,” Ellie shot back, voice breaking.

“Before you lost your fucking chance.”

“Did you really stop loving her?”

Joel’s gaze met Ellie’s, his eyes teary, shaking his head. His voice came out ragged, raw.

“No.” A beat. His voice cracked. “God, no.”

Ellie’s throat tightened, the ache in her chest spreading throughout her body. She looked away, trying to steady her breathing, to hold back the sting in her eyes.

“Then why did you say it?” she whispered.

Joel scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, like he could wipe away the memory of those words. Of the way your face had crumbled. “Because it hurts not being the man she needs now, I didn’t know what to do but push her away. I thought that if I was cruel enough, she’d stop loving me too.”

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her stomach twisting. “You’re so fucking selfish, Joel. You broke her.”

Joel’s face crumpled as the tears finally spilled, his head bowing under the weight of it. 

“I’ve always admired the type of love the both of you share. How you’d always been there, are there for each other. How well she knew you were in danger that day that she dragged me with her in middle of a fucking snowstorm just to save you…”

Joel’s chest heaved, his shoulders shaking with the force of the guilt he could barely contain. The image of you that day, blood on your hands, refusing to let him die, it gutted him. It had changed him as a person.

Ellie’s voice cracked, the memory of that day hitting harder than she expected. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. “I’ve never seen anyone love someone like that, Joel.”

Her hands balled into fists trying to contain the anger she felt. “And you…you threw it away because you were too fucking scared to hurt.”

“Ellie…” he whispered, voice breaking.

“She held your hand the whole time. She didn’t sleep for weeks, sitting at your side, praying to God or whatever was out there for you to wake up. And when you started coming back, even just a little, she smiled again because the world made sense to her again.” Ellie’s throat wobbled a sob. “And then you broke her.”

Joel looked away, not being strong enough to face Ellie.

She took a step closer, her voice softer now. “She was waiting for you.”

Jackson, the day of the attack, dawn.

The snow had stop falling by the time you arrive to Jackson. Dawn was breaking into the horizon, and your body felt like it had been dragged back and fort through war. Your entire body hurt, your heart was breaking at the sight of Joel on that stretcher, as Jesse and some others were helping him.

You saw Tommy first and run, holding onto him, your hold body shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to fade. You could finally breath for a second, you had made it back to Jackson.

But then Tommy pulled back, looking at you, at his brother, and his brow furrowed as he looked down.

There was blood on your thighs, dark, smearing on the fabric of your jeans.

The air left his lungs in shock.

“Hey, what—?” Tommy started; his voice soft, terrified to ask what he already suspected.

But you shook your head, eyes lost beneath tears, throat too tight to utter words.

“It’s fine. It’s—” you croaked, your voice breaking as your arms clutched around yourself.

“We need to get you inside,” Tommy said, waving over Maria, his hand on your arm. “Come on—"

“No. Him first,” you rasped, pointing at Joel, who was unconscious now, as they began to wheel him toward the hospital “He is first priority.”

Tommy’s throat worked as he nodded, but he didn’t miss the way you swayed on your feet, or the blood trailing down your legs.

He caught you on time when your knees buckled, holding you up as you clung to him like you might disappear if you let go.

“We’ll take care of both of you, alright?” Tommy promised, his heart breaking as he realized what it meant.

+++++++

You stood beside Joel’s bed. The room was too quiet you could hear the thoughts running around your head. Tormenting you, torturing you. How much you had done to have Joel laying on this bed with a tiny chance of surviving.  His face was barely recognizable beneath all the swelling and bruises, blood still crusted along the edges of his hairline, lips split. The sedatives had him still, too still.

your hand wrapped around his, though you weren’t sure if you were holding him or holding onto yourself. The tears wouldn’t stop. They ran hot down your frozen cheeks, leaving tracks that burned.

Tommy stood in the doorway, watching you with a knot in his throat. He’d never seen you like this, so small, so crumpled. He had always known the strong version of you but amidst the storm this is what you were now.

“Hey,” Tommy murmured, approaching slowly, crouching beside you. “You should rest, you both need—”

“The baby is gone.” You spoke, your voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Your gaze stayed fixed on Joel’s face, your thumb brushing along his knuckles, as if trying to memorize every ridge of bone and scar before it was ripped out of you too.

Jackson, present day

“How do you feel?”

You let a chuckle, as if that question was a joke. But Gail’s eyes kept looking at you with stern on her gaze, perhaps there was a bit

“I feel I lost the baby because I murdered those guys” you confessed, “And I thought it wouldn’t hurt because Joel was going to survive, which he did but you now see how it turned out.” You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “And I don’t know if he despises me for bringing him to life or for what I did.”

You lifted your gaze to meet Gail’s.

“The day he finds out about the baby, I don’t know what is going to happen to me.”

“Do you feel betrayed by him?” she asked, trying to make you talk, to ease the pain. The truth was that Gail wasn’t very fond of you due to your relationship with Joel but she felt pain when looking at you now.

After all she knew you were a woman in love who would have burnt the whole world to bring to save Joel.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do.” Your voice cracked at the truth, but you force yourself to keep going “I feel like I died out there, too. That day, I saved a man that is not Joel anymore. Not the man I—" You stopped yourself, but it was already out there between you.

Gail’s gaze softened. She wasn’t good at this, at being soft by someone else, but what she saw in front of her was just another woman bleed in a different way.

Both of you had lost the love of your lives in different ways.

“I know you love him,” Gail said quietly. “I never doubted that.”

You met her eyes again, not making the effort to mask the ache that had settled in your bones “I love him so much it scared me. you admitted, voice trembling. “And I still do. Even if he can’t look at me. Even if he resents me. I’d still do the same thing over and over again.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gail took a breath. “You didn’t lose the baby because of what you did.” She said it firm, leaving no room for doubt.

But you didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.

“When he finds out,” you whispered, the dread sinking, “I don’t know if it’ll break him or if he’ll break me.”

“He has no right to ask anything from you right now.” She said, trying to make you understand.

“What do I do now?” you asked, changing the topic, “What do I do with all the love I was holding for that baby?”

Gail was left speechless. Ever since she met you, she had known the strong force of a woman you were, but what she got in front of her now, was a glimpse of her.

You were losing the spark, your willing to live and she didn’t know how to help you.

You wiped your tears, streaming down your face, feeling the exhaustion of the past weeks taking a tool on you, pression down on your heart with a force. Heavy. “And I don’t know how to live in a world where he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Gail said quietly. “He hates himself. That’s a different kind of grief.”

Jackson, two week later

Joel had lost the count of how much time he had spent inside the four walls of this room at the hospital. Every time he opened his eyes it was the same view, blue walls, white covers, a small window, an empty chair where the only person he wanted truly see was you.

Joel was struggling more than anyone wanted to admit. His body was healing slowly, but his mind wasn’t at all and that was a different story.

Mara was trying so hard to get him through his physical therapy, guiding him through some stretch and light exercises to help him to recover the strength he had lost. His face pinched tight in pain and frustration.

Ellie was looking at him, sitting in the corner of the room, with arms crossed, jaw tight, with worry and simmering resentment she hadn’t managed to let go of yet.

Because she was glad, he had made it. She was glad they would have time to fix their bond, but she still couldn’t stop looking at him as the man who had stole her choice from him.

Tommy was also there, standing by the doorway, he felt helpless watching his brother falling apart. How easy it was for him to walk to steps and then not being able to truly improve anymore.

It felt like time stopped. Joel’s breath hitched; his hands started trembling violently as Mara tried to coax him through a simple movement. His chest heaved, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. The walls closed in on him all at once, the smell he was sick of, the blinding light from the window, the ache in his bones, the emptiness inside his chest.

His voice cracked, “I—I can’t—I… I need her. Where is she?”

Mara heart went heavy, she tried to calm him, assuring she was here by placing a hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled like the touch burned.

“Not you, my girl. I need her.”he choked out, panic lacing his voice, his breathing ragged and uneven. “Nothing works without her. I can’t—I can’t fucking breathe without her.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She stood abruptly, “I’ll get her.”

But until what point this was fair to you? 

“Please, Ellie,” Joel rasped, eyes glossy with tears, “tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I… tell her I didn’t stop loving her. I don’t know how to do this without her.”

Ellie found you by the stables, hands buried in the hay, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. She called your name four times until you finally looked up, there was so much exhaustion in your face it made her chest ache the same way it ached for Joel.

“Joel is asking for you”she said, voice hoarse by looking for you everywhere.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. The weight of it sat between you both like something heavy and jagged. Finally, you shook your head, eyes stinging.

“No.”you whispered.

“What do you mean no?”

“I can’t face him.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, the sharp burn of frustration rising in her throat. It wasn’t anger, but she was really grieving the love you and Joel share. She didn’t know how to carry the pain you both have.

“He had a panic attack today. He couldn’t breathe. He only asked for you.” She said, stepping closer.

You closed your eyes, a tremor running through you. Her words dug into your chest.  

“I can’t face him, Ellie.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t see him and not tell him. Not tell him what I lost. I don’t know if I can carry it in front of him because he will resent me even more.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to grab you, to shake you, to hold you, she didn’t know what, “Then tell him. Or don’t. But he’s drowning without you, and you are too.”

You didn’t answer. The only sound was the quiet shuffle of the horses behind you, the sun faintly making the pain on your face glow.

Ellie’s voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you both, please.

Jackson Hospital, at night.

The hospital was silent at night, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred in the dead hours while everyone slept. Most of people in Jackson was asleep, including the nurses in the front room, curled in their chairs, a single lamp flickering.

You moved slowly through the hallways, the ache in your chest making every step feel more difficult than the last. It had been two weeks since the last time you had seen Joel and your heart somehow knew you were about to see his face again.

And when you reached his room, you lingered at the door.

Joel lay there, still, chest softly rising. His face had recovered color. It wasn’t pale and bruised. Now it was almost the same man you had loved for so long.

You stepped inside the room without doubt and sat down beside him, at the edge of the bed. For a long moment, you just watched him. You draw traces of his face inside your mind. Then, your hand reached for his, trembling a bit as you took it into both of yours. His skin felt you achingly familiar still it made your heart burst. You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, the salt of your own tears catching in the corner of your mouth.

“Please, don’t hate me” you whispered against his skin. “I can’t live with that.”

Your voice cracked, the words breaking free from the cage you got them under.  I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, Joel.” You squeezed his hand tighter. Your forehead dropped to the back of his hand, your tears hot against his skin.

And you felt the faintest, instinctive squeeze of his fingers around yours.

A soft shuffle at the door made you lift your head, eyes blurry with tears as you blinked toward the sound.

Mara stood there with her arms crossed, the faintest edge of tension in her jaw. Her hair was loose, eyes tired, expression unreadable.

“You can’t stay here,” she said quietly, stepping inside the room.

You stared at her, your hand still cradling Joel’s as if letting go might broke you.

“But he asked for me,” you whispered, voice rough.

Mara sighed, a flash of something like sympathy darting across her face before it hardened again.

“I know. But you’ll confuse him,” she said, softer this time, glancing toward the still form of Joel in the bed. “He doesn’t know what’s real right now, what day itis, where he is. You being here…”she hesitated, “I just… it isn’t good for his recovery.”

You felt like your heart was unraveling thread by thread. “You think I’m hurting him.” you said quietly, a bitter ache rising in your throat.

“I think you’re both hurting each other,” Mara admitted, not unkindly. “And I think right now, what he needs is stability. Familiar routine. No surprises.”

She approached, kneeling slightly so you were level. “I’m just staying tonight.”

You looked at Joel again, at his face again.

“No.” she said, this time sternly.

Your body ran cold, but you nodded, brushing Joel’s knuckles with your lips one last time before slowly setting his hand back down.

“If he asks for me again…” you started.

“He won’t” she said, looking at you as if you were poising threatening to hurt Joel.

Outside Jackson, the next day.

Spring was making it presence noticeable. Landscapes were greener and flowers were blossoming everywhere on the route. You and Nick were riding in silence, the breeze caressing your skin with a delicate ease.Nick gave you a wary glance as he rode his horse beside you. He was younger that you, a few years maybe, with a heart too big for this world. You’d always appreciated that about him. Sometimes he felt like the little brother you never had.

“Are you sure you are okay about this?” he asked, frowning.

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Better than sitting around.”

He didn’t press it, just gave a short nod, and the two of you keep riding in silence, looking around your surroundings.

The route was quiet for a while, too quiet. You barely spoke, and when you did, it was small things. Nick trying to make you laugh, you giving him some fake smiles.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. You should have known it wouldn't last. Three clicks came quickly, emerging from behind a fallen tree just as you turned onto a trail. Nick yelled, grabbing his rifle. You dismounted, but something inside you, you didn't move the way it should. You didn't reach for your weapon. You just stood there.

You could hear them, the horrible, wet smacking, their bodies jerking with hunger. And a sick, empty part of you felt calm for the first time in weeks.

You could let them take you.

You barely registered Nick's voice, distant and panicked.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he screamed, shooting one clean in the head as it lunged.

The others came closer, too close to you and you still didn’t move. Still mounted on your horse watching as them came to take you.

Nick fired again, blood spraying the ground, then stabbed another with his knife as it crashed against him. The last one came for you and you didn’t even flinch.

Nick got it first, turning to face you with fury on his face.

“What the fuck was that?! Are you out of your fucking mind?

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

And then you felt dizzy, the world lurched, wobbled, before slipping beneath you. You fell off your horse, hitting your head on the ground. A sharp pain, and then nothing but darkness.

The last thing you heard was Nick’s voice breaking, desperate.

“Follow me, it’s clear,” Joel murmured, pulling you through a gap in the fence.

The both of you had ended up in the middle of the woods, laying in the grass staring up at a sky you rarely got to stop to see.

Joel stood up, disappearing into the brush for a moment. When he came back, he was holding a little white wildflower and he knelt beside you, grinning at you.

“I can’t get you a diamond, darling, but I can make you this.”

You laughed, sitting up to look up at him better, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Marrying you,” he said like it was the most obvious act.

Your breath caught when he looped the flower turning into a ring, a small, crooked one, from the flower’s stem, around your ring finger. His hand lingered in yours, warm.

“There,” he murmured, a bit shy now.

I’m always going to be there, I’m always going to have your back,

Where you go, I go, always.

until the day death tears us apart.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby @magss-07 @insertclevernamehereplease

[paulyenvol6]

One Good Reason

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

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

Wordcount: 5,365

Masterlist

Joel's jaw was tense. Too tense.

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

"Joel. You said we – "

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

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

Was he angry with you? Had you upset him?

"I said. Quiet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joel, I really don't – "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know," you whimpered, tangling your fingers and pleadingly staring up to him.

If only you knew what you were doing to him, Joel thought with a wry grin, trailing along your jaw line and pursing his lips at the way your eyes brightened up. But of course this wasn't to his satisfactory, which was why Joel slammed his dick back into your paradisiacal heat without even commenting your words. This time he made you suffer longer, keeping his balls pressed to your face for almost 30 seconds while giving you almost no space at all to adjust to his length stuffing your throat. His tip tingled at the back of your throat and simultaneously caused you to gag, your view blurry as your face was forced to be in this unnatural position.

When he finally released you, he rapidly slipped out of your mouth with a plop sound, a thread of spit hanging between your upper lip and his shaft. You inhaled greedily, almost choking on the fresh wave of air you forced down on your throat, but could get a grip on yourself in the last minute. Although Joel had let go of you, he instantly cradled your head again once you had caught your breath with the purpose of maintaining control and dominance over the situation and show you your place.

"I'm listenin'," he barked and blared his teeth. Your wrinkled nose almost made him melt on the spot, his heart fluttering as you thoughtfully averted your gaze and carefully shook it.

"I'm sorry. I don't – Please, just – "

You were caught off once more and could only yelp as Joel forced his shaft down your throat again.

"That's disappointing, babygirl… I honestly thought you'd do better. You wanna keep goin' like this now? Until your throat's fuckin' red and bruised? Or you're gonna put this brain to work now and really make an effort?"

You were unable to answer, hot tears coating your view and his dick muffling any noises or complains threatening to spill out of your mouth. You were trying so hard, reliving every moment from the past days, but you couldn't find anything unusual. It couldn't be too long ago, right? He wouldn't punish you now for something that had been more than a week ago, right? Joel had been much too nice for that and if you had really done something to seriously upset him a longer time ago, he wouldn't have waited until now to make you feel the consequences. You were sure he wouldn't even have been able to hide his anger.

Your hands grasped his thighs, nails scraping his skin as if it was a way to release the pain, but you only halfly succeeded. It simply was too much, his dick so deep inside your mouth that it seemed like all you felt was him. That all you could think about, perceive, smell and taste was him and his indistinct scent. This time Joel kept you flush against his center for almost a minute, but to you it felt like ten times the amount of time. You could breathe through your nose, your nostrils flared to force more air down your lungs, but you had to cough every few seconds and felt your stomach thrum with the need to throw up. When he pulled back, you blinked, teary eyes fluttering and your lips swollen from the assault. Joel didn't even have to ask you. He just lifted an eyebrow, cupping your chin and tightening his hand at your attempt to escape him.

"You ain't done here yet, babygirl. You're goin' right back to work unless you have something to say."

He lightly squeezed your cheeks. "Do you?"

"P-Please," you whined, simply ignoring the mess of a combination of liquids that made your cheeks sticky and glitty and only seemed to increase as time passed.

"I don't know. Please, tell me, Joel, I'm sorry. I tried, I tried to remember b-but I – I don't. I just wanna be good for you a-and I love you and I don't wanna make you mad."

Joel had to supress a genuine smile. Not because he was anywhere close to being done with you, but because you sincerely were the most stunning, adorable and sweet creature he had ever seen. The big deer eyes, the way you couldn't keep them open at times, the trembling bottom lip you tried to get under control by biting down on it, the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. You were a mess, but a beautiful, pretty mess that Joel couldn't get enough of. That made a part of him want to lift you in the air, push you up against his chest and hold you until your crying had stopped. Just run a hand up and down your back and get lost in your sweet, adorable nature. But of course he wouldn't because you had something to apologise for and as long as he didn't hear those words out of your mouth he wouldn't stop.

That was why he shook his head in disapproval, tracing your jawline and then pulling at your lower lip to make it snap back.

"It's too late for that, hon. Open your mouth."

You sniffed and gulped in order to fight the soreness in your throat, but once his tip went past your lips you immediately felt the same stinging ache in the back of your throat again.

"Shhh…," he purred, gripping your hair tightly and tugging when you squirmed too hard.

"Take it. Take it or tell me what I wanna hear."

Tears were clouding your view, making your eyes feel swollen and puffy. Your whole body was on fire, arousal pooling between your legs just like sweat was covering your thighs and back. It was a strange and odd mixture of discomfort that was borderning on pain from time to time and sheer and intense pleasure. Please that made you want to be good for him so badly, so he would finally make love to you in a way you knew you didn't deserve right now. If only you knew why.

You gulped and retched, grabbing his legs to ground yourself and Joel didn't seem to have a problem with it as of now.

"C'mon…," he growled, head thrown back and lips red from the way he chewed on them.

"10 more seconds."

You didn't know how, but you managed to push through it. By the time Joel withdrew, you felt the need to cough and fortunately he let go of you for a moment so you could turn away from him, clear your throat and wipe over your eyes with the back of your hand.

"C'mere," he snarled after a minute, taking hold of a fistful of your hair and pushing your head against his inner thigh.

"Nothin'?" he simply whispered, raising his eyebrows and giving you this look of disgust and pity and somehow it was hurting more than anything he had done before.

"Alright. Gonna try somethin' different," Joel suddenly sighed. Your eyes shot up, widening in hope as he twisted his lips and rose to his feet while still keeping your head still by your hair.

"Get up. An' then take your clothes off and sit down on the couch."

These were rather promising prospects, so you weren't hesistant when you quickly stumbled to your feet, legs wobbly and weak under your weight and your sore knees hurting at the new posture. You cursed your slightly shivering hands as you pulled down your shorts, your clumsy fingers struggling with the zipper, but after you had tossed your clothes on a chair you felt the most confident and strong you had tonight. You sat down with a bubbling coiling heat in your stomach, thighs pressing together and your palms hurting from the way you buried your nails into your skin.

"Sit against the armrest. Legs spread," were his next instructions and just as you had obeyed him, getting comfortable on your bare ass, Joel appeared before your eyes. You desperately searched his face for any sign that he had softened up, that his punishment might perhaps even be over now, but there was nothing. His jaw was flexed, a vein prominent on his neck and a crease between his eyebrows.

"I swear, Joel, I really don't know what I did wrong," you assured him once again, blinking to prevent yourself from crying.

"Shut up. You're not enhancing your chances by talkin' all the fuckin' time. Givin' me those sweet doll eyes is your best shot, babygirl. So look at me. C'mon."

You wrinkled your nose which elicited a heavy exhalation from him and then gasped as Joel took hold of your ankles, adjusting your sprawled out body on the couch. Then he climbed on top of you, settling between your legs and letting his eyes wander from your legs up to your face until his gaze lingered on your bare pussy. You shouldn't feel embarrassed considering that Joel had seen you naked a million times already, but under these circumstances, you feeling so vulnerable in comparison to his dominant and intimidating appearance, you couldn't help but blush under his flashing pupils.

"Pretty," he whispered, vaguely cupping your pussy, but his words had taken you out so much, that you merely noticed it.

"Too pretty for such a dumb thing. Too sweet 'n' adorable for such a stupid 'lil head. What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

Joel didn't look like he was expecting an answer, which was why you simply kept eye contact although your eyes were watering again, pursing your lips and audibly swallowing.

"I feel like I should tie ya to the bed, stuff you with a toy 'n' then leave you there until you've learned your lesson. Or until you work that pretty brain and remember what you done wrong." He leaned in so his breath was brushing over your temple.

"But call me weak or – or frail, but I won't be able to leave this fuckin' pussy alone."

You whined out as he began rocking his palm against your clit, the corner of his mouth twitching at your facial reactions.

"Yeah. Gimme those sweet eyes. Show me how sweet you can be for me."

Joel gently parted your legs wider, lowly growling as your breathing became heavier. Two fingertips prodded your hole, circling it at a pace that you would consider cruel and sliding his palm back and forth. In less than a minute the two fingers made their way inside your cunt, slowly and carefully as if Joel was scared to hurt you, entering you.

"Joel," you whimpered, close to tears again, although you couldn't quite grasp the source of it. "I'm sorry, I – I wanna be good. I just… I just don't know what…"

He hushed you with a single finger pressing down on your upper lip and then applied more pressure on your throbbing clit.

"I said shut up. Or do you wanna make me angrier? You're not in a good position here right now if you haven't notice already. You made me mad, couldn't remember why and didn't even figure it out while I punished you. I coulda made you suck my dick all night, but I didn't 'cause I had pity with you and now there's one fuckin' thing I expect from you, you dirty slut. And you can't even do that."

A sob went through your body, your hands clenching and your brows pinching as the effects of his words took over. You just wanted to cry. You had disappointed him so badly and felt so helpless here, your head throbbing from the way you so strenuously concentrated on the events of the past days, but no matter how hard you tried, there was no progress. No idea, no suspicion and although part of you definitely couldn't think straight from the way Joel rubbed his hand against your core, you still couldn't believe that Joel was so angry while you had no hunch at all.

A little later, you wouldn't have been able to say if it was 5 minutes or 50 minutes, the first signs of an orgasm approached you, drops of sweat rolling down the inside of your thighs a warm, stouthearted pressure pulsing in your lower belly. By now his two digits were buried inside of you to the hilt, curled and determined as they repeatedly hit the soft, spongy spot hidden deep inside you. It felt so good, you wanted to scream and shout for him to go harder and stop him at the same time because something about his mood made you fear what was going to happen. He still seemed much too angry to just drop the whole thing so he surely wouldn't just let you cum like this and then send you to bed…?

Your suspicion was soon to be confirmed. A slight clench of your pussy and the way your eyes squeezed shut were all it took for Joel to stop. His hand was still resting on your center, but it didn't move any longer and his reaction to the rolling of your hips to create the much needed friction was a firm hand holding you down.

"Joel, please. Please, don't. I just – " He slightly withdrew, your hips frustratingly grinding against nothing.

"Say what you did wrong, babygirl," he whispered, sounding almost… amused? At least there was a light tinkle in his tone while he darted down at you, thoughtfully curling his lips.

"I can't, Joel, you know that I can't. I'm sorry. Please."

"And I don't think you've tried hard enough."

What were you supposed to do?

You believed that you couldn't go any further, that there was nothing left for you to try to satisfy him. He was so determined in his actions, so convinced of the fact that all he had to do for you to speak the truth was push you further, but what if you couldn't? What if Joel would never be satisfied and be mad about you forever? Okay, that might be an exaggeration, you had to admit, yet new tears welled in your eyes at the mere thought of it.

Before you could finish the thought, Joel continued rocking his palm against your clit, your legs involuntarily pressing together and your pussy eagerly throbbing for the return of his fingers.

"S'a bit disappoin', isn't it? I knew you tend to get all cock-drunk on me whenever I just take a look at that pussy but this really is a new level, hon. An' your sweet eyes and that pout don't change anythin', baby. They might be nice for me to look at, but don't think for a second that they're gonna help you get out of your punishment."

In a record breakingly short amount of time, you were dangling dangerously close to the edge of a orgasm you were yearning for so badly again. Joel's two fingers were penetrating you, his lips occasionally leaning in to kiss you on your cheek or neck and his palm rough and fast as it stimulated your clit. You were a trembling mess underneath him, sweat sticky on top of your thighs and your nipples stiff.

"Please," you soon whispered, equally scared that Joel was going to stop and that he would be mad if you didn't tell him that you were close.

"What. Give me one good reason why you deserve to cum."

Suddenly something shifted in his face. His eyes were briefly flashing, pervaded by a dark glimmering light and his jaw was clenched, his mouth nothing more than a thin line. Before you were able to reply, you were suddenly flipped onto your stomach, your hands reaching for the armrest to hold on to something as Joel parted your ass cheeks.

"Maybe this'll work on you… Maybe you just need a dick to destroy that 'lil cunt o'yours in order for you to remember how to use that mouth to talk."

Your fingers grasped a pillow, squeezing tightly as you prepared yourself for the slight inevitable stretch, but when he slid in, there was no trace of discomfort. Joel was thick and he certainly didn't go slow, but you were so drenched that there was no restriction at all.

"Next time it'll be your fuckin' ass. I'll fuck that tight hole of yours and maybe through your cryin' you'll tell me your apologies in a way that's gonna make me content. And now you're 'lil cunt better squeeze me tightly or I'll have to put my attention elsewhere. And there's no fuckin' way you'll cum tonight, so you better not even try. I don't care about your sweet whines 'n' pleas. I'm fuckin' serious."

He grunted and bottomed out, filling you to the hilt and starting to pound you at a steady pace. He wasn't even able to hide his fury in the way he was fucking you, his balls slapping against your cunt and producing obscene smacking noises and his tip hitting your cervix whereas he usually was so careful with not going too deep and possible hurting you.

"J-Joel," you whimpered, reaching behind you not because he was seriously causing you pain, but because you craved his presence so much. You just wanted him to hold your hand and brush over your knuckles and the fact that you wouldn't be getting it until you remembered this damn thing you had done wrong made you want to cry out.

"Shut up. M'gonna cum inside of you now 'cause I don't know what else to do with ya so you stop actin' like a dumb 'lil puppy an' then we'll go to bed and you rest that head of yours. Now look at me and keep those eyes open. I know you can be such a pretty puppy for me if you try hard enough. So get over it 'n' at least try to be good."

Joel spanked your butt once, his nostrils wide and his breath hitching as you looked over your shoulder and initiated eye contact.

"I wanna be good," you whispered, gasping at his forceful thrusts.

"Yeah you do?" he asked and grabbed a thick strand of your hair.

"Show me then. You're gonna keep still 'n' stop complainin' and lemme fill that pussy 'til my cum runs down your thighs. C'mon, babygirl. Lemme feel how bad she needs me," he growled and groaned as he stopped inside of you for a moment, pushing you up the couch and changing the angle so he could go as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum, Joel. Please. I really need to," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes close and praying for him to be mercyful. You had suffered for long enough and if only Joel saw it the same way…

"No. You're not gonna cum. You messed that up earlier in the fuckin' park and then you did it over and over again. Not bein' able to tell me what you did wrong, cryin' and moanin' 'cause you didn't get what you wanted but you didn't make an effort either."

Your thoughts were racing, your mind so absent that you even forgot about his punishing pace for a moment. The park…? Joel must have sensed the way it worked behind your forehead because he tightened his grip in your hair and pushed you into the cushion.

"Yeah, that's right. The fuckin' park… If you had used your brains for a second you wouldn't have talked to the guy like that."

"What guy?" it broke out of you, your eyebrows tense as you peeked over your shoulder.

"The guy that clearly wanted to fuck you. An' you acted like you didn't want anything more in your life."

Slowly the puzzle pieces assembled in your head and a picture started to form. Yet, once started, Joel didn't stop.

"The guy that fuckin' dropped his book just so you would bend over 'n' pick it up and he could get a good look at your ass. And you? You were playin' alone and gave him these stupid fuck-me eyes that only I am supposed to see. You behaved like you were just waitin' for him to rip your clothes off and it was goddamn disgusting babygirl."

You gulped and suddenly felt more than bad. Yes, it made so much sense now. How quiet Joel had been on the way back to the house and if you thought about it now, yes, the guy in the park had been very friendly. Too friendly, perhaps.

"Joel, I – " you started, but were interrupted soon.

"No. It wasn't that hard to come up with this, was it? An' you're tellin' me you couldn't think of this yourself?"

"I'm sorry. I really am, I didn't – I didn't think he was interested in me like that, I swear," you choked between his thrusts, your mouth struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"I thought he was just trying to be nice. He was. He was kind and – and I didn't question it."

"I know you didn't," Joel replied and rolled his hips a few times as he was inside of you, making you really feel him with every fibre of your body.

"That's why you're in this position right now. Arch your back," he added and pressed down on the small of your back.

"I'm gonna cum, babygirl. Deep inside of your pussy the way only I can. Not some guy in a park who probably has never seen a naked woman before. I'm the only one who gets to fuck this useless hole and fill you up with my cum. Understood?"

As quickly as possible, you nodded and stretched yourself toward him ever more.

"Yes, Joel. I only want you. No one else."

Apparently, this was all it took for Joel to release with a deep growl and despite not reaching your high yourself, you felt your view get cloudy at the feeling of his sticky, warm seed coating your walls.

"Oh jesus… Oh fuck, yeah, that's it… Oh fuck… Take it all, c'mon. Don't wanna see anythin' drippin' down your legs."

He pushed into you a few more times before gently stroking up the side of your body, briefly tracing the side of your breasts.

"Good girl. Good fuckin' girl, m'proud of you."

You almost flinched at his words, your eyes frantically dancing as you stared into space and wondered whether he was genuine. Your eventual response was a muffled and broken whine that made Joel sigh.

"Lemme take a look at ya," he whispered, his tone low and soft and slipped his flaccid dick out of you only to grab you by your hips and turn you on your back.

"S'okay, babygirl…," he purred, hushing you as you sniffled a couple of times and brought a finger to your lips.

"It's okay. You took your punishment well. An' I think you got my point, didn't you?"

"Yes. I did, I'm sorry. I understand why – why you had to do it."

Joel smiled in satisfaction, lazily caressing the skin of your hips and bicep and smirking at the way you were barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Think you need some rest now, hon. Sleep if you want to. And I will make you feel good in the mornin'. Everythin' will be alright… I'll take care of ya 'cause you were good and behaved and now you deserve to cum too. Just wait until the mornin', we both need some sleep, okay? Is that okay for my princess?"

Princess.

Your heart fluttered and clenched at the nickname, your eyes big as you pleadingly stared up to him.

"Yes. I'm really tired," you confirmed and then grinned as Joel rolled off you to lay right next to you on the couch.

"Then sleep. I'll be right there next to you and if it's gonna be uncomfortable later, I'll carry you to bed. Just relax, sweetheart."

You exhaled, your breathing becoming steadily louder and more audible as you drifted off to sleep.

A quiet 'I love you' was the last thing you perceived before you felt yourself slipping away, body and mind finally utterly at peace again.

[rockwoodchevy]

Pneumonia

Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

summary: you're feeling icky today but Joel has patrol. unfortunately, it's more serious than either of you thought.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: illness, fainting

a/n: hi everyone! it's been a hot minute since I posted anything so here is a little thing I worked on between work. let me know what you all think! enjoy!

__________________________________________________

“Joel, please don’t go out today.” You ask, sniffling to yourself. 

You know that you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather recently, chest feeling heavy and thick with something that you cannot quite put your finger on. The world seems dizzying almost, weighed down by something you can’t quite place your finger on. The thought of being alone right now makes you anxious, especially when you don’t know exactly what is wrong.

”You know that I have to. Town’s getting bigger by the month and we need people out on patrol.”

”Just this once? I’m just… feeling down in the dumps right now.”

Joel turned to look at you sitting in the bed. He noticed that you looked a bit pale recently and could hear the slight sniffles you were releasing, but he talked it up to you having a small cold. He would be back in about 12 hours so he wasn’t too worried.

”I have’ta go, honey. I won’t be gone long. Plus, Ellie will be here to keep you company. I’ll ask her to stick around for a while.”

”Please, Joel? I really don’t… I just think something is wrong with me.”

”I probably just have a bug, I know something has been going around lately in town. Just try and sleep it off, maybe Maria has something for you to take. I’m sorry but I gotta go.”  

Joel places a quick kiss to your forehead, eyebrows furrowing when he realizes that you are a bit warm. He decides to shrug it off as the small illness some people in town are fighting right now, straightening back up. 

“I’ll be back later tonight. Just… rest, alright?” 

You’re too fatigued to continue arguing with him. You nod your head, resigning from the conversation. He dips his head at you one time, grabbing his bag and heading out the door.

”Love ya, hon!” He yells from downstairs. 

You’re too tired to yell anything back, laying back in your spot and throwing the blanket off of your body. You feel like you’ve already sweat through the sheets and your stomach rolls and turns. Bless him for putting the garbage can in here, you think to yourself as you lean over the side of the bed, feeling like the breakfast you forced down this morning was coming back up for an encore. To your dismay, nothing comes up and your stomach continues to feel the same way it did a few moments ago. Throwing yourself on your back in your spot again with an arm tossed over your eyes, you drift off to sleep praying to whoever is out there that Joel’s patrol shift flies by.

____________________________________

You think you’re dreaming still, but you can hear a voice calling out your name. Blinking a bit, your vision clears and you see Ellie sitting on Joel’s side of the bed, a concerned look on her face.

”Damn, and I thought that Joel slept like the dead.” She said, quietly.

”Sorry, El,” you croaked out to her, sitting up. “Just not feeling too hot today.”

“That’s what Joel told me. Asked me to come and watch you for a bit.”

Once you were completely sat up, Ellie reached her out to your forehead, placing the back of her hand against it.

”He said you were warm but I didn’t think you were this warm.”

”I’m alright. Joel thinks I have that stupid bug going around right now.” You say, looking down at your hands in your lap. You hear Ellie say your name and you look back up at her.

”I don’t know about that, I’ve seen the people who have the bug and they aren’t close to as bad as you look.”

”Gee, thanks El.” You roll your eyes, turning to move out of the bed.

You stand even though it makes you feel slightly dizzy. Stretching out your body, you turn back to Ellie who is tracking your every movement.

”I hope you didn’t have to cancel any plans just to come and babysit me today.” 

“Nah,” Ellie stands from her spot. “Was just gonna go and see the movie they were playing today. Guess it's a new one that someone found while on patrol or something.”

Now you felt bad that Ellie had to change her plans just to come and take care of you. Shaking your head, you move for the dresser.

”No way, Jose. I’m taking you to watch that movie.” The sentence barely finishes coming out of your mouth before a cough attack happens. 

“I don’t think that is a good idea, dude, you look like walking death.”

You turn towards her, a look of determination on your face. “Absolutely not, we are going to see that movie if it kills me.”

Ellie rolls her eyes but gives in. She knows that if you are able to fight Joel hard enough for him to give in, then she has no shot against you. She nods, throwing her hands up.

”Alright, alright. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

________________________________

The winter air outside feels like Heaven against your skin, which you know is still sweaty regardless of how cold it is outside. Ellie and yourself are walking side by side as you approach the town center where the movie will be playing tonight. She looks at you warily, worried about your well-being.

”You sure about this? We can always just stay at your place, play a game or make fun of Joel or something.”

You laugh slightly but that turns into a full blown coughing attack. “Yeah, I’m sure. I feel fine, actually.” 

That was a big ol’ lie. 

Ellie nods as you both enter the hall. She searches for someone, you aren’t sure who, but her eyes brighten a bit once she sees them. 

“I’ll be right over there if you need me!” She points as she runs off in the opposite direction. You nod to no one, moving to the back of the room to stay out of the way of everybody.

The movie, apparently something called ‘Angels in the Outfield’, plays for a little while before you see someone walking over to you in your peripheral vision. Turning your head, you see Tommy heading your direction. You smile at him slightly, but his mouth is downturned as he approaches you.

”Whatr’ya doing here, huh?” He says, his arms crossed over her chest. “Joel said you weren’t feelin’ too hot.”

”I’m fine,” You say back, though you can tell he knows that you’re lying. “Just a little bug. He had poor Ellie cancel her plans just to watch me while he was gone but I couldn’t let her do that so I brought her here to see the movie.”

”You sure about that? You look like death.” He moves a hand towards your forehead but you move before he can touch your skin.

”Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m alright! Peachy actually. It’s just a little warm in here is all.” You respond, rolling your aching shoulders back. 

Tommy gives you an odd look. You scrunch your eyebrows at him. “What?” You question.

”Warm? In here?” 

“Yeah,” a look on your face like he said something ridiculous. “I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church.”

He says your name, resting a hand on your shoulder. You raise an eyebrow at him.

”The heatin’ in here broke 4 days ago. It’s, like, 65 degrees in here.”

Your stomach flips again like it did earlier today. How could that be? You’ve been sweating for a while now, you figured maybe the people in here were still cold from the outside air since they all had their coats and jackets on still. You’re confused suddenly, almost a panicked feeling running through your body. You look at Tommy, placing a hand on the arm that is still attached to your shoulder. 

“Tommy, I don’t feel so good.” You tell him, the room spinning slightly.

He looks extremely worried now, placing his arm around your shoulder. He begins to lead you towards someone else in the hall.

”We should get you to the infirmary. Let’s go get Maria, huh?”

His voice sounds a bit far away and your vision tunnels before it blacks out. You don’t feel your knees give out as your body collapses to the floor, your head barely missing the ground as Tommy goes down with you. Tommy yells out for help from anyone, also yelling for both Maria and Ellie as he keeps your head up, lightly tapping your cheeks to see if you’ll come to. A few moments pass before both Maria and Ellie are around your body, some other citizens now on the ground trying to help in any way they can. 

_____________________________________

By the time you come to, you’re laying on a tiny cot in a small room that smells like antiseptic. You take a deep breath, moving to rub your eyes. You hear your name and move your head to see both Maria and Ellie, Ellie now standing over you, your hand in hers and Maria still in her seat. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have made us stay at your house! That was such a bad idea, oh Christ, Joel is gonna be SO mad at me-“ Ellie practically rants. You shush her, moving to sit up in the bed.

”Ellie, it’s alright. It was my idea anyways, so I’m the one that he’ll be upset with, not you.” You squeeze her hand. She smiles slightly at you. “What happened, anyway? I was talking to Tommy and now I’m waking up here.”

”You fainted. Tommy said he was bringing you here and then all of a sudden, you were on the ground. Doctor said you have some sort of lung thing that starts with a P but it doesn’t sound like it.”

”Pneumonia?” Both you and Maria say at the same time, though yours sounded more like a question and her more like an answer. You look over at her.

”It’s pneumonia. Doctor said they have some antibiotics you can take for a little while. You scared the shit out of us, you know?” Maria said.

”I’m sorry. I thought I just had that bug going around.” You groaned at your aching body. “Where’s Tommy?” 

Ellie and Maria looked at each other. 

“He’s riding out to get Joel. We tried to tell him that his shift would be over in a few hours but he said Joel would have a conniption fit if he found out after he got back. He left about half an hour ago so it may be a little bit until they get back.” Maria told you, standing and grabbing a bottle of water off the floor to give to you. You took it gladly, drinking almost half of it in one go. ”Doctor said you’re good to go once you feel like it. You wanna stay for a bit or head back to your place?” 

You shook your head. “I wanna go home. Be in my own bed. Plus I’m sure that will be the first place Joel will go so…”

Ellie and Maria both nod and help you up from the bed. They help to keep you steady as you all walk back to the house. Once you arrive, you sit on the couch in the living room, Ellie on the other side of you. She refused to let go of your hand the whole way home and still won’t now. Maria stands by the front window, searching for both Tommy and Joel. All three of you have casual conversation, save for your couple of coughing fits. About an hour later, as Maria is finishing up a story, she stops mid-sentence. You and Ellie both look at her weirdly before she starts again.

”Joel runs pretty fast for an old man.”

Your stomach flips one more time as you anticipate Joel’s arrival any minute. You can feel your heart rate spike, heat in your veins. Ellie’s thumb brushed back and forth on your hand for a second, catching your eye. She opened her mouth to say something, but the front door slammed open. All three of you looked towards it at once, Joel barreling in with Tommy not far behind him. Joel’s eyes fell in you, looking distressed and uneasy. 

“Baby…” A breath fell from his lips. 

You stood from your spot on the couch to approach him, but he was much faster. He swiftly made his way over to you, engulfing you in what you think may be the tightest hug in all of human history. Squished to his chest, cheek pressed up against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around you as taut as they could. You could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest, his rapid heartbeat. 

“Let's leave them be.” You could hear Tommy say from the doorway. You could hear both Ellie and Maria move throughout the room to the exit, the door closing behind them. 

You both stood there for a minute, Joel holding you to him and you enjoying the comfort of his arms. You missed him, even for the less than twelve hours that he was gone. You missed him every second he wasn’t by your side, which unfortunately was more often than you would both like due to his patrol and you helping out with the cattle some days. Regardless, you both made what you could out of the time you both got together. It was incredible to see Joel’s growth since you both settled down in Jackson, how he began to open himself up more. He seemed less stressed all the time, his shoulders not carrying the weight that they used to. But you know that now that all three of you are settled, he feels like he needs to pull his weight in making sure the town stays safe. But you know him well, and you know that he probably feels beyond guilty right now knowing what happened to you after he left for patrol even though you practically begged for him to stay with you. 

“Joel-” You whispered into his shoulder.

“Don’t. Just… let me hold you a second longer.” He responded, voice tight in his chest. 

You obliged him, just standing in his grip. After a few more moments, his hold on you loosened and he pulled back a bit. His hands gripped your upper arms, holding you out in front of him. His eyes scanned over your body, searching for something you weren’t sure of. 

“I’m alright.” You mutter to him.

His eyes snap back up to yours, searching them like he’s looking for something specific. 

“What the fuck happened?” He asks, running one of his hands down to yours, bringing it to his lips and pressing short kisses to your knuckles. 

“I can’t believe you told Ellie to cancel her plans just to watch me.” You changed the subject, slightly upset with him.

“That isn’t what I asked, honey.” He responded, his lips still brushing against the skin on your hands. 

“I don’t care, why would y-”

You were cut off by his gruff voice saying your name in a tone, that tone where you know he isn’t playing. You sigh, moving away from him to sit down again. You take a breath to start explaining to him, but get cut off by a rough coughing fit. Joel immediately sat down next to you, a hand patting your back. After a quick moment, the coughing stops.

“I took Ellie to see the movie because I felt bad that her plans got cancelled because of me. Tommy saw me, which I don’t appreciate you just yapping to people that I’m not feeling well by the way, and pretty much wrung my ass because I was out. I told him that I was hot in the hall and he said something about the heating breaking and apparently it was super cold in there so he wanted to take me to the infirmary but I got dizzy and confused and all of a sudden, I was waking up at the infirmary. Doctor said something about me having pneumonia.”

Joel remained silent for a moment before you finally looked up at him. You almost couldn’t believe it, but his lower lash line was stinging with tears.

“...I left you alone while you had pneumonia?”

“Joel, I’m fine really. It isn’t that big of a deal really-”

“Yes, it is!” He exclaimed. “You practically begged me to stay home with you this morning and I just left!” He stood from his spot, a hand on his forehead.

“Doesn’t matter if you stayed home or not. If my body was going to give up on itself, it would have done it regardless of you being here or not.” You stand shakily. Joel immediately had his hands on you, making sure you were steady.

“But I still coulda been there. Christ, honey, do you know how far my heart dropped into my ass when I saw Tommy riding towards me like that? He wouldn’ta come all the way out there for any reason except you so I knew something happened to ya. Scared me shitless, know that?” 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. “I really thought I was alright. Just… I don’t know, this morning I thought I just had anxiety about you leaving but I guess my head just knew something was wrong.”

“You ain’t got a reason to apologize. I’m the one that should be sorry for not listening to ya this morning. You never ask me to stay home like that so I shoulda knew there was something wrong.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in towards him. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, causing you to smile. 

“Can’t we both just be sorry and call it a day? I missed you and my body feels like jello.”

You can hear him huff out a laugh, placing a second kiss to your forehead.

“Course we can. Not letting you go for a while. I already told Tommy he’ll have to find someone to take my next few patrol shifts because I am not lettin’ you out of my sight until I feel like you’re 100% recovered.” He moves your body back from him by your shoulders, his thumbs tracing small circles there as well. 

“Think we have ingredients for you to make me soup?” You ask him, trying to clear your throat. 

“Even if we don’t, I’ll raid this whole town to find some. Do anything for you.” He replies. 

And you just smile at him, because you know he’s not joking.

[whoevenisjavier]

strike the match

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x college student f! reader

you fuck joel miller, austin’s fire chief, in your old room while your parents sleep down the hall.

tags/content warning: +18, mdni. f! reader. age gap. joel is 52, reader is 25. battalion chief joel miller. brief scene of attempted forced kissing (not by joel). reader wants that old man so bad. unprotected piv. creampie. wear protection please. dry humping. thigh riding. mouth covering during sex. oral f!receiving.

w/c: 9k

Hold the wide end of the cue stick with your dominant hand, palm facing up. Find the point where the stick balances, then shift your hand two or three centimeters back.

Form a circle with the thumb and index finger of your other hand.

You raise an eyebrow as you sip the espresso martini through a straw. Who knew pool could be this interesting?

Slide the cue stick through the circle and rest it over your middle finger. Set the outer edge of your hand on the pool table and—

Someone calls your name and you glance away from your phone, which is still open on a page titled “Pool for Dummies: First Steps,” just in time to catch the wide smile of one of your friends.

“Another round?” she asks, tilting her head toward your espresso martini. “Some guy just bought us drinks.”

Your glass is still half full, but you nod and agree, adding that the next one better come with a straw too. Free drinks are a no-brainer.

Once the waiter walks off with the order, your eyes drift again to the corner of the bar, to the pool tables surrounded by loud men downing tall mugs of frothy beer.

But you’re only watching one of them.

Your lips close around the straw again, and though your vision is slightly blurred at the edges, you stay locked in on the silver-haired man in his fifties, full beard and all, leaning against the wall with a cue stick in hand as he waits for his turn. He laughs at something his buddy says, and somehow, the drink tastes sweeter while you’re watching those broad shoulders under a plain black T-shirt and those strong thighs in faded dark jeans.

His turn.

He leans over the table, lines up the shot. His biceps flex, looking even bigger as he makes that typical forward-and-back motion before striking. His eyes are fixed on the red ball, until…

Suddenly, they’re on you.

Your stomach drops like you swallowed an ice cube. Still looking your way, brows slightly furrowed, he makes the shot. You don’t even have to follow the ball to know it sank clean.

His friend says something, and just like that, he looks away.

“Oh my God, stop flirting with the geriatrics,” your friend says, placing another espresso martini in front of you. “Adam wants to take you home. You know, the skinny blond guy…”

“The twenty-seven-year-old,” you say. “He’s a baby. And I bet he’s circumcised.”

“You’re twenty-five. What’s your beef with circumcised guys?”

You skip that question because there’s no polite way to explain your preference when it comes to pool cues.

“I like my men the way I like my cheese.”

“Old and stinky?”

“Aged!” you correct. “Y’all can keep your cheddar. I want my Gruyère.”

Your table erupts in laughter.

It’s your oldest friend’s birthday tonight, and you all decided to celebrate her twenty-ninth at Miller’s Bar, run by Tommy, an old friend of your dad’s, and his wife, Maria. Luckily, your summer break from grad school lined up with her birthday, and coming back to Austin is always worth it for nights like this.

And it’s not hard to imagine the kind of attention a group of girls in short skirts, high boots, and crop tops draws inside a traditional Texas bar.

You’re halfway through your espresso martini on your next sip, and for some reason, that reminds your bladder it needs attention. You excuse yourself and get up, though no one really hears you, and head straight for the bathrooms in the back of the bar, tucked at the end of a dim, nicotine-reeking hallway, where the air clings to your skin and the walls are hung with fading paintings of bulls, cows and longhorns.

Your bathroom mission is quick, mostly because it’s way too dirty to linger. Pee, quick reflection while perched on the toilet seat (layered in toilet paper), a bit of lipstick, a quick hair touch-up.

The music from outside, a Dolly Parton classic, fills the bathroom as you open the door, and it only takes one step into the dark hallway for you to slam into a wall of concrete.

“Shit,” says the wall.

Strong hands catch your shoulders and push you back, and suddenly your face is being tilted up by firm fingers.

“You alright?”

Black T-shirt. Gray beard. You blink, looking up, and your stomach flips again. He’s even bigger up close.

“Oww,” you whisper dramatically, touching your temple. Showtime. Anything to keep his hands on you a little longer. “I think I’ve got a concussion.”

“Doubt it. Looks to me like you’ve had a few too many.”

“You sure? Here,” you grab his hand and place it on your forehead. “Do I have a fever? What if you gave me a concussion?”

“Your fault for not lookin’ where you were going.”

You squint up at him again. He pulls his hand away and only now do you realize just how big it is and how thick his fingers are.

He’s raising an eyebrow, but there’s a hint of amusement on his lips that pushes you to blurt your name, offer a handshake, and say:

“How about I buy you a drink as an apology?”

The smile dies. He ignores your hand, pats the top of your head twice, like you would a puppy, and sidesteps you, saying:

“Go find someone your age, kiddo. Plenty of boys in there’ll want you.”

“I don’t want someone my age!” you call out after his retreating back.

“Too damn bad.”

He steps into the men’s room, and you feel your shoulders slump with disappointment. Would a lower-cut top have helped?

“When you think like that, feminism goes back twenty years,” your friend says when you repeat that exact thought to her. “He’s supposed to like you for your personality.”

“I don’t want him to eat out my personality.”

He walks past your booth and heads back to the pool area, and your eyes eat him up again, but then Adam, the allegedly circumcised boy, and his crew show up, cramming into your booth and blocking your view.

It’s hard, but you resist the urge to roll your eyes and order another espresso martini instead.

At some point in the night, you get fed up with the boys and their dumb incel-tier jokes, so you decide to leave. Your friends ask if you want company walking home, but you decline, even though your legs feel a little wobbly as you stand. You pay your part of the bill, say your goodbyes and make your way to the bar’s exit.

There’s a chilly breeze outside that raises goosebumps on your arms, and you shift your weight from foot to foot, leaning slightly against the wall as you dial your dad’s number.

It rings ten times and goes to voicemail.

You try again.

Voicemail.

“I don’t sleep until you’re home,” you mutter mockingly, repeating what they always say. “Bet they’re deep in REM by now.”

You’re typing your home address into the Uber app when the bar door opens again. Your eyes meet his.

“Changed your mind?” you ask, trying to sound alluring.

He closes the door behind him and looks both ways down the empty sidewalk before turning back to you with indignation.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone? Where’re your friends?”

“They stayed.”

“And they just let you stand out here by yourself?”

You ignore him, already over this conversation, and hit enter on the app. The fare loads. Shit. Twenty bucks to get home? That’s ridiculous. And the nearest driver’s twenty minutes away.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

“I’m not telling you where I live, stalker,” you mutter, eyes still on your phone.

“Five minutes ago, you were trying to buy me a drink.”

“So? Telling you where I live is crossing a line.”

“I ain’t leaving you out here alone.”

“Hey,” you spin to face him and point a slightly shaky finger in his direction. “You’re not responsible for me. I can take care of myself.”

He stares at your red-polished finger, then at your face, then raises his hands in surrender and walks past you toward the bar’s parking lot in silence.

Fine. Gotta love a hot guy who thinks he owns the damn world. Most exhausting type.

Alone again, you refresh the app a few times, and on the third, the price jumps from twenty to twenty-five dollars.

“Noooo,” you groan, leaning your head back against the wall to stare at the stars. Could you walk home? No… way too dangerous. And your high-heeled boots were not made for that.

The bar door opens again. You don’t look up to see who it is, and you don’t need to, because ten seconds later, there’s a hand on your waist. You jerk away, startled, trying to shake off the touch, but the grip is strong.

“Hey there, baby girl,” Adam says, way too close. You can feel his booze-soaked breath. “I got your message.”

His blown pupils freak you out, but it’s the fact that you can’t break his grip that makes your heart spike. You’re trying, but your espresso martini-filled body is sluggish. His hands feel like steel clamps against your dull reflexes.

“What message?”

“You wanted me to follow you out.”

“No, I didn’t. I just wanna go home. Let go.”

You try again. He holds tighter. Now he’s pressing his hips against yours. You push him, but every one of those espresso martinis slows you down.

“No need to make this so hard, baby girl. I saw the way you were lookin’ at me.”

“Let me go!”

Bile creeps up your throat and you swallow it down just to gather enough air to scream—

“Hey, kid,” a deep voice growls to your left, and your body nearly buckles with relief when he, Mr. Difficult, steps into view. He looks pissed.

“You back off her or you’re heading back to college five teeth short.”

Adam stumbles backward immediately, fear plain on his face. Mr. Difficult gives you a short nod, and you rush to him in quick steps, heart racing, tucking yourself beneath his broad frame like it’s shelter from the storm.

“These cameras,” he says, pointing to the ones mounted on the bar’s exterior, “I’ll have those tomorrow. Sexual harassment? I hope you don’t have a scholarship.”

Adam starts to say something, probably begging not to be exposed, but you don’t hear it. You’re gripping the man’s forearm, and he’s guiding you toward a black pickup parked between the shiny little cars of the boys still inside the bar.

In silence, he opens the passenger door and waits for you to climb in: slow, one foot on the step, the other in, legs together, finally settled. Then he shuts it and walks around to the driver’s side. For a moment, you feel like Bella Swan hopping onto the back of that weird guy’s bike in New Moon.

He gets in, shuts the door, and takes a deep breath before saying so firmly you don’t even think to argue:

“Give me your address. I’m taking you home.”

Defeated, you tell him. Only then does he start the truck and pull out of the bar’s lot.

“You know that guy?”

“I know his name’s Adam, but I don’t know him. Don’t even know his last name. He’s a friend of a friend.”

“Goddamn criminal little punks,” he mutters, rolling up the windows and turning on the heat when he notices you’re trembling, even though the cold has little to do with it. “You alright?”

“I’m… yeah. I think so. Thanks for stepping in.”

He keeps driving, and you use the quiet moment to steady your breath and your hands. The streets of Austin are empty, ghostly, barely any cars out, and your mind wanders for a second. Maybe it’s time to finally sign up for that self-defense class your dad kept telling you to take back in Houston.

You wedge your hands between your thighs to warm them and settle into the seat. You pretend not to hear when Mr. Difficult’s phone rings and he answers:

“Miller,” he says flatly. Someone talks on the other end. “What the hell happened to Jesse? Tonight’s his shift, not mine.” More silence. Then Miller, his newly revealed last name, curses under his breath and snaps, “I’m on my way.”

He hangs up and makes a sudden, hard right, jostling your body and making your eyes go wide.

“Are you kidnapping me?!”

His frustrated sigh fills the cab.

“You’re way too damn annoying to be kept in captivity,” he grumbles, accelerating. “They need me at work and I can’t drop you off first. It’s urgent. You’ll wait for me.”

“I can call another Uber.”

“You ain’t calling an Uber drunk like that.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because,” Miller says through gritted teeth, eyes on the road, “it’s literally my job to protect dumbass civilians who walk themselves into danger. I swore an oath. Now zip it.”

Civilians? Swore an oath?

Five minutes later, you get your answer as the wide property of the Austin Fire Department fills your vision, the U.S. and Texas flags flapping hard in the night wind. Miller drives through the open gate and parks beside the building.

“Come with me.”

You follow, still dazed, clacking behind him in your high-heeled boots. He doesn’t check if you’re keeping up, just walks with long, fast strides, and when he reaches the covered part of the station, three mustached men in full gear look at him like he’s the second coming.

The rest of the crew is further back, checking one of the trucks. They’re all huge.

“Chief,” one of them says. Chief?

“We need you. We got a call on—”

“Where the hell is Jesse?!” Miller practically growls. The three of them look at each other, shrinking a bit despite all standing well over six feet. “He think he’s back in school? What if I’d been drinking tonight? You’d go on a call short-handed? Hell of a teammate, that one.”

You’re only noticed when Miller turns his head toward you and calls out again:

“Come on.”

You do, still quiet. The firefighters tear their eyes off him and look at you, and yep… there it is. Raised brows, head-to-toe glance, lingering a bit too long on your skirt, and an open flirt-ready expression.

Miller shuts that down real fast:

“Eyes off, punks. I’ll be down in two.”

You give them a sheepish smile, but what you really want to say is: Yeah! That’s right, punks! Eyes off!

With a little bounce in your step, like a kid who just got praised by the teacher for their stick-figure drawing, you follow Miller up the stairs, metal steps creaking beneath you both.

Upstairs, you find the firefighters’ break room: a big dining table, a flat-screen TV, leather couches, and a kitchen tucked in an attached nook. You glance away from the wall of photos just in time to catch Miller stepping into his bunker pants, still over his jeans, and pulling the suspenders over his shoulders.

Shameless, you watch the whole thing while having a revelation. Yeah, now you get why firefighters are in every cliché fantasy ever. If Miller climbed into your window wearing that gear, you’d one hundred percent say something ridiculous like, “Here to put out my fire, officer?”

Next comes the heavy coat, and you can already see the sweat forming along his hairline as he zips and buttons everything up.

“Wait here for me. There’s coffee, water…” he gestures vaguely around the room, clearly in a rush. “Bathroom, running water, all that. Won’t be long.”

Before you can say anything else, he grabs his helmet and gloves and jogs down the stairs, pulling the Nomex hood over his head as he goes.

Moments later, the siren roars through the station, and as it fades into the night, it becomes nothing more than a ghostly hum at the back of your mind.

You sit on the couch, staring at the white wall with your hands tucked between your thighs. A firefighter. The chief.

Have you accidentally wandered into one of those steamy books you secretly read before bed? Or are you still sitting on the toilet in that grimy bar bathroom, hallucinating on espresso martinis?

The TV’s on. The news is covering a convenience store fire, result of an electrical short. Flames rage against the dark Austin sky, the interior swallowed by orange heat, yellow police tape keeping the crowd away. Thankfully, the store was empty when it caught fire.

Firefighters are en route, the reporter says, visibly relieved, and you curl onto your side on the couch, hands folded beneath your cheek, watching the broadcast.

You blink a little slower this time, and then everything goes dark.

“Were you trying to flash your panties to everyone in here? Damn short skirt.”

That’s the first thing you hear when you come to, groggy, as something is gently draped over your legs. You crack one eye open to find Miller carefully placing a leather jacket that smells like men’s cologne across your thighs. Only then do you realize just how comfortable you’d been lying there, considering the length of your skirt.

He keeps adjusting the jacket until everything’s covered. There’s no judgment in it. No irritation that you passed out like that. Just care, obvious in the way he pulls and tugs at the edges without ever letting his fingers brush your skin. And that, somehow, disorients you more than if he’d called you a name or scolded you outright.

“You’re back,” you mumble.

He shoots you a sidelong glance. His cheeks are smudged with soot and ash, his hair sweaty and tousled. The jacket’s gone, his suspenders hanging loose by his hips.

“Yeah. Didn’t die.”

“Thank God,” you murmur, eyes falling shut again. “What a waste that would’ve been.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated.

You hear footsteps moving away, and peek through one eye to see him heading toward one of the adjoining rooms, tugging off his soaked black T-shirt in the process. The sight of his broad back makes your mouth go dry, especially with the reminder of what that body does for a living. All that strength. All that control.

Before the thought can spiral, other firefighters filter into the room, looking just as worn out as Miller.

“You the chief’s new girl?” one of them asks in a low voice, clearly trying not to be heard by said chief. He looks suspiciously like Bradley Bradshaw from Top Gun.

“No. He doesn’t want me.”

That earns you a burst of chaos. Whistles and chuckles like a group of teenage boys, not grown men who just came back from a fire call. Someone at the back yells, “I do!” and you ignore it, because you don’t kiss babies. Not when there’s a fire chief with a back like that about to drive you home.

You sit up on the couch, keeping Miller’s jacket across your lap, and glance at the coffee carafe they’re passing around.

“Can I have some?” you ask, motioning toward it.

They scramble like it’s a competition: who’ll pour, who’ll carry it over, who’ll get that sweet little “thank you” you sing out.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Miller says as he reappears, now in a fresh T-shirt bearing the Austin Fire Department logo on the chest and a clean face to go with it. His silver hair is damp, slicked back. He points at you. “Up. Let’s go.”

You rush to finish your coffee, burning your tongue in the process, and set the cup down to join him, still holding his jacket.

“I don’t know who’s been in contact with Jesse, but tell him he’s off the rest of the week. Maybe a seven-day suspension will help him get his shit together.”

One of them steps forward. “Chief—”

“That’s not a request, Lieutenant, that’s a decision. You boys need to learn the weight of the oath we swore.”

Silence.

Miller’s voice sharpens. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Miller places a hand on your shoulder and guides you forward. You walk ahead of him, down the stairs and out to his truck in silence.

“Tell me your address again,” he says once you’re both seated, looking worn out.

“You’re the fire chief.”

“Battalion chief,” he corrects, starting the engine. “Address.”

You tell him. He starts to drive. You watch him for a few seconds, then say:

“That was hot. The way you chewed them out? Extremely hot.”

“What’s with your thing for older men?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” you exclaim, and Miller rolls his eyes. Still grinning, you explain, “It’s not a thing. I just prefer older guys because they actually know what they’re doing. It’s not a crime.”

“How old are you?”

“You gonna judge me?”

“Seriously?” Miller stops at a red light even though the streets are deserted. It’s well past three a.m. “You’ve said all kinds of crap tonight, and this is what you’re worried about being judged for?”

“Because then you won’t wanna kiss me.”

“I’m not gonna kiss you either way.”

“See? That’s discrimination.”

“You still drunk?”

You think about it. Your vision’s clear now, no blurs at the edges. That weird rush in your ears is gone. The coffee and the nap did wonders.

“I’m not,” you say, turning in your seat to face him. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, like he’s afraid to admit you’re even in the truck with him. Finally, you say, “Twenty-five.”

“I’m twenty-seven years older than you.”

The light turns green. He drives.

“That just sounds like motivation to me,” you say, watching the way his thumb tightens around the leather steering wheel for half a second, his only reaction. “Are you married? Dating? Secret vow of celibacy?”

He shakes his head. No to all.

“My women need to be at least forty. That’s my cutoff.”

“Totally fair. Women in their forties are delicious,” you say, giving him a thumbs-up. “But there’s always an exception, right?”

“No. Not with you.”

“Am I ugly?”

“You know damn well you’re not. Those boys at the station were practically undressing you with their eyes.”

A Cheshire cat smile spreads across your lips.

“You noticed? Look at you, paying attention,” you tease, but he doesn’t respond, and you know your limit. You stop pushing. “Okay. You don’t want me. Got it. I’ll stop.”

Silence. His forearms have so many veins. You bounce your leg, restless, and because you can’t shut up, you say:

“Thanks for taking care of our city, Chief.”

More silence. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a deep laugh fills the space between you, and the sound makes you melt right into the seat.

“You’re really somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

“Oh God,” you groan. “You’re gonna make this harder if you call me sweetheart.”

“What’s the difference with older men, anyway?”

“Fishing for an ego boost?”

“Forget I asked.”

“No, no, wait, sorry,” you say quickly, folding one leg under you and straightening like you’re about to give a TED Talk. You’re not wasting this moment. “Okay, listen, I lost my virginity in college—”

Miller rubs a hand over his face. “Too much information.”

“—and it was awful!” you go on, like he didn’t interrupt. “I didn’t finish. I told him that, and he said it was normal. So I slept with another guy, and that sucked too. I tried to settle because I thought that’s just what straight-girl life was.”

Somewhere in the universal rules of womanhood, there’s probably a clause that says never trauma-dump on a man. No man is different. But now that your mouth is open, it won’t stop.

“So I went out with this guy.”

“A guy,” he repeats, leaning slightly to check the passenger-side mirror.

“I think he was forty-two at the time. Miller… was addictive.”

“I can already imagine why.”

“Mhm.”

“But that’s not a rule. Not every older guy knows how to do that.”

You resist the urge to ask if he’s talking about himself.

“Haven’t had any bad experiences yet.”

The car goes quiet for five more minutes. You recognize the avenue you’re on, which means you’re probably only ten minutes from home.

“Have you always been a battalion chief?”

“I transferred here four years ago. Before that, I was a commander in Seattle.”

“So that’s why I didn’t know you. When you came, I was still in college,” you say mostly to yourself. “Got it. You like it here?”

“I’m from here. Tommy’s my brother. I left for Seattle twenty years ago.”

“Tommy from the bar?!”

“Tommy from the bar,” he confirms.

Mouth falling open, you lean back in your seat. Makes sense. His last name is Miller.

“Wow. Tommy’s friends with my parents,” you process the information bit by bit. “You’re Joel.”

“Mhm.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Yes.”

“I remember he used to talk about you all the time when he came over,” you say, because it’s true. Everything was Joel. Apparently, Joel had been his savior when they were kids. “He must be happy you’re back… and as battalion chief, no less.”

It’s subtle, but the line between Joel’s brows eases just a little when you say that last part. Other than that, he doesn’t react much.

“Family’s family,” he replies simply.

You reach your parents’ street and direct him to the house. Joel parks in front of it, and you notice all the lights are off, the windows dark. The porch light is on, and you know the key’s tucked inside the lilac flower pot.

You unbuckle your seatbelt as you say,

“Thank you so much for the ride. I’m sorry if I pushed too much and made you uncomfortable.”

You open the door to get out. Joel says,

“Close that door.”

Your hand freezes on the latch. Joel’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes down. After a beat, you shut the door and sit back in your seat.

The console light dims.

You give him a moment because he looks like he’s wrestling half a dozen battles inside his own head.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says quietly, rubbing his hands against his jeans. “I just don’t think I’m what you really want.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear you’re exactly my type.”

“Sweetheart, no offense, but this feels more like some drunk little adventure you’ll laugh about with your girlfriends tomorrow.”

If there was even a drop of alcohol left in your system, that sentence burns it out.

“Just because you’re older?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level. “Come on, Joel. That’s crap. Yeah, we’ve got a big age gap. But I told you what I like and why I like it.”

“Because you wanna be the wild friend?”

Your eyes go wide in disbelief. Your cheeks flare with anger, and you decide you’ve had enough. You reach for the door again, and the next second, a large hand covers yours and pulls it closed.

“Okay,” you murmur, still staring at his hand on top of yours, frozen. “Now I actually think you’re gonna kidnap me.”

“Shit,” he mutters, and he’s way too close. “Sorry. If you wanna get out, you can. I just… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“So what’s this whole speech for, then?” you turn your face toward him, and now you’re only inches apart, since he leaned over to shut the door. “You don’t want me. I get it. I’m a big girl. I don’t need a speech.”

Joel looks from you to your house, scanning the darkened façade, probably noting the lights all off. When his eyes return to yours, there’s a new kind of resolve etched into his face.

“It’s gotta stay secret,” he says. No wiggle room.

Your breath starts coming just a little heavier.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promise immediately.

“Not even your friends.”

“What’s the big fear?” you ask, half-teasing, though there’s a flicker of real curiosity beneath it. “You married?”

“Hell no. I’m just the brother of the guy who’s friends with your dad, and I guarantee he wouldn’t want some fifty-year-old sniffing around his little girl.”

“I’m twenty-five,” you repeat, but your voice wavers a bit as Joel leans closer. “It’s not up to my dad who I get involved with.”

“Good for you,” he says, like he couldn’t care less, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck. “Still damn young.”

“And yet, I’m gonna be your exception.”

He squints, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh. Right. The first twenty in my rulebook.”

You lean in, ready to kiss him, but Joel holds you still with his hand at your neck, like he’s waiting for something.

You say what he needs to hear:

“Won’t breathe a word about what you do with a younger girl in front of her house.”

“Good. That stays between me and God.”

He pulls you in, and the second your lips meet, you’re gone, falling into that familiar place you’ve always adored with older men.

Your brain short-circuits and Joel takes the lead in everything. His hand moves from your neck to the base of your skull, tugging you deeper, and he’s the one to part his lips, the one to tilt just right so your mouths fit like it’s a damn movie scene.

Your fingers slide into his hair, thick strands slipping between them, as you sink further into the seat. He follows, body hovering over yours. The moan that escapes your throat when his tongue brushes the seam of your lips is honest. The one that comes when he finally kisses you with tongue, though just as real, is so drawn out it makes your cheeks burn with the fear he might think you’re faking.

God. That kiss.

“It’s a crime to keep that kind of kiss from me,” you whisper breathless, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Joel kisses your bottom lip, your jaw, drags his mouth down your neck. The ceiling of the truck blurs as he finds your collarbones, and you arch into him to give him more room. “Joel—”

His tongue meets the skin of your chest and you thank every higher power that your neckline’s just deep enough for him to reach the dip between your breasts. The ache between your thighs tightens, that telltale pulse of being soaked hitting you all at once.

“More,” you whisper, tugging his hair, just enough to let him know you want another kiss.

He gives it to you. One hand on your waist, the other on your neck, he kisses you again, and this one’s filthy from the first second, now that you both know exactly how to move together. You press harder into his hands.

“You can’t be this polite,” you murmur. “Aren’t you gonna slip your hand under my skirt?”

“Boundaries,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut when you trail kisses along his jaw, rough with beard stubble. There’s still a faint trace of sweat and smoke from the earlier call, and you should probably care about that, but you don’t.

“No way you’ve got boundaries still holding steady in that brain,” you say. You watch his face up close as you take his hand and guide it down from your waist to your thigh. He opens his eyes at the heat of your skin and keeps them on you as you lead his hand higher, higher… right to the hem of your skirt. You pause. Ask: “Can I?”

He swallows hard.

He’s the one who moves now, sliding his hand beneath your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing like he means it, hard enough to make you giggle. His fingers find the lace of your panties where it sits snug between your cheeks.

“No one’s out here,” you murmur. Your hand finds the thick bulge in his jeans, and you raise your brows at him. “Can I make you come?” you ask, giving just the faintest stroke, enough pressure to make the denim feel good, not rough. “Please. Want me to take my panties off while I touch you?”

Joel clenches his jaw. Moves his hand from your ass to the front of your panties, cupping your pussy fully, probably feeling the heat radiating for him. You spread your legs as much as the car seat allows, giving him space to explore, all while trying to slip your hand inside his jeans to—

“No,” he breathes, shaking his head like the effort to say it physically hurts. You pull your hand away instantly at his no, but raise an eyebrow, waiting for more. “No. Not here. I’m not about to come in my jeans like a goddamn teenager.”

He pulls his hand back from between your legs, taking a steadying breath.

“Not here,” says again.

God. You could cry.

“Okay,” you say instead because you’re an adult and you respect a no. “Alright. Okay.”

“Go on. Get inside.”

But before you do, you raise a finger.

“Can I suggest something?”

You’re not quite sure how you manage to convince him, though that alone would be something worth bragging about, but somehow, you do. You talk Joel into parking a little farther down the street, just to be safe, and into sneaking in with you through the back door, because the front one’s too damn noisy.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist as you guide him through your dark house. A stop in the kitchen for a glass of water. A pause in the living room to make sure no one’s there. Then the stairs. One step at a time, silent. His brown eyes find yours every time you glance back.

And then Joel Miller is in your bedroom and you’re locking the door.

With his hands on his hips, he looks around: at the old band posters from when you were eighteen and just starting college, at the lilac bedsheets covering your mattress. The curtains are cracked open, letting in the pale glow of the moon and the streetlights outside, casting his silhouette in silver while you kick off your boots and socks and toss them aside.

“Prove to me you’re not drunk,” he says low.

“You want me to do a four?”

He keeps staring. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, lifting your right leg and crossing it over your left thigh, making the shape of a four with your legs.

“You’re so old,” you mutter, reaching ten in the count. “I already told you I’m not drunk. You know that perfect little buzz? That’s all I’ve got.”

“Enough to not regret this in the morning?”

“Regret you? Only if I were out of my mind.”

The plush carpet cushions your sore feet as you walk toward the bed. He just watches you. Watches as you climb onto the mattress, toss the pillows to the floor, and lie back on your elbows, looking straight at him.

One raised brow. A wordless well?

Joel looks up at the ceiling, like he’s saying a silent prayer, then bends down to remove his boots.

“You think you can stay quiet?” he asks, stepping closer. He mutters, “Refuse to come in my jeans like a damn teenager, but here I am sneaking into your house like one.”

Joel stands at the foot of your bed. You smile at him, about to unbutton your skirt, but he’s faster. His hands slip under the fabric, tugging your panties down your legs and tossing them aside.

You realize what he’s about to do when he plants one knee on the bed and starts lowering his head between your legs, but you stop him with your foot against his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you say quickly. You’ve been out all night with your friends. Sure, you showered before leaving, but still… it’s been hours. “It’s okay, I don’t need—”

“I do. I want to,” he murmurs, and the way he brushes your foot aside like it weighs nothing sends a wave of heat down your spine. Now both hands are on your thighs, spreading them gently. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

He waits for a sign to stop. You don’t give it.

A smile curls his lips.

“Yeah. Stay quiet and let me enjoy it.”

The hands that were holding your thighs now push your skirt up, the leather bunching around your hips. Then Joel’s large frame lowers, and his mouth finds you.

Your head falls back as his warm tongue slips between your folds with torturous precision, the sound of his spit mixing with your slick making your stomach tighten, and you have to practically bite down on your bottom lip not to moan. He grabs your hips, pulls you toward his mouth, and my God… he really wanted this.

Joel seems to be patiently gathering every drop of your arousal with his tongue, like he’s not in any rush, not until he’s good and ready to start licking your clit, his lips closing around it and sucking, slow and steady.

A moan nearly slips out, but you manage to turn it into a shaky exhale.

Your leg gives a little and you can’t hold yourself up on your elbows anymore, so you lie all the way back, legs splayed around his broad shoulders.

You glance to the side, clutching the sheets beneath you as you start, slowly, to ride his face. The mirror on your vanity catches everything, still cluttered with makeup you’d used while getting ready, and now it reflects the way Joel’s body covers yours, one foot still on the floor, your skirt bunched up, the outline of him pressing hard inside his jeans. You lower your right leg and catch a glimpse of his jaw working as he eats you out, desperate, beard slick with your arousal.

“Good?” you ask sweetly, fingers threading through his silver-streaked hair as your eyes meet. He can’t answer with words, but his eyes speak volumes, and he definitely grips you harder when you teasingly say: “You fifty-somethings really know how to eat pussy.”

Joel’s no exception.

You only pull him up because you want to kiss him again and because you obviously want him out of that fire department t-shirt. He peels it off, revealing a broad chest covered in dark hair that radiates strength.

Joel helps you slide your skirt off, and your mouths meet as you wrap your legs around his hips.

“I probably smell like smoke,” he murmurs.

“Just a little. More like sweat. And it’s delicious.”

Another smile. He’s on a roll.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, lowering his hips. The friction of his cock, denim-rough, grinding against your clit makes you whimper. He catches it. “Feel good?”

You nod. Joel watches you, then dips his hips again, and the seam of his jeans hits just right. You nearly come undone.

“Again,” you whisper.

He listens. Joel makes sure not to hurt you with the zipper, but grinds down hard enough, at just the right angle, to knock the air from your lungs. Your clit throbs under the pressure, the rough rub of the denim, and the solid heat of his cock beneath it only makes it more intense.

He licks two fingers and drags them between your legs just to give you a little extra slick, enough to keep it from turning raw, and keeps rocking into you. You hadn’t planned to come, but you also can’t stop it, not when that feeling keeps rising, rising, until—

It bursts, a sweet sharp rush that spreads from between your legs through every inch of you, and Joel keeps it going, those slow, steady grinds that don’t overwhelm but won’t let the afterglow slip away either.

You place a hand on the waistband of his jeans, gently stopping him.

“You need to fuck me. Now.”

“Urgent?”

“Mhm. So I can come again.”

“You’re so damn direct,” he mutters, clearly amused. Then he leans over and says, “Arms up.”

You obey. He takes off your top, and it’s you who unhooks your bra, now completely naked. Joel watches as he strips off his jeans and boxers, and when he’s bare, you prop yourself up on your elbows to look.

Thank you, God. Uncut.

You look up at him.

“Come here.”

Joel climbs onto your bed, his knees sinking into the soft lilac sheets, and settles between your thighs. Together, you shift higher up the bed until your head rests on the lone pillow left on the mattress.

“Might come too fast,” he warns, and you believe him by the way his cock is rock hard as he guides it to your entrance.

“I don’t mind.”

“Sure you don’t. You’re an expert in old men.”

The head of his cock pushes in with a wet sound that shuts your mouth. You bring your fingers down between your legs, starting to touch yourself again in slow, careful circles as Joel eases into you. He’s gentle, taking his time, eating you up with his eyes, and once he’s fully inside, his body covers yours.

You feel the soft press of his belly against yours, the hair brushing your skin, the weight of him, and it’s enough to stir you back up. Joel draws his hips back and fucks you, and the sound that escapes your mouth is nearly inhuman. Your eyes fly open, meeting Joel’s startled ones, and before either of you can react, his big hand covers your mouth.

“Quiet,” he says, then thrusts again.

You grip his wrist with both hands and wrap your legs around his hips, taking the rough, perfect rhythm of his thrusts — thankfully quiet, the bed doesn’t creak — as his thick cock drives deep into you, raw and goddamn delicious. Joel presses his hand firmer against your mouth to muffle you and clenches his jaw. The trimmed hair at his groin drags over your clit with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass, and your eyes squeeze shut. You don’t even have the strength to keep touching yourself.

Joel goes again, once, twice, three times.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, voice rough and shocked, sweat trickling down his neck. You feel a pulse inside you and then a warm rush spreading. “Fuck, fuck… I was supposed to pull out and—”

“It’s fine. Really,” because it is. You’ve never understood the drama around guys coming too fast. To you, it’s a compliment, as long as you’re properly taken care of. You repeat it, not wanting the afterglow to turn tense for him. “It’s okay.”

You pull him close and press a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers running through the softer strands at the nape of his neck.

“I had a vasectomy,” he confesses suddenly, lips still against yours, like the thought just occurred to him and he needed to reassure you.

“Great. I’ve got an IUD. Though we probably should’ve talked about this before, huh?” your hands slide down his sweaty shoulders. “Think you can get hard again?”

“Give me a minute.”

“Okay. Pull out.”

Joel shifts back, kneeling between your legs and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock as he slips out of you. You watch his softening length, slick with both of you, and wonder for a second why the hell you like that image so much. And even more… why the feeling of him dripping out of you turns you on.

“Sit there,” you tell him, nodding toward the headboard.

Silently, like a good student, he does exactly what you asked, leaning back against the headboard, his cock now fully soft resting on his thigh.

You crawl over on your knees, slipping between his legs to straddle his right thigh that feels solid under you, the thick hair tickling the insides of your thighs.

“How sensitive are you right now?” you ask, dragging a finger slowly along his cock, the head still tucked away. Joel jerks his hips back, pulling away from the touch. You lift your hand and arch a brow. “Okay. Got it. Very. I could try sucking you hard again.”

“Suck a soft dick?”

“Why not? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Alright. But I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

You rest your arms on his shoulders and lean in. “Okay. I respect that.”

Joel gives you that look, the one older people always get when they’re a little impatient with your ideas or mouth, but you know it’s not about you. He seems like the kind of man who grumbles about everything. Besides, the impatience doesn’t match the way his hands move across your back, soft and slow, up and down.

You say, “I was gonna learn pool just so I could play with you tonight.”

“Yeah? You learn anything?”

You pull back just enough to lift your hands. With your left, you pretend to grip a cue, and with your right, your thumb and index finger make a ring.

“Now I know how to hold a pool stick.”

Joel’s lips tug into a half-smile.

“You’re left-handed,” he notes, and you lower your hands again, nodding. His grip returns to your hips. “Well done. You should’ve come, by the way. I might’ve let you win.”

“You’d never let me win.”

“I’m softer than I look. And,” he cuts himself off when he notices your smirk, “if you make a joke about my soft dick, I swear I’ll have your name on a wanted poster by tomorrow.”

“I don’t get why it bugs you so much. Come on.”

You say that just before leaning in to press your lips to the pulse at his neck. Joel tilts his head slightly, giving you space, and you pepper kisses there, then across his shoulder. You press your chest to his, and his hands grip you tighter.

“Bet the single women in this town chase you down,” you murmur, arms around his neck. “And… the married ones too?”

“No comment.”

“Austin’s most wanted bachelor.”

“The divorcé,” he corrects.

Oh? You pull your mouth away from his neck.

“How long?”

“Five years.”

“Good. Tomb’s been sealed.”

He laughs against your mouth when you kiss him, but soon cups your face to kiss you properly, exactly the way you’re asking, even if you’re not saying a word. His kisses are so addictive, it’s strange to you. There’s something about Joel that turns a kiss into full-body contact. He kisses and touches you, strokes your cheek, your back, pays attention to what you need.

And he reads you well, because his hand slips between your legs.

“Lift up a little,” he says, and you rise onto your knees, no longer sitting on his thigh. His fingers slide between your folds, gathering the slick there. Joel lets out a low grunt, and you watch the way his cock gives a tiny twitch. “Let me eat you out again.”

Ah. Yes. But actually…

“Can I try something else?” you ask.

That’s how Joel, with lips slightly parted, ends up watching as you settle back down on his thigh, right over the thickest part, your legs spread wide.

You almost feel shy the first time you grind up against his thigh with his eyes on you. Your whole body shivers, breath catching in your throat, and you steady yourself with your hands on him. You’re so wet, from yourself and from him, that the movement is easy. Heavenly. The hair on his thigh adds just the right amount of friction on your clit, and it nearly sends you reeling.

“You like that?” he asks, genuinely curious, and you, dry-mouthed, nod your head. You grind again. Whimper.

“Been neglecting this pussy, huh?”

You shake your head. Joel touches your body, running his hands along your sides, gripping your waist. The next time you grind down, he helps, his biceps flexing, guiding your rhythm. Forward. Back. The muscle of his thigh tensing under you, his skin slick with your wetness.

He watches you, sees how close you are and how hard you’re biting your lip to keep quiet. Immediately, his thumb presses to your bottom lip, freeing it from your teeth, and he slips it into your mouth. You meet his gaze as you suck it in, hands clutching his arm, hips faltering in the next few rolls.

When you come, Joel lays you back on the bed, spreads your legs, and slides back inside. He’s not fully hard, but it doesn’t matter because he fits, thick and slow, and the way he stretches you prolongs your orgasm so sweetly it nearly breaks you apart.

You feel him stiffening more with each thrust, and as he grows harder, he goes deeper.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes into your ear, biting your neck. “You’re driving me outta my mind.”

Your smile wavers when, after a few more thrusts, he slips out and lies beside you, then shifts you onto your side and pulls you back against his chest. He drapes an arm over your chest, grips your thigh with the other, lifts it over his hip, and slides into you again. His movements pin you, keeping you from doing anything but taking it when his fingers find your clit again, even oversensitive as it is.

Your whole body shakes.

“Joel—”

“Come on, baby. I know you’ve got one more in you.”

You try to jerk your hips away from his fingers as he rubs harder, faster, but there’s nowhere to go, and Joel doesn’t relent. He holds your thigh, keeps you open for him, slowing his thrusts just enough to drag it out. You grab the arm draped over your chest, twist your hips, and it’s almost too much.

Almost.

Because right before it crosses the line, you come. And then you go limp.

“Can I keep going?” he asks. “Want me to pull out?”

“No. Just… stay off my clit.”

The kiss he presses to your damp temple sounds like an “okay.”

You reach back, fingers slipping into the sweat-damp strands of his hair, and feel his ragged breaths against your neck as he keeps moving inside you. His next orgasm takes longer, but somehow it still only lasts a few seconds, and leaves you leaking all over again.

When it’s over, your ears are ringing, his body is hot behind you, and your heart won’t stop pounding.

Goddamn.

Thanks for your service, Chief.

You can’t stop staring at the top-left corner of the peach pie.

It’s not broken, exactly. The crust in that corner just sank a little lower than the rest, and it’s driving you nuts. You rotate the pie dish so the pristine edge faces front, hiding the flaw.

“Pie?” you offer with a smile as sweet as the amarena syrup your mom made, holding out a slice to the father and two sons approaching your stand.

Today is the neighborhood charity fair where your parents live. It happens every six months in the town square and has been around for maybe a decade. The goal is to raise funds for local nonprofits. Neighbors donate pies, sandwiches, roasted meats, inflatable toys for the kids. The whole thing.

When you were fifteen and a painfully annoying teenager, you thought wearing an apron and handing out pie was humiliating. Ugh, mom. Charity is soooo lame.

Ten years later, here you are: uneasy, borderline neurotic because the crust of the pie you helped bake has a deformed corner.

The father and sons leave with their slices in little styrofoam containers and colorful forks. You glance around.

Your mom is helping out at one of the roast beef sandwich booths since someone called in sick last night. Your dad’s at his own stand, trying to sell fishing gear, though bamboo hooks don’t exactly draw crowds.

Farther down the square, you spot the fire truck. Your heart does a little skip, part nerves, part excitement. The fire department’s on site for safety, at least for the first couple hours. But you haven’t seen Joel yet.

“Any pie here sweeter than you?”

You turn toward the front of your booth and find the fireman who looks like a knockoff Bradley Bradshaw. He’s wearing an Austin Fire Department tee, aviator shades, and a grin that’s way too… youthful.

Still, you smile back.

“Definitely. I’m pretty sure the pie also knows the number for the AFD’s misconduct hotline.”

“Kidding.”

“And because of that joke,” you say, grabbing three styrofoam containers, “you’re buying three slices to support the cause.”

He doesn’t even protest. Quietly, he waits as you cut the slices and hands you the money. You thank him with a sugar-sweet smile and a blown kiss.

Once he walks away, your eyes sweep the square again. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

And there’s the fire, staring at you from across the plaza, arms crossed under the shade of a tree. Joel’s in the same black Austin Fire Department tee, and you see his eyes dip briefly to read the name stitched onto your pink apron.

The Sweetest Bite.

That barely-there smile curves his lips.

You grab a styrofoam plate, cut a generous slice of pie, and pull five bucks from the back pocket of your denim shorts, dropping the bill into the flower-covered tip jar your mom set up.

Then you toss the apron onto the counter and ask your dad to watch the stand for a few minutes.

Joel doesn’t even see you approaching. He’s surrounded by three women asking what it’s like “to be responsible for a city like Austin.”

“Such a hard-working man,” you say, slipping in between two of them to hold out the pie. “Fresh, warm cream pie. A little thank-you for protecting the city.”

Joel looks from the pie to you. Your smile grows even sweeter. When he takes it, the women scatter.

“You got an endless supply of short shorts like that?” he asks, not even pretending to start eating. His eyes stay on the pie. “Cream pie.”

“My favorite,” you reply. And, about the shorts: “It’s summer in Texas.”

“Right,” he says to both.

You glance around. No one’s near. One of the other firefighters is tossing rings at a carnival booth.

“You should come to the barbecue at my place after the fair. Tommy’s going and I can ask him to invite you.”

“I’m not going’ to your house.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not buddying up to your parents. You’re out of your mind?”

“I don’t want you to be friends with them. I want you to sneak up to my room when no one’s looking.”

“No,” he says flatly, like the conversation’s over.

A few hours later, that victorious little grin creeps across your lips as you see Tommy walk through the back gate of your house.

And right beside him, carrying a cooler of beer, is Joel Miller.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[missyorkswhore]

I miss you Joel Miller