#outbreak!joel

[iluvcatsalot]

He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds .ᐟ.ᐟ

.ᐟ.ᐟ Ethel Cain - Crush .ᐟ.ᐟ

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Run Rabbit✨

A/N: This idea literally came out of nowhere today, so I had to hurry and write it real quick! This idea is based off the song “Run, Rabbit Run!” by Flanagan and Allen. The song would not leave my head, and then I got this image of Joel chasing reader through an abandoned mansion. This one is a tad bit dark, but I hope you enjoy! If you liked this work, please think of reblogging and leaving me comments 🩷 Thank you to @ozarkthedog for being my beta 🥰

Summary: At the beginning of every month, you meet Joel to play a little game of hide and seek at the abandoned mansion near Jackson. It’s not just any game of hide and seek though. It’s dark and it’s twisted. If he catches you, he gets to do whatever he wants with you.

Pairing: Dom! Joel x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Possessive Joel, hide and seek, cat and mouse, Joel chases reader until he finds her, Jackson! Joel, outbreak! Joel, smut, fingering, oral, unprotected p in v, cream pie, dirty talk

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The air is suffocating, the black walls are covered in regret and years of cigarette stench. The dim lights seem to shine down on you like a spotlight as you run as fast as you can through the lavish house. You can hear him calling you, stalking you in the dark shadows like a starving dog hunting to devour fresh meat. 

   “Can’t run from me forever, darlin’. You keep on runnin’, but I’ll eventually find you,” he chuckles as his deep voice reverberates around the echoing halls. 

   You cover your mouth, keeping your body down as you run run run past the expensive statues and monumental paintings of the abandoned mansion. Your throat is on fire the longer you run, your body aching like that of a dying man on his last breath of life. Your legs feel like they’ll give way at any second, but you have to keep going. You can’t give up. Not yet. Not when he’s right on your tail. 

   Tired. You’re so very tired, yet you keep running. Dragging your hollow body down the vine covered corridors of the wide hallways as you gasp for fresh air in your watered down lungs. 

   You fly around a narrow corridor and nearly trip yourself on a bed of dark green vines that bite at your ankles, threatening to take you down as Joel draws closer to you. 

   You can feel his overbearing presence, can taste the whiskey that bleeds inside his thick veins, can feel his large body already crowding yours as if he’s already caught you. He hasn’t caught you yet, but you know he will. He always catches you. 

   This was all a game. A dark, twisted game that started on a cold night in December. You remember the first time he chased you, the first time he tore through all your clothes the minute he captured you and devoured your entirety on that pitch black night. Now, every first Saturday of each month you’d meet him back at this abandoned mansion to play his little game. He called it hide and seek, you called it a deadly game of cat and mouse because you were the mouse, and cats always caught their prey. 

   It’s like you two are stuck in a never ending dance, two souls completely consumed in the other as you spin in circles until one of you collapses. You shouldn’t keep coming back, shouldn’t want to play his dark little games, but yet you come. Every single time, you come, unable to face the reality of a month without his touch, his taste, his growls. You’d let the man do as he wanted because how could you resist those charming, big brown eyes? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t. You were a moth drawn to a flame, and he was the brightest, most dangerous flame of all. Something you wanted to forever be branded by.

   Joel Miller was a fucking menace of society, but he was your menace. So you’d continue the game until one of you stopped breathing. 

   “Where are you, little lamb?” he calls as your breath scorches the vine covered walls. You continue running, twisting around dark corners, running down stone steps, and hiding behind crimson curtains. 

   The next wooden door you come upon is locked tight. No amount of shaking the golden handle or hurling your body into the door will make it budge. You turn your head from side to side. The only way out is from the way you came. The hallway that he is in. Fuck. 

   You gulp down a silent breath and make a run for it, even though you know he’ll be there waiting like a prowling wolf. 

   You take careful steps down the marble hallway and sneak around the cold corner until you see his dark silhouette shining against the reflective flooring. You gasp as your eyes go wide, but before you can run he reaches out a long arm and clasps tightly to your wrist. 

   “There ya are, little lamb. Thought you’d get away from me this time?” he smirks as he wraps his calloused fingers tightly around you and tries to pull you in. 

   “Haven’t caught me just yet,” you laugh as you somehow manage to slip out of his grip and make a run for it. 

   You run down some slippery stone steps and end up at the back of the mansion with vine covered long corridors and twisting mazes of green bushes. You run as fast as you can as the wind sweeps through your long hair, letting the brisk wind set your adrenaline on fire. 

   You manage one glance back and see just how fast he’s creeping up on you. He’s like a lion running after a gazelle, the hunter about to attack the prey with its bare claws. And he will destroy his prey. 

   You take a few more steps, but then you feel a hand claw at your shoulder. He takes you down on the hard floor as you come crashing down to the pit of your doom. Pain radiates through your body, but you brush it off as you crawl forward, trying to escape the man that will take you as his own. 

   “Where do ya think you’re goin’, pretty thing?” he asks darkly as he wraps a hand around your ankle and tugs you in his direction. You hear a squeak escape your mouth like a trapped mouse that just got caught by a giant cat. 

   “I’m running away from you,” you answer back as you kick and try to squirm out of his reach. 

   He obviously has other plans because he drags you back underneath him and turns you flat on your back as he pins your hands above your head, his hips and large thighs caging you in so you can’t break free. He won this round, like he always did. 

   “Didn’t think I’d catch you so soon, little lamb,” he chuckles deeply as the weight of his body hangs over yours entirely. 

   “You just caught me off guard,” you sigh as you see his dark chocolate eyes honing in on yours. They’re so captivating, so damn pretty that you can’t look away. He’s so gorgeous even when you should find him intimidating. 

   “Now you’re mine,” he smirks as his chocolate eyes become darker, more blown out as he hovers his plush lips over yours. “Just what am I gonna do to you tonight, hmm?” he asks as lust fills the void of his dark eyes, making you squirm with anticipation already. You know what you want. You want him. 

   “Maybe I should be a little rough with you, hmm? That what you want?” he asks with the tick of his sculpted jaw, his thick eyebrow raising as he looks at you like he just won the most valuable prize in town. 

   You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be feeding his sick mind as he plays his dark games, but you can’t help it. You want it just as bad as he does. You want him to be rough with you. 

   You look at him with wide eyes and smirk right back at him, challenging his dominant side to give in. “So be rough with me,” you whisper back. 

   You see his dark eyes grow large with need as he huffs out through his nostrils. “Open,” he demands as he grabs a hold of your jaw and squeezes, just enough for your lips to part open slightly. He bends his head down and inhales deeply as he spits into your mouth as you feel the warm spit cover your tongue. 

   “Swallow,” he growls as you fully oblige. You close your mouth and swallow as you taste his spit slide down your throat. All hot and moist as you taste him in the back of your throat. And somehow you think it’s so goddamn hot. 

   “Good girl,” he praises as he shifts his weight down and starts unbuttoning your faded denim jeans. 

   “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” he asks as he starts to drag the denim down your legs, feeling a wave of slick slide down your lace panties as your adrenaline kicks in. 

   “Mhm,” you nod as you watch him strip your legs bare, next going to tear off your sticky pink t-shirt while he hovers over the fine lace of your bra, his calloused fingers circling your back as he slowly undoes the clasps. 

   “Gonna let me taste every inch of you, little lamb? Gonna let me fuck you till you can’t take anymore?” he asks as he undoes the last clap and slowly starts to slide the bra free, leaving your full breasts exposed to the chilly night air. The only thing left is your slick covered panties, and then you'll be completely bare. 

   “Yes,” you breathe as he cups your breasts and slides his tongue along the crook of your neck, all teeth and tongue as he nips and bites at your flesh. 

   You can’t help the burn, can’t help the absolute need that courses through your body as his weight encompasses your chest. His hot breath bleeds into your lungs and it’s as if you can breathe fresh air for the first time. His woodsy, whiskey scent makes you dizzy as he slides his wet tongue along your bottom lip as he hovers his weight above you. He’s like a wolf that comes to feed on you in the night, and you’ll gladly let him devour you whole. 

   He snakes his hand down your abdomen and slides his hand underneath your ruined panties as he presses his thumb in between your folds, collecting slick as you groan at the feel of him spreading you wide. 

   “Open up, darlin’. Wanna give you a taste,” he whispers. He slides his thumb in your mouth, and you press your tongue around it, tasting the sweet saltiness of your own arousal as you let it slide down your throat. 

   He opens his mouth and sucks the rest of the slick off as he moans at the taste of you in his system. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Wanna just eat you up,” he groans as he hovers his lips back over yours, inching closer and closer until you’re practically begging him to drop down on your lips. 

   “Please,” you whine as your hands fist at his green flannel shirt, desperate for him to get closer to you. 

   “Please what?” he smirks as his dark eyes weigh into yours, pools of lust overflowing the edges as his pupils now expand into complete darkness. A predator about to eat his prey up entirely. 

   You have to use all your strength to get any words out, desperate for his touch. “Take me, all of me,” you plead as your eyes search his black pits that burn you alive. 

   “Oh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take it all,” he smirks. 

   Before you have time to respond, he drops his lips on yours and fists your hair as he tugs hard and pries your lips apart as he slots in his wet tongue. He glides his tongue against yours and circles your mouth as you moan against him and drink his whiskey breath down. 

   He breaks apart from your mouth and nips playfully down your neck as he kneads your breasts together. His tongue comes down to circle each nipple, bringing them to life as they harden and pebble for him as you writhe underneath him in pleasure. 

   His experienced hands are everywhere, burning your skin alive as he skates his calloused fingers up and down your glistening body that’s now caked in sweat. He shoves your legs apart and slides the lace down your legs as he sits back and examines your entire naked body that’s on full display just for him. Glistening skin and slick coated folds splay out in front of him, and he looks like a mad man the way he’s looking at you. 

   His nostrils flare as his eyes grow wide, the big black pits scavenging your body as he drags a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper scruff as he groans out a heated response. “Goddamn, little lamb. You’re so fuckin’ wet and ready for me. I can hardly stand it,” he moans as he slides between your legs and pushes your thighs apart, his calloused fingers spreading your folds apart as he spits down in between them and starts running meticulously up and down your open folds as he starts circling your clit slowly. 

   You moan and writhe underneath his fingers, but he just presses a big hand to your stomach and holds you still as he works his fingers up and down your soaked pussy. And it feels so good that you want to crawl out of your own skin as the flames alight in your lower regions. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as he licks a thick strip from your dripping hole all the way to the top of your clit as his nose brushes against the coarse hair that sits above your clit. He inhales a large whiff of you as he groans and wraps his arms around your thighs as he holds you down against the cool ground. 

   “That’s right, little lamb. Gonna have you screamin’ my name by the time I get done with you,” he chuckles darkly as he dives back in. 

   His tongue devours you as he slides it up and down, drawing tight circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves as he sucks you deep into his mouth. He glides his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole and works them in and out as he curls up and hits your spongy walls again and again as his tongue feasts on your clit and his fingers go knuckle deep into your pussy. 

   Your eyes start to roll back as your head hits the hard floor, your body feeling like it’s floating on a cloud as hot heat starts to slide down the base of your spine. Close, you’re so close. Almost there. 

   He growls up at you as he demands your attention right now. “LOOK AT ME,” his voice echoes off the vine covered walls as his dominance sheds through the dim light of the hallway. 

   Your eyes snap up to find blown out dark pupils looking up at you as he sucks you in his mouth expertly. His nail beds dig into your thighs as one of his fists sit knuckle deep in your pussy. You’ve never seen him so wild, so much like a starving wolf that it makes more slick slide down his fingers as he pumps in and out of your drenched walls. 

   He pops your bundle of nerves out of his mouth as he gives you one more long lick as he growls up at you with pure dominance in his words. “Come for me, little lamb. Want ya to scream my name, tell me just who’s makin’ you feel good. Come on, darlin’. Show me how you break,” he smirks as he quickens the pace of his fingers and drops back on your clit as he circles circles circles until you’re seeing stars in your vision. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna,” you whine as you feel your orgasm start to break apart. 

   “Go on. Come for me. Be a good girl now and obey,” he growls as he pulls you back into his mouth while his fingers press up into the spongy walls as you feel yourself coming hard for him. 

   You clench up around his fingers and feel slick start to rain down his fingers onto your thighs as you throw your head back and scream his name as your moans echo through the long, dim lit corridor. Your body feels like white noise washing through it as your toes curl and your fingers slide through his tousled curls. 

   He groans as your fingers dig into his scalp while he licks up every inch of spilt slick in between your thighs. You feel your high start to come down as you take nice, deep breaths and focus on the buzzing in your ears. 

   Joel sits on his knees and views the mess that he made in between your legs as you splay across the floor with your legs still wide open for him. He must enjoy the view because he can’t keep his hungry eyes off you. 

   “Such a good girl, you know that? Now, gonna let me take ya all the way? Gonna let me fuck ya now, sweetheart?” he smirks as he starts unbuttoning his green flannel shirt, undoing the buttons quickly as he slides it off his thick arms and throws it in a heap next to the vine covered wall. His rock hard abs sit glistening in the night light while a happy trail of dark, coarse hair sits just above the waist of his jeans in a v shape. It makes you want to get on your hands and knees and crawl to him as you beg to have just a little taste of him.

   “Yes, please. Fuck me,” you moan as you push your breasts together as your center feels on fire for him. 

   “Oh, I’m gonna fuck ya deep, little lamb,” he smirks as he knits his eyebrows together in concentration. 

   He unbuttons his dark jeans and threads the leather belt through his belt loops while he shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs while he stands and hovers over you with his hard cock hitting the base of his hairy stomach as the tip sits weeping and swollen, just waiting to get inside you. 

   You lick your lips together and stare at the swollen tip as saliva starts to coat your mouth. You can practically taste the salt on your tongue, can almost feel the precum sliding down your throat as you beg him for just one more taste. He looks so delicious, and you want to just eat him right up.

   He smirks down at you as he sees you staring at his thick cock that screams your name. “Want a taste, little lamb?” he smirks as you nod your head mindlessly. 

   “Get over here then and do somethin’ ‘bout it,” he demands as he pulls you up by your hair and plants you on your knees in front of his large body. 

   “Go on then. Let me see how good you can choke on this cock, darlin’.” He flashes his pearly whites at you and wraps his fingers around your hair as you take your hand and start sliding it up and down as you spread the precum all over his thick length. 

   You lick the tip lightly and swirl around slowly as you tease him while your hand works up and down the base of him. “Fuck, there ya go,” he groans as you take him inside your mouth as you taste salty goodness drip down your throat. You take him deeper as you choke on him, feeling the drool coat his cock as you go back and forth on him slowly. 

   He grabs tighter to your hair and starts to fuck up into your mouth as you feel him bottom out at the base of your throat as it constricts around his thick length. You choke and gag around his length as he deep throats you over and over again. Your vision blurs as the tears lick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care. You love when he chokes you out, when his cock is deep in your throat as you hear his stifled moans get caught in his throat the more your mouth deep throats him. 

  “Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel growls as his thrusts become rougher and deeper, enough to where you’re gagging on your own drool as it coats your mouth as he slips deeper inside. 

   Before you think you can’t take anymore, he releases his cock from your mouth as a bead of drool connects from his tip to your lower lip as you choke for air with his fingers still firmly wrapped around your hair. 

   “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he releases you and shoves you back to the ground as your back his the cold floor. “Now spread those legs, sweetheart. Gonna fuck ya nice and deep now,” he instructs as he spreads your legs and gets down on his knees.  He throws your legs over his shoulders and lines his cock up with your folds as he slowly slides the tip up and down your folds as your spit on his cock collects with the messy slick in between your legs. 

   “Jus’ relax now, darlin’. Let me help fill this pretty pussy up,” he smiles as he shoves his cock through your folds and fills you up. 

   You gasp at the stretch, he’s so fucking big that you never quite get used to the stretch. There’s a tinge of pain, but mostly you’re so full of him that all you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel. He fucks up into you deeper as he bottoms out inside you over and over again. 

   His body hovers over you as his lips nip against your neck as he slides in and out of you faster faster faster as you start to feel wildlife burn through your whole body. He folds your legs in half like a pancake as he fucks deeper inside you, making your walls squeeze his large length tight as you get close to your second orgasm. 

   You study his appearance, focusing on his knit eyebrows that are sewn together in concentration as he loses himself in you entirely. Sweat sticks to his forehead as his curls stick together in the glistening sweat. His broad back is flexing and tightening around you as your nails claw his tan skin, making him moan into the shell of your ear as he licks against the edge of your ear with thick pants leaving his mouth. 

   You kiss along the edge of his jaw, nipping at his scruff as you moan his name eagerly into the base of his ear as he speeds up his thrusts, bottoming out again and again until you can’t take it anymore. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come,” you pant out as he presses his forehead against yours. 

   “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel ya,” he commands as he thrusts up inside once twice three more times until you’re squeezing his cock with your walls and pouring yourself all over him. You moan his name and scratch your nails down his back as he moans back in satisfaction. 

   “Oh, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he continues rutting up inside you until he’s choking for air with his own tongue. 

   “Christ, I’m gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna…” He doesn’t take long till he’s shooting thick ropes of come inside your walls as you feel warmth bubbling all inside you. He takes a minute to let it all out, releasing all his spend inside you as you breathe in his whiskey coated scent. 

   “Fucking hell, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of that sweet pussy,” he groans as he pulls his cock out of you and lets his spend slide down your milky thighs. 

   He collapses onto his back and pulls you into his side as you wrap a leg around his waist and inch your head up to the crook of his neck as your arm wraps around his broad chest. 

   “Some game, huh?” you pant as your exhausted body splays over the entirety of him. 

   “Some game,” he agrees as he rakes his fingers through your messy hair and kisses the top of your forehead as you relax all your weight into him. 

   “Think there’s ever gonna be a day where you won’t catch me?” you ask curiously as he smiles down and shakes his head at you. 

   “No, sweetheart. I’m always gonna catch you. Even if I have to run a couple miles to get to you. I’ll always catch you, my pretty girl.”

   You smile as he pulls you tight against his body, and you spend the rest of the night just lying on the floor in the abandoned mansion where this all started in the first place. A twisted game that ended in two lovers running back to each other again and again. 

   Maybe some games aren’t meant to be played, but this one was specifically made for you and Joel. The cat and the mouse who started off running away from each other, but it ended with both of you falling apart together. 

Tagging some mutuals who might want to read🩷 @milla-frenchy @vividispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @jasminedragoon @morallyinept @mountainsandmayhem @dugiioh @pedrostories @syd-djarin @laurrrra @joelmillersblog @joelmillerisapunk @amyispxnk @msjarvis @lotusbxtch @untamedheart81 @littlemisspascal

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 1

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 5.6k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: life goes on after raiders infiltrate a routine patrol. you're a shut-in, and jackson residents tiptoe around your trauma. joel found you after the accident, but you don't know what to make of it. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, mentions of trauma (no s/a, i promise), blood, bodily injuries, death, shitty men, dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension if you close one eye, the softest enemies to lovers you've ever seen vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: longtime listener, first time caller. yes, there will be smut — in due time. probably a slower burn than you're used to on tumblr dot com, but there will be porn galore, i promise. heavy on the hurt + comfort trope in this one. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

“Get the fuck up!”

The boot connects with your side again, the rounded toe slamming into ribs you’re sure are already broken. You’re trying to play dead, but it doesn’t exactly work when yelps are being kicked out of you. Old Yeller, of all fucking things, comes to mind.

But you’re not sick, not infected. Just wrong time, wrong place.

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete. 

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time. 

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive. 

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score. 

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all. 

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have. 

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm. 

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there. 

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself. 

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle. 

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this. 

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up. 

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing. 

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt. 

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not. 

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together. 

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee. 

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours. 

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same. 

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest. 

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl. 

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear. 

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business. 

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t. 

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek. 

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came. 

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have. 

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen. 

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender. 

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye. 

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.  

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again. 

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral. 

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there. 

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow. 

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense. 

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret. 

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools. 

—

You don’t see Joel for days. 

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic. 

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest. 

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before. 

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward. 

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front. 

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe. 

Your head cracking against the pavement. 

Two gunshots firing. 

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair. 

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders. 

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting. 

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say. 

Tommy nods, but you’re already running.

[mssalo]

fixation

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, oral fixation (f!reader), oral (male receiving), finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, established relationship, consensual dynamic, playful possessiveness, casual intimacy, semi-public setting, reader can’t keep her mouth off of Joel’s cock (I get it) 6k.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It had been about 11 months since you and Joel started seeing each other, and every day with him felt like a quiet discovery, learning things about each other that made each moment feel richer.

But there was something you hadn’t quite figured out how to bring up yet—a part of you that you weren’t sure how he’d respond to. Yet, in his presence, the need always seemed to flare up, subtle but persistent, tugging at you like a habit you couldn’t quite ignore.

One evening, you were curled up together on his couch, the night warm and quiet, and you’d been a little fidgety, your mind distracted, wondering if he’d picked up on your subtle hints.

His hand rested easily on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded circles over your jeans, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, breaking the comfortable silence as he glanced over at you, his eyes soft but observant.

“You’ve been a little… antsy tonight.” He tilted his head, watching you carefully with that warm, reassuring smile of his. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as you avoided his gaze, feeling that familiar warmth creeping in, making you both nervous and a little thrilled.

His hand squeezed your thigh just slightly, his fingers gentle, urging you to look up.

“Baby,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and curiosity, “you know you can tell me anything, right? If there’s somethin’ you want, or… need?”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering on your mouth, a knowing smile beginning to form.

You swallowed, feeling the warmth in your face intensify as his words sank in, and finally, you gave him a small nod, glancing up at him shyly.

Your lips parted slightly, but the words felt stuck, tangled up in the way he was looking at you, his gaze warm and inviting.

A quiet laugh slipped past his lips as he brushed a thumb over your bottom lip, his voice dropping to that rough, soft tone that always seemed to send a shiver through you.

“Got a feeling I know what’s been on your mind,” he murmured, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek as he leaned in closer.

“You got a little fixation, don’t ya?” he whispered, his tone playful but warm, his eyes glinting with quiet confidence.

Your heart raced, and you gave a small, embarrassed nod, your gaze dropping to his chest as you felt the words tumble out in a near whisper.

“I… I just like having… something to keep me busy,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost shy.

Still brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes sparking with that familiar glint.

“Need somethin’ to keep that pretty mouth busy, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft and rough as his thumb lingered, his hand steady on your face.

“Should’ve known,” he said with a grin, his gaze dropping down to your mouth. “Come here.”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle yet confident touch.

As you leaned in, you saw the soft amusement in his eyes, the way his expression held a subtle, reassuring warmth.

You parted your lips, shy but eager, letting his thumb slip between them, and he watched, his gaze intense but filled with that easy confidence that always seemed to make you feel safe with him.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your tongue as he watched, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"Didn’t need to be shy about it… any time you need this, you just come to me, alright?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as his thumb brushed your lower lip, his other hand steady on your waist.

It felt like a quiet promise, a comfortable acceptance that brought you even closer, and you felt your lingering hesitation melting away as he held you there, happy to give you exactly what you’d been craving.

“I don’t mind one bit,” he whispered, his thumb still in your mouth, feeling your soft, tentative sucking as he gently pulled you closer.

Joel’s eyes softened, his voice was low, roughened with curiosity and a touch of arousement as he asked, “Is this what’s been on your mind, babygirl? Just my fingers?”

His question lingered in the air, his tone hinting at more as he kept his gaze steady on yours, letting the words sink in.

He watched the way your cheeks flushed deeper, and he let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he murmured, “Or was it somethin’ else you were thinkin’ about?”

Your heart raced, his hint unmistakable, but there was something about the warmth in his gaze and the steady grip of his hand that put you completely at ease.

The words felt caught in your throat, but Joel waited, letting his thumb slip out of your mouth, his hand settling under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. “I can make sure you get exactly what you need… all you have to do is ask.”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice softened, a quiet encouragement. “Whatever you want, I’m here, sweet bug.”

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip again, encouraging as he kept his gaze steady, patient, letting you find the words.

Your cheeks warmed, but the way he was looking at you—reassuring, warm, without a hint of judgment—made it easier to open up.

“I just… feel calmer when I’m, you know, sucking on something,” you began, your voice quiet, a little shy.

“Something solid. It’s like… I like the weight of it in my mouth.” You paused, catching your breath, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief as you finally said it out loud. “I don’t know why, but it’s… comforting.”

Joel listened closely, nodding as his thumb traced a gentle line along your jaw. His smile softened, and he murmured, “I figured, pretty one… I could see it.”

He tilted his head, watching you with a look of gentle understanding that helped ease the lingering embarrassment. “Were you embarrassed to tell me?”

You hesitated, giving him a small, shy nod. He chuckled softly, a low, comforting sound that settled any lingering nerves.

“Can’t say I haven’t noticed,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, as he looked down at you. “The way you linger, like you can’t let go of my cock once you’ve got your mouth on it… like you’re not quite done with me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and quiet laughs slipped out of the both of you.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze softening, still playful but carrying a deeper warmth. “You like the weight of it, hm?” he asked gently, a thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “Feels good for you, yeah?”

You gave a small, shy nod, meeting his gaze as your pulse quickened.

He leaned closer, his tone a gentle murmur as he continued, “Darlin’, anytime you need that—anytime you want me, you come to me. I’ll be more than happy to help you calm down.”

With that, he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cradling your face, his words sinking in as he held you there, his touch reassuring, making it clear he was there for you, always.

· · ───𖥸

It had become a quiet ritual between you and Joel ever since that night—one where he was more than happy to help you find comfort whenever you needed it.

At first, it was just his fingers. When you’d feel the day’s tension creeping up, he’d let you settle close, slipping his fingers between your lips as he watched you, warm and intent.

The gentle weight, the grounding feel of his hand against your jaw as he let you draw his fingers in, helped you feel calm in a way that words couldn’t quite reach.

Joel noticed it too, the way you’d relax under his touch, how you’d quietly seek him out and never let go until you were completely at ease.

Tonight, though, you found yourself wanting more. It had been a long and hard day, one that left you feeling edgy, and his fingers alone weren’t enough.

As you walked into the living room, you found him on the couch, relaxed with his arm draped across the back, his other hand resting on his thigh.

The sight of him there, so grounded and steady, instantly soothed something in you.

He noticed you right away, his gaze softening as you approached, catching the fidgeting in your hands.

“Hello there, pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice warm, with that touch of curiosity he always had when he knew you needed him. “Need anything?”

You didn’t say anything, instead sinking to your knees in front of him, your gaze falling to his lap before meeting his eyes again.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, his expression soft but knowing, his lips curling into a small smile as he reached down, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“Had a rough day, huh?” he murmured, his tone low, patient as his hand moved to cradle your jaw.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, holding you there gently, his eyes darkening with quiet understanding.

“Is this what you’ve been needing?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble, letting his fingers linger at your lips, already familiar with the comfort it brought you.

But you shook your head slightly, looking up at him with that same shy glance, your gaze flickering down as you hesitated, unsure how to ask for what you really needed.

Joel’s gaze held steady, his thumb brushing over your lip as he read your expression, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Or maybe… you want a little more than that?”

You felt your cheeks flush, but the look in his eyes made the words come easier. You glanced up, giving him a small nod as your hands settled on his knees, silently asking for permission, for more.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip, and he chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to meet yours. “Is that what you’ve been needing?” he murmured, his voice low, rich with amusement. “My cock… to make you calm?”

The words sent a thrill through you, and he watched as you nodded, barely able to meet his gaze, your cheeks warm. ”Yes... please,“ you whispered quietly.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his hand guiding your chin so you couldn’t look away.

“No need to be shy with me, darlin’,” he continued, his voice a quiet, steady invitation. “If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. Always.”

Joel leaned back slightly, the soft lighting casting shadows across his strong features, highlighting the rugged lines of his face and the warm, steady gleam in his dark eyes.

He watched you closely, his gaze never faltering as you settled in closer, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, grounding you with his steady presence.

A subtle smile played at the corner of his mouth as his hand settled over yours, guiding you with a gentle but firm touch.

His fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him as he murmured, “Go ahead, sweetheart… take what you need.”

Your fingers brushed over the outline of his cock, feeling him hardening beneath your touch, his quiet, restrained breaths signaling his anticipation.

His gaze darkened, his eyes holding a mix of warmth and intensity as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as you felt his cock pulse beneath your hand.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice deep, a touch of approval in his tone as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soft, grounding circles there.

His touch, his steady gaze, everything about him filled you with a quiet confidence as he murmured, “You’re doin’ perfect, darlin’… don’t stop.”

His voice, low and calming, was a quiet invitation, full of the easy confidence that you found so comforting.

“Go on, pretty girl,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours.

You tugged his jeans down just enough, freeing him from the fabric, and your breath hitched as you took him in.

His cock was thick and slightly curved, already hard and flushed with arousal, the tip a deep, needy pink that glistened faintly, inviting. Dark, neatly kept curls surrounded his base, a subtle, masculine scent rising from him, earthy and undeniably him.

His hand moved at the back of your neck, thumb grazing lightly against your skin, steadying you as you leaned in.

His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver through you as he murmured, “My sweet girl... Lookin’ so good with your mouth just inches from me. Can see you want it… don’t hold back.”

His words dripped with quiet command, tinged with that deep warmth that made you feel secure yet set your nerves alight with anticipation.

You opened your mouth, your tongue trailing along the underside of his length, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him.

The heat, the weight of his cock, filled you with a heady calm, grounding you in the sensation. Joel’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your neck, his other hand resting on his thigh, fingers curling as he watched you take him inch by inch.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice dark and warm, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you.

“Look at you, takin’ all of me like that, slow and easy. Your lips… they look so damn good wrapped around me, sweet one.” His tone was full of approval, deep and rich, letting you know how much he was enjoying this, letting you settle into the moment.

You began to move your mouth over him, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, savoring every ridge and vein.

The faint sheen of your saliva coated him, catching the light, and his cock looked even more inviting, glistening and hard, throbbing slightly in response to your touch.

Joel let out a low, pleased hum, his hand stroking your cheek, encouraging you as you took him deeper.

“God, baby, good job,” he murmured, his tone thick with admiration. “So sweet and focused… like you were made for this.”

His fingers trailed through your hair, gentle but firm, guiding you without any hint of impatience. “Gettin’ every inch, nice and slow… takin’ your time just like I like.”

Your mouth tightened around him, feeling his cock twitch as you took him deeper, letting the weight of him press down on your tongue, grounding you, calming you in a way that nothing else could.

His scent, his warmth, his quiet, filthy praise—everything about this moment soothed you, made you feel safe, yet utterly alive.

“You love how it feels, yeah, baby?” Joel’s voice was a low rasp, and his words spurred you on, made you feel bolder. “The weight of me, how thick I am in that pretty mouth of yours. Tellin’ you, sweetheart… there’s nothin’ I like more than watchin’ you get lost right here.”

You could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through his cock, and it made you shiver.

His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over the corner of your mouth as he watched you, eyes dark, lips parted in quiet approval.

He tilted his head, studying you with that intense, appreciative gaze that always made you feel seen, adored.

“You keep that mouth workin’ as long as you need, baby,” he murmured, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Long as you want, it’s all yours. Just… fuck, yeah, just like that.”

The praise made you feel a rush of warmth, and you took him deeper, letting him feel your eagerness, your need.

His cock pulsed against your tongue, and you savored the feel of him as his fingers stayed steady at your neck, grounding you with his warmth and strength.

“Feelin’ better already?” he asked, his voice gentle, his tone rough with desire.

His hand traced down your jaw, thumb pressing lightly at your lip, pulling it down so he could see himself disappear into your mouth. “Look at that, darlin’... look at you, takin’ me so well. Such a good girl, lettin’ me calm you down just like this.”

You hummed softly around him, the vibration making his fingers tighten slightly on the back of your neck.

His breathing grew deeper, more ragged, but he kept his touch soft, steady, letting you take the lead, letting you have what you needed. “That’s it, baby… don’t rush, just keep me right there. Slow and steady,” he whispered, his voice low and dark, every word soothing yet making your pulse quicken.

His hand stayed firm as he leaned back slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably as you continued to savor him, tasting, exploring, letting his words and his touch fill you with warmth and calm.

Every brush of his thumb, every murmur of approval, grounded you deeper, letting you lose yourself completely in him, in the simple, comforting weight of him on your tongue, a connection that was yours and his alone.

You relaxed deeper, each slow movement of your mouth deliberate, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his thick, flushed cock filling you, grounding you.

Joel’s hand stayed steady at the back of your neck, fingers pressing just enough to let you know he was there, a solid presence holding you close.

“Babygirl, look at you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that made your pulse quicken, each filthy word dripping with pride.

“My perfect little thing, workin’ so hard… always giving it your all. Just needed somethin’ to fill that pretty mouth, didn’t ya?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, a gentle but possessive touch that sent a thrill through you. “That’s what I’m here for, baby. You look so damn good like this, takin’ me slow.”

Your cheeks flushed, feeling yourself sink into his words, every filthy murmur making you crave more, making you want to show him just how much you needed this.

You let your tongue swirl around the head of his cock, tasting him, savoring the salty heat, feeling him twitch under your attention.

He let out a low groan, his other hand moving to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watched you, dark eyes heavy with desire.

“God, baby, you’re too good at this,” he muttered, voice dipping lower, dripping with arousal.

“So focused, takin’ me so good, like you were made for it. Seein’ those lips stretchin’ around me, so damn eager. Look at you… got me hard as a rock, and you’re takin’ your time, just workin’ every inch.”

His hips shifted, barely a nudge forward, just enough to let you feel his need, but he held back, letting you control the pace.

“Bet you’d stay right here all night if possible,” he chuckled, the sound rich and dirty. “You’d just keep suckin’, hm? Letting that pretty mouth of yours get all messy for me.”

You felt his cock pulse, a heavy, throbbing weight on your tongue as he watched you, his breathing roughening as he sank further into the sensation.

His grip on your neck tightened just slightly, his control slipping as he saw how lost you were, how you kept at it with such gentle, focused attention.

“Love how you’re suckin’ my cock for me, baby… so fuckin’ devoted. Just lettin’ me fill that mouth, takin’ me all the way. It’s like you can’t get enough, huh? Just keepin’ me right there, like you’d never let go.”

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and he bit his lip, feeling his own need taking over as he tried to hold back, not wanting to pull you from the calm, submissive state you’d found.

But with each slow, wet stroke of your mouth, each deliberate pull of your lips around him, he felt himself teetering closer to the edge, and a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him as he leaned down, his hand cradling your face.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with both regret and need, “but you’re too damn good… I can’t hold back any longer. I’m gonna cum.”

His thumb pressed against your cheek, feeling the fullness of his cock in your mouth as he whispered, “Hate to take this from you, but I want you to swallow every drop, every bit of me… you’ve earned it, good job.”

He let out a deep, guttural groan as he came, his cock twitching in slow, heavy pulses against your tongue, spilling into your mouth as he held you close, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, keep you steady as he filled you.

His other hand brushed over your cheek, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, watching with dark, hooded eyes as you swallowed everything he gave, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur.

“God, look at you, darlin’… swallowin’ every fuckin’ drop like the good girl you are. So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect. Just lettin’ me use that sweet mouth, keepin’ me close.” His thumb lingered at your lips, his voice warm, affectionate as he whispered, “You’re exactly where you belong, sweetheart… right here, with me.”

He stayed there, holding you, his voice softening as he praised you, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your cheek, grounding you as you both came down, feeling safe, cherished, and completely at peace in the warmth of his touch.

As you eased back, Joel’s hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gentle, soothing circles, and he looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the calm, relaxed look on your face.

You were utterly at peace, your eyes heavy-lidded, a faint, satisfied smile on your lips as you looked up at him, the tension you’d been carrying all day melting away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rich with warmth and pride, his hand steady as he helped you rise.

“My perfect girl, you did so well,” he whispered, pulling you up to settle you against his chest, cradling you close as his hands drifted to rub soft circles on your back.

He could feel how completely at ease you were, the deep calm radiating off you as you leaned into him, feeling safe, cherished, like you’d found exactly what you needed.

You let out a quiet, sleepy murmur, snuggling into his warmth, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of gratitude, the words barely audible as you let yourself sink into his embrace.

Joel’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle as he held you, one hand moving up to brush through your hair, his fingers gentle, comforting.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“So calm now… my sweet girl, lettin’ herself relax.” He could see the sleepiness in your eyes, the way your breathing had slowed, your body completely soft in his arms.

He tucked you closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand never stopping its gentle, grounding strokes along your back.

“You can rest now, baby,” he whispered, his tone full of care as he continued to hold you, letting you know he was right there. “You’re safe with me… just close those eyes. I’ve got you.”

You melted further against him, your body fully relaxed, your breathing deep and even, your face tucked against his neck, perfectly content and utterly calm in his embrace.

He felt you drift closer to sleep, your soft breaths warm against his skin, and he tightened his hold, letting you find that final bit of peace, held close and cherished in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

· · ───𖥸

Over time, it became second nature, a quiet ritual between you and Joel.

The comfort you found in each other had only deepened, making those moments when you had him in your mouth feel easy, almost instinctual.

There were mornings when he'd sit on the edge of the bed, tousled hair and a sleepy smirk, and you’d settle between his thighs, taking him slowly as the sun crept through the blinds, warming the room as he murmured sleepy praise, his hand steady in your hair.

Or lazy afternoons, when you'd both wind down on the couch, and he'd reach over, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he was there, that he understood what you needed.

Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, he'd feel you shift closer, your warm breath against his skin, and he’d know exactly what you needed without a single word exchanged.

He’d guide you under the sheets, his voice a low, sleepy rumble as he whispered, “Go on, darlin’, take what you need,” his tone gentle, reassuring as he let you lose yourself, knowing how much it helped you relax, how much you needed him in those quiet hours.

And then, there were moments just like now—calm and casual, like you were simply sharing another part of your day together.

Joel stood at the stove, his back turned slightly as he tended to a simmering pan, cooking up something simple for dinner before a friend came over.

His shoulders were broad and relaxed, his stance easy, completely at home in his space.

You were on your knees - his hard cock in your mouth, your lips wrapped around him, taking him slowly, almost like an afterthought, as if this were as natural as holding his hand or sharing a quiet drink together.

The kitchen filled with familiar sounds—the soft sizzle of the pan, the clink of the spatula, Joel’s steady breaths mingling with yours.

His free hand occasionally drifted to your hair, brushing over it with gentle fingers, not guiding but simply acknowledging you there.

Every now and then, his hand would graze over your cheek, tracing a soft line along your jaw as he continued to stir the food, keeping his focus on both you and the task in front of him with that calm confidence that made you feel secure.

He glanced down at you with a smirk, his eyes warm with that casual affection, the amusement clear on his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Look at you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and playful.

“Can’t keep away, even while I’m tryin’ to get dinner on the stove.” He chuckled, running a thumb along your jawline, his tone casual and amused. “But hell, can’t say I mind one bit.”

His hand returned to the pan, stirring with a practiced ease, completely unfazed as you continued to take him deeper, your lips sliding over his length with a slow, familiar rhythm that felt grounding, comforting.

You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, but his breath remained steady, his voice calm as he casually carried on.

He kept stirring the pan, flipping the food, but you noticed how his fingers tightened on the spatula, his calm demeanor wavering ever so slightly as his eyes lingered on you a moment longer.

His hand drifted back to your hair, gripping a little firmer this time, letting his thumb brush over your cheek as he took in the sight of you, your cheeks hollowing as you pulled him in deeper.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

“Always so eager to get me in that pretty mouth of yours, no matter what we’re doin’. you just can’t get enough.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in admiration as he went back to the stove, still casual, as if it were perfectly natural for you to be on your knees, sucking him off while he cooked.

You felt your own excitement building, a warmth settling over you as his words sank in, his easy praise making you feel cherished and bold.

As Joel continued cooking, your pace grew a little faster, your mouth working over him with that same familiar, comforting rhythm, but now you could feel his cock twitching, thick and heavy against your tongue.

He glanced down with a small smirk, clearly enjoying the way you seemed to lose yourself, the casual intimacy of it making him feel grounded, completely at ease.

Just then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the quiet kitchen.

Joel paused, casting a quick glance at the door before looking down at you with that calm, teasing expression, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“Well, guess Paul’s here,” he murmured, his voice low and amused, as if the idea of his friend arriving right now only added to his pleasure. “Mind hurryin’ it up, darlin’?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, feeling a surge of need as his gaze held steady on yours.

The doorbell rang again, and you gripped his thighs tighter, pressing in, whispering in a low, urgent tone, “Please, baby… fuck my mouth. I need you to cum. right now.”

A low groan escaped him, his amusement giving way to a darker need as he held your head in place, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nice, baby,” he murmured, his tone dropping, filled with pride and pleasure as he looked down at you. “Guess I can’t keep you waiting, can I?”

With a steady hand, he guided your head, his hips beginning to rock gently, then harder, each slow thrust filling your mouth with a deep, satisfying pressure that made you feel grounded, completely in tune with him.

His hips rocked forward, his hand guiding your head to take him as deep as possible, his voice breaking into low, filthy groans.

“That’s it… just like that. God, you’re a perfect little thing… lettin’ me use you, lettin’ me fill that pretty mouth like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His breaths grew more ragged, his cock pulsing with each movement as he picked up the pace, letting himself go, his fingers digging into your hair as he held you steady.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice thick with need, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper. “You want my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? Just need to feel me fillin’ that pretty mouth of yours.”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him gasp, his cock throbbing. Joel’s breaths grew heavy, his control slipping, and you could feel him getting closer, his words now a strained murmur.

“Almost there, sweetheart… just a bit more. Need you to swallow every bit for me.”

With one final thrust, he let go, his cock pulsing as he spilled into your mouth, warm and thick, his groans deep and satisfied as he watched you take everything he gave.

His thumb brushed over your jaw as you swallowed, his gaze filled with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough as he held you close.

Just as you both caught your breath, the doorbell rang again. Joel smirked, helping you up and wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pulling you into a quick, reassuring kiss.

He glanced at the door, chuckling. “Better let Paul in. Don’t want him thinkin’ we forgot about him.”

He straightened up, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he went back to the stove, leaving you flushed, fulfilled, and feeling like you were exactly where you needed to be.

You straightened up, catching your reflection in the hallway mirror and smoothing your hair, feeling both satisfied and a little flushed.

You opened the door to see Paul standing there

“Hey, Paul,” you greeted, trying to keep your tone light and casual, though you could feel Joel’s gaze burning into you from behind, clearly amused.

Paul stepped inside, glancing between the two of you with a smile. “Took you both long enough—I almost left again.”

Joel strolled over, leaning casually with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his eyes glinting as they met yours, “guess I finished up just in time.”

Your cheeks flushed as Joel’s smirk lingered, a private joke hanging thick in the air, while Paul remained blissfully oblivious.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I really liked this…. a bit too much. 🫎

Just a little reminder that your comments, and reposts with reactions, mean the world to me. They’re the only “thank you” I get for these stories, and truly the reason I stay motivated to keep writing and sharing.

Knowing you’re enjoying the journey and hearing your thoughts keeps this all alive.

So please, keep those comments and reposts coming—they’re what make it all worth it. Thank you so much for being here and for all your support!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️😭😭😭‼️‼️

[zevrra]

𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 ⋆˚꩜｡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: out of all the days for your car to have broken down, leaving you stranded on the side of the road, it had to be the day your dad had just left for a sudden business trip—he was hours away by now and you were just here; stuck. you could call a tow truck but the bill for that was…way out of the budget. so the only other thing you could think of to do was to call your dad’s best friend; joel miller.

a.k.a joel (the sexiest man alive) comes to your rescue and you want to repay him for it.

𝐟𝐭.dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

𝐰𝐜: 7k

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, no-outbreak!joel, straight smut, no real plot, implied forbidden romance, significant AGE GAP, reader is in their 20s, joel is in his 50s, mention of sarah(30s + no ellie), no use of y/n, joel likes pet names, sexual tension, joel tries to remain morally ‘right’, joel’s a lil insecure if you squint, thigh riding if you squint, dirty talk, handjob (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v (just the tip!), coming onto/between v too.

𝐚/𝐧: yeah this is… waaaaayyyy longer…than i had planned for it to be…but if it gets more than 10 likes and 2 reblogs I’ll write a part two! :3

You’ve heard more stories about Joel Miller than you had actually seen him in real life; only meeting him one other time in the entirety of the six years he’s been your dad’s best friend. But with no other family and no extra cash to pay for a tow…you prayed that maybe he’d find it in the kindness of his heart to come rescue little ole you. 

Thankfully, your dad had given you his number in a “just in case”, if you ever needed it. Strange how for once your dad was right about something you had swore up and down would never happen. It almost made you smile— and you would if not given the predicament you were in right now.

For a moment, as you sit in your car, with your thumb slightly trembling as it hovers over Joel’s contact name, you silently pray that he’d pick up when a stranger was calling. 

No more time to talk yourself out of it, you press on his name, watching your phone begin to ring at your request. You quickly tap the speaker button, hands clammy as you listen to the dial ring. Your heart is pounding in your chest for some odd reason as the line continues to ring and ring.

You’re just about to give up hope and hang up, so his voicemail doesn’t pick up for you instead, but suddenly you hear the line click and a deep southern voice echoes in from the otherside; “Yeah?” 

You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until you suddenly exhale a deep sigh upon hearing his voice. “Hey!” You blurt out. “You probably don’t have my number saved or anything like that but I’m the daughter of your friend!” 

“Oh,” Joel starts and you can hear him rustling around, as if he’s putting down something he had been working on. “I remember ya. Somethin’ I can help you with sweetheart?” His voice drips with honey and confusion and you can’t blame him. But the tender way he mutters sweetheart has your fingers trembling just that much more. 

“Yes, actually! I’m a little stranded at the moment. See my dad’s outta town for a business trip and my car has broken down so yeah…” You trail off, fiddling with the edge of your phone case while the words ‘I could use some help’ stick to the back of your throat. 

“You need me to come get ya?” Joel’s warm voice breaks the silence, knowing exactly what you couldn’t say seconds before.  

“I mean, that would be awesome if you could! But like, don’t worry about it if you’re busy! I could call a tow truck or something.” You ramble on. And for a second you think maybe you’ve lost service as he doesn’t say anything right away but as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking; he answers you. 

“What road ya on?” Joel asks all soft like, while you can hear some more rustling in the background. 

You glance at the maps on your phone before telling him the road you were on, fingers returning to fiddle with your phone case. “But like again, if you’re too far or busy I can just call a tow!” You mutter as the pit of your stomach does backflips. You’d really hate to inconvenience him but at the same time…with your father gone…and being in seemingly the middle of nowhere…you’d take your chances of annoying him just a little. 

Joel laughs on the other end and it sends a warmth that rivals the summer heat through your entire body. You catch the faint sound of keys jingling on his end before he responds. “No worries hun. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.” 

And with that, Joel says his goodbye and the call ends. 

“That went…surprisingly well.” You mutter to yourself as you stretch out along your driver seat. Might as well get comfy while you wait. 

Just as promised, Joel shows up about twenty-five minutes later. He parks an older farm truck right behind you that squeaks as the door opens with his exit. You get out of your own car to greet him and you hate how your stomach returns to doing flips but for an entirely different reason.

Why couldn’t you remember him being so fucking handsome before? His tan skin, the salt and pepper of his hair, the stubble of his jaw. He was broad to say the least; his shoulders and chest wide, and he carried himself like a man in charge. You expect a man as toned and well muscled to be a little mean…but then he smiles upon seeing you and all your fears melt away.

“Howdy,” Joel calls, nice and easy like the breeze, making his way to you. 

You simply nod your head in response, unable to find the words to speak, as he stops in front of you. Your eyes lift just ever so slightly to look up into his eyes and fuck, they had no right to be so pretty shining in the sun like that. 

“Pop the hood for me? Let me see if these old hands can’t figure out what’s gotcha parked here.” Joel light heartedly says. And for some odd reason…you knew that if he asked you for anything in that sweet drawl of his, you’d do it in a heartbeat. 

You ease back into the driver seat of your car, reaching for the little latch that would pop the hood open. At the click, Joel moves to the front of your car while you debate sitting there, waiting to be told what to do. In the end your curiosity gets the better of you as you exit your car again. You move to the front end alongside him, staring at a mass of smooth and twisted metal underneath…not understanding a single thing as you look down at it. 

Joel must see the confusion in your gaze and it makes him laugh just a little. “S’aright hun. You ain’t gotta worry about tryin’ to figure it out.” He hums as his hand reaches forward, twisting off a cap you don’t know the name of. “Unless you wanna?” He teases as he retrieves a long, metal like wand from the depths of the engine. 

You laugh along with him, shaking your head at his question. “No thank you. Maybe next time.” You respond in a light tune, continuing to watch him as he works. 

But you can’t help staring at something other than the engine he works on.

Your eyes graze over the strength of his tan forearms. Noticing right away the scars that linger along his weathered skin. But what you really wanted to see was the muscle of his bicep— hidden underneath that damn teasing denim shirt of his. Wanted so desperately to watch him stretch and his muscles flex as he moved about while working on your car.

Your eyes trail down the rest of his body, where your attention is immediately drawn to his back. Your eyes fixate directly at the point of where his shirt meets his jeans, watching as his shirt lifts with every stretch he makes across the engine. It lifts just enough away from his jeans to allow you to see a little bit of exposed skin underneath it. His sun-kissed skin trailed all the way down his back and the idea of touching his warm body made your fingers twitch. 

“Well your oil is fine but it seems like your radiator cap is split.” Joel says. His words immediately pull you from your thoughts and you jump a little; startled as if maybe Joel could hear exactly what you were thinking…thankfully, he couldn’t. 

“Not good, I’m assuming?” You ask with a clear of your throat, desperately hoping your thoughts would return to normal with it. 

Joel chuckles a little and shakes his head as he leans back and away from your engine. He wipes his hands across his jeans and you've never thought about how sexy a man could look dirty and disheveled like Joel does right then and there.

“No good ‘til ya get it fixed at least.” Joel hums and gestures for you to step back just a little, before he lets your car hood slam shut to lock it. “It’ll keep overheating like it is now but…” Joel trails off until he comes to stand in front of you— and you swear he’s close enough that he can hear how hard your heart is beating inside your ribcage. “If you keep it slow, ya could follow me back home. I might be able to fix it long enough for ya to get back to your place.” 

You swallow a lump in your throat and nod to his solution, you weren’t coming up with anything better anyway. Plus, it got you a little more time with him. Little weird that you wanted to spend more time with a ‘stranger’ twice your age— who you just thought about touching in a…not so friendly way— but you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know him just a little better. 

“Yeah, that sounds fine. Thank you so much.” You respond with a smile. 

Joel smiles right back at you before one of his large hands reaches out and grabs your shoulder, giving you a squeeze. “Don’t worry ‘bout it sweetheart.” He says in a light tone, hand sliding just a little inwards along your skin; where he gently rubs a circle into the back of your neck, ever so slightly, before he snatches his hand away. Moving on like nothing happened. As if…his intrusive thoughts had won him over for a split second, before he turns on his heel to open the driver door for you.

Your entire body hums with a newfound feeling you’re not quite sure what to call yet. You float into the driver’s seat, putting your seatbelt on, while Joel motions for you to roll your windows down and you do; rolling all four of them down in somewhat of a panic after misclicking the first time in your jittery state. 

Joel settles onto the ledge of your window, up close and personal enough that you could see the scars on his face. 

Oh how you wished his eyes would look at your lips and give you a reason to kiss him, right then and there. And god did he look good leaning over to you like that too; like he wanted it just as badly as you suddenly did. 

“‘Member, slow and steady,” He breathes and you can almost feel the flutter of his breath across your cheek. “If you see this needle get close or even above this red line right here, pull over and turn the car off a'ight?” He adds, pointing to a needle on your dash.

You nod slightly, fingers twitching at the thought of breaking down in an even worse spot than you already were. And Joel sees that little flicker of worry cross your face before you can hide it and he chuckles. 

“Don’t worry yer’little head off, darlin’. I’ll lead. Be just right in front of ya, and all ya gotta do is follow me, okay?” He hums, tapping the edge of your window with every word, before he pushes himself upright and makes his way back to his truck. 

You watch as he leaves you, getting up into the driver seat of his own truck without another word. And suddenly you’re gripping the steering wheel for dear life. 

What were you doing? What were you thinking? Nothing appropriate to say the least. Images of him muttering that sweet nickname against your lips plays in the back of your mind like a damn movie. You definitely were reading too much into his body language and the way he rolled that darling off his tongue….he was just being nice and helping out a friend's daughter…that was it. You needed to focus. 

You let out a shaky breath, you once again had no idea you were holding, gaze shifting to watch his truck pull off into the road and you pull your car into follow suit behind him. Traveling slowly like he had told you to do so, eyes darting between the back of his pickup truck and your dashboard; watching that little needle he had pointed out to you for any kind of changes. 

After all of this, you’d definitely have to repay him somehow. Would have to ask him what you could do to return the favor of him coming to the rescue of a stranger. Could buy him dinner? That wouldn’t be too much money outside of your budget. Or buy him some beer or whiskey as thanks; he definitely looked like he enjoyed a good alcohol here and there. 

Then a terrible, terrible, idea pops into your head. It was certainly a gamble; he was older, a friend of your dad’s, and probably did not see you in that light at all…but…it was a risk worth taking.

Besides, you could always flee Texas and never come back if things went really badly. 

When the two of you managed to finally arrive at his home, without your car breaking down again along the way, thankfully, you half expected him to live in something…strange to say the least. He was a man you didn’t know, a stranger to you as much as you were to him, and showing up to his house was more than a little odd.

But as you pull up into the long driveway behind him, you realize exactly why your dad was friends with him. He lived relatively secluded, no neighbors, in a gorgeous two-story farmhouse. A large barn sits at the edge of a fence line and beyond is just a beautiful field accompanied by a handful of animals; cows, sheep, and a couple of horses lazing about. You sit in awe for just a moment, taking in the scenery before you, until the brake lights of Joel’s truck flash you back to reality and you come to a full stop behind him. 

Such a big house for one man…or so you had hoped for. Suddenly you remember your father mentioning Joel’s daughter…would she be here too? What kind of person would you be contemplating…”payment” for Joel around his daughter? Shame settles in your stomach but you smother the feeling as you watch Joel slide out of his truck once more. He motions for you to pull around him and into his garage at the side of the house and do as he says. 

As soon as you shut the car off and go to open your door, Joel is already there at your side. A small, welcoming smile is settled on his face as he holds your driver side door open for you. 

You utter a small thanks before stepping out of your car. You don’t have a moment to really look at everything inside his garage before Joel is heading towards a door you assume leads to the inside of his house. 

“Let’s go inside for a moment. Grab a drink and cool off and then figure out what’s goin’ on.” He hums as his hand settles on the doorknob. 

You nod, quickly catching up to him. Your heart pounds inside your ribcage again but you swear it’s going to explode when Joel swings the door inwards, allowing you into his home, but it’s the hover of his hand along your back that causes your heart to pump three times as hard. Tingles seep into every inch of your body but his hand is warm and strong as it just barely touches your back.

Like he’s just trying to be helpful, that’s what he’s telling himself, but he’s tempted by other thoughts— where he wants to lay the full weight of his hand along your back and guide you to wherever he may want you. 

But just as quickly as it comes, it goes. Like an afterthought that never happened. 

You move into his home, gaze shifting over the layout of the kitchen you step into. From just a brief glance, you can tell the inside of his house was just as gorgeous as the outside was. Simple, a little vintage, but definitely something you could see a man like Joel living in. 

“Can I get’cha a drink?” Joel asks as he walks up to his fridge, opening it with an easy throw. “There’s some juice. Or if you prefer, I have diet soda. Sarah says it’s better for my health.” He jokes as he rummages inside the cool fridge. You could practically hear his eyes rolling and it settles the tension in your shoulders. 

“Some water will be fine,” You hum in response, standing awkwardly beside the kitchen island, your fingers running along the counter. “How is Sarah, by the way?” You ask as your eyes settle onto a nearby picture frame of Joel and his daughter. “I’ve only heard about her in passing from my dad…when he was talking about you.” 

“Oh?” Joel chuckles somewhere behind you. “I hope only the good things are told.” 

You smile at his words, stopping at the edge of the kitchen island. 

Not prepared in the slightest as the tips of his fingers press into the back of your arm; causing you to jump at his touch and swivel on your heel to face him. And he’s close…closer than before. If you moved in anyway, you’re sure your chest would run right into his own. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you drag your gaze up into his. You freeze in the spot, waiting for something…anything to happen. Waiting for him to make a move, either away from you or to sweep you into his embrace but he does neither; he freezes just as much as you do. Tension swirls around the room like a hot summer’s wind, brewing up a storm, making everything just a little too sticky and your palms sweaty.

But just like a tornado, the tension comes and goes, leaving everything in place except for the feeling of ‘holy shit’. 

“Your water, sweetheart.” Joel finally mutters, taking his slight step back and offering you up the water he had fetched out, breaking the tension that had built up seconds ago. 

You take the glass of water out of his hand with a slight tremble to your fingers but you hold it nonetheless, continuing to stand still as he pulls away. He clears his throat as he retreats, putting space between the two of you once more. 

“But yeah, um, Sarah’s good. Married, no kids yet but maybe one day.” Joel says through another clear of his throat, trying to will away whatever that feeling of “holy shit” was from before. He turns away from you once more, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

And from your position, you can see the tips of his ears flushed a soft red. It makes you shudder at the thought of him blushing around you like some lovesick man. 

You take a sip of your water and it tastes stale compared to the want you have for the older man. You clear your own throat to try and refocus, nodding to his statement about his daughter.

At least it was somewhat comforting to know that, after what just happened, his daughter wasn’t going to come racing through the front door and watch her dad hit on someone younger or the same age as her. 

“And no Mrs. Miller?” You blurt out before you can even think about what you’re saying. Certainly pushing the boundaries now. Your dad had never spoken about Joel having a wife before but it never hurt to ask…especially after what just happened. “Sorry that’s inappropriate, right?” You embarrassingly mutter, even if it was the right thing to ask after the two of you just got done dry humping each other with your eyes.  

Joel chuckles slightly at your question, shaking his head as he eases back into ‘mr. calm and collected’. “S’alright. But yes, once. A long time ago. I’ve been divorced ever since.” He responds but says nothing more as he sets down his own preferred drink on the counter. “It’s just lil ole me and Sarah.” Joel adds; letting you in on his quiet life just a little more. 

You want to tell him how much you’re glad it’s just him. How you’ve been wanting just him since he stepped out of his truck back on the road. 

“And you? No partner waitin’ at home for ya?” Joel asks quietly, as if he’s unsure if he really should be asking the question or not; but curiosity is getting the better of the old man. 

You laugh a little at his question, an easy smile sitting on your lips. “Nope. Suppose I wouldn’t be here if I did.” 

“Hmm,” Joel ponders. “Suppose not. But I doubt you’d wanna be stuck here with an old man like me if ya didn’t have to.” 

“Good thing you don’t know me too well then,” You chime, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind your ear, glancing away from him as you ramble on about how much you are actually happy to be there, with him.

When you lift your eyes back to him, you stare right into his warm gaze. “I’m…enjoying this.” You admit finally with a shaky exhale. And if this wasn’t the moment that would set the nail into the head of: “do I need to flee the state or is this okay?” then you weren’t sure when it would happen. 

Joel’s eyes crinkle just ever so slightly and so quickly, that for a second you think you've almost imagined it. And you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He nods just a little, as if he’s almost speechless, clearing his throat to once again shake off the tension that has built up.

Returning back to reality, he takes a sip off his drink and settles against one of the many kitchen cabinets, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “So, your dad didn’t teach you anything about cars?” 

You laugh, shaking your head as you join him in leaning against the island counter. “You’re surprised? He doesn’t know a damn thing about them either.” You huff softly. 

“Mmm, true. I had to show him how to change a tire once.” Joel responds playfully, glancing in your direction.

“See!” You chuckle again, fiddling with the cup between your fingers. “Guess that’s why he told me to call you if I ever needed anything.” 

That warm, fuzzy feeling floats over your entire body again; weighs on you like a thick blanket while Joel falls silent for a second. 

God, how you wished you could hear what was going on in that head of his.

Before he answers, he shoots back all of the dark liquor in his glass, needing it for whatever else may go on that day. “He was right. Call me for anything, ya may need sweetheart.” Joel whispers, low and slow, sending a cool spike down your spine.

You suck in a quiet breath while his words stick to you— like your thighs would stick to a leather seat after sitting down for too long. Your pulse throbs in your throat. Was he just confirming what your dad had told you to do; to call him whenever you may need it? Or were you reading too much into it all…just because your feelings for him were running a little too wild? 

“So, thought ya didn’t live in Texas any more? Some fancy school or job, your dad mentioned one time or ‘nother.” Joel breaks through the silence you had left in the open, bringing you back to the moment with him.

You take another sip off your water before giving him a small nod. “Yep. Just came back to visit him. Bein’ a good daughter and all.”

“Hmm, a good daughter…” Joel mutters to himself and if you two weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have heard him. You can’t help but think what he could mean by that but you’re not going to bring it up…yet. 

“Anyway, I’m only here for a few weeks, and of course on my vacation my car decides to break down. Just my luck huh,” You sigh. “And my budget doesn’t allow for car troubles so I’m really hoping you can fix it.” 

“Budget?” Joel hums, glancing down at his empty glass, most likely debating to get another drink or not. “And you were gonna call a tow truck on a budget?” Joel says with that teasing tone of his. 

“Well…yeah, I guess if I had to.” You respond with a shrug, smiling over at him. 

Joel chuckles, his gaze casted into the depths of his glass as he fiddles with the cup while he speaks. “No doubt you could swindle your way outta some trouble if ya had to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You tease right back, taking the chance to inch closer to him. 

Joel clears his throat, as if he hadn’t expected to say what he said in the first place and just got caught. Now he was struggling to come up with the words to justify exactly why he said what he said. “Uh, well ya know,” Joel starts, stopping in his search at the bottom of his glass, his summer gaze returning to look over at you. His eyes tenderly move along your body; following every curve and dip as if it were his fingers trailing your skin instead. It feels like an eternity, him just looking at you, but in reality it probably only lasts for a second too long. “Lookin’ all pretty like that. Just sayin’ you could get away with anything if ya wanted to hun.” He says, all hushed and soft. 

A storm was absolutely brewing now and suddenly you’re glad to have worn that summer floral dress you had bought ages ago. 

You wait for a heartbeat, his gaze still licking flames across your body, before you reach out to him with a gentle but firm hand. You press your fingers into his exposed forearm, making a little circle against his tan skin to mimic him from earlier. 

And for some reason, you were far bolder than you had ever been in your life as you took another step closer to the older man, skimming your fingers further along his skin, batting pretty eyelashes in his direction. 

“Anything?” You whisper, just loud enough for him and only him to hear. Didn’t matter if no one else was home, you wanted to make sure it was for him. 

It was a good sign when he didn’t immediately jerk away or start yelling for you to get out. His breath catches in his throat this time and you watch as his chest begins to rise and fall as you stand dangerously close to him. Standing in the shadow of his frame, being almost swallowed up as he towers over you. 

“Darlin’” Joel finally utters, glancing down his nose at you, his fingers twitching at his sides; as if he’s trying to hold himself back from embracing you. “You know that’s not a good idea.” 

You shrug a little, pushing your fingers just underneath the curl of his shirt sleeve, touching the very beginning to the thick of his bicep. “Why not? It’s just us.” 

“You know why,” Joel protests softly. “I’m twice your age. And I’m your father’s friend.” 

“And yet…you’re not moving away,” You whisper, making it a point to squeeze his bicep. Your eyes trail from his gaze to the plump of his lips, lingering just long enough for him to notice, before you glance all the way back up to his eyes. “Let me repay you for coming to my rescue.” 

He doesn’t speak, having been caught and now his argument was quickly crumbling into almost nothing. 

To give him a little encouragement, your fingers trail back down to his wrist and you guide his hand to the edge of your skirt, pushing his fingers just slightly under your dress and against the thick of your thigh. “C’mon…Joel.” You hum his name all sweet like honey and it finally breaks him. 

“Fuck,” Joel curses under his breath as he sweeps you up. The hand on your thigh opens up and curls around you, dragging you into the front of his chest. His other hand settles against the curve of your neck as he comes crashing down onto you like a wave. 

He presses his lips into yours in a hot and heavy kiss. His tongue is already darting along the thick of your bottom lip– desperate and needy— just like you’ve been since the second you saw him bent over your car. 

“Dammit, you…” Joel pants against your lips. “I was tryin’ so hard…” He groans, lifting your hips into his own with his single hand. “You and that damn dress and the way you stare at me, Christ.” Joel fumbles, shifting his hand along your body. His hand grabbing your ass in a tight grip, his calm and collected self long, long gone now. He squeezes your ass, eating up the moan that tumbles from your lips into his. “Wanna hear that pretty little voice callin’ my damn name s’more.” 

“Joel.” You breathe his name and it makes him groan again. It’s deep and raspy, sends a vibration to the very tips of your fingers.

His knee bumps into yours, knocking your legs to part to allow him space between your thighs. The flat of his thigh presses right into the spot where you’re quickly coming to yearn for him. You grind into the thick of his thigh, mewling into the softness of his mouth. You were already far too needy, dripping through your underwear and smearing against his jeans.

Joel groans at the increasing wetness slicking his thigh and his fingers grip just a little harder along your skin. His teeth grab hold of your bottom lip, gently pulling on the plumpness, before his tongue is replacing his teeth with a wet swipe.  

“Taste s’good sweetheart.” He whispers with a chuckle. “Been wantin’ this all damn day.” 

You shudder at his words— at least it was comforting to know that since he showed up in the middle of nowhere to save you; you weren’t the only one looking at him in a new light. 

You needed more than just a little dry humping and hot make out session to be satisfied though— especially concerning the risk of…everything. Your fingers once gripping onto the thick of his biceps trail down to the front of his pants, fiddling with his belt. 

But his own hand quickly grabs your wrist the second you attempt to undo his belt.

Startled, Joel breaks the kiss, panting roughly while his gaze settles onto your flushed face. “We shouldn’t.” Joel mumbles, shaking his head just a little. Trying to talk the both of you out of doing something that could potentially ruin a lot of things. Kissing could be excused but anything else after was not so easily explained or forgiven. “I shouldn’t. You shouldn’t…not with an old man like me.” Joel counters through clenched teeth. 

“Joel,” You softly utter his name like a prayer. “I want you so fucking bad right now, I don’t care. And I know it’s not just me.”

“This is a bad idea…” Joel groans as he stares down at you; his composure slowly coming undone once again as his grip around your wrist is slowly loosening up.

Funny how you had told yourself that exact same thing too. But now you really didn’t care; no obstacle could get in your way when your cunt was throbbing his name. “Slow and steady…” You whisper his earlier words back to him. “You lead, remember? I’ll do what you say Joel…” 

Joel hesitates, clearly battling his inner thoughts. He could have you, right then and there– in all his desperation, need, and desire pent up for you. But he was your dad’s friend and if he ever found out…it would end far too many good relationships. 

“Just…a little more.” Joel finally huffs, crumbling like sand as his lips return back to yours in a last-ditch effort to calm all of his worrying thoughts. And it helps when you melt right back into the kiss.

Your fingers return to fidgeting with his belt buckle, trying to strip him as quickly as you possibly could just in case he changed his mind. Your hips moving faster, grinding heavier against his thigh. His name tastes sweet as it rolls off your tongue as you manage to undo that damned buckle. Your fingers work wonder’s undoing the rest of his jeans. Fingers flicking the button open and the zipper comes down with just a small tug of his jeans. But your fingers don’t stop in the slightest as they seek out what you’re really after. 

Joel helps ever so slightly, shimming his jeans down to his thighs, giving you the room to shove his underwear down and finally set him free. 

You immediately wrap a hand around his hardened shaft. Fingers brushing up along to the very tip and you tremble at how wet he is. Leaking across the flat of your thumb with just a single touch. 

Joel deeply groans, breaking the kiss again and glancing down to watch your hand stroke him. Cursing himself inside his mind for being so pathetic and hard with just a little bit of touching and a few kisses— acting as if he was a fresh twenty year old about to get laid for the first time, all over again. 

“Just a little…” Joel whispers, mostly to himself, continuing to try and convince himself that it was all going to be alright if it was just a little at a time. 

Your hand continues to sweep across the entire curve of his throbbing cock, squirming a little under his watchful gaze. 

“Joel,” You whine his name, grinding harshly into his thigh again. You were soaking now; smearing across his jeans, leaving behind a desperate trail of need. 

“S’alright baby, I gotcha,” Joel responds softly, picking up your needy little tone. His fingers slip from beneath your dress, just to grab the hem of the fabric, yanking the skirt up high. You scramble with your free hand to grab your dress, keeping it up high for him so his own fingers can work on pleasing you. 

Thick digits slide down against the seam of your soaked panties and above the pleasure ringing in your ears, you can hear Joel chuckle at your apparent neediness. 

“Fuckin’ soaked baby,” Joel hums, swiping his fingers against your core once more. “This wet for an old man like me?” He adds before he yanks your underwear to the side. 

Calloused fingers travel through your slick folds, his fingers circling around the sensitive nub. Joel chuckles again at the whine that you try to hold back before he’s pressing a thick digit inside your velvet walls. 

You gasp his name, quick and harsh as he begins to thrust into the slickness of your cunt. Your hand moves faster along his shaft, trying to keep up with his pace as he fingers you. Your legs open just a little wider on instinct, allowing him more space between.

His fingers plummet into the seam of your cunt, rapid and a little sloppy but it gets the job done more than effectively. The lewd noises echoing inside the room from the slick of his fingers pumping in and out of you, normally would leave you an embarrassed mess but with a single curl of his finger, those thoughts immediately are swept away. 

His pace quickens and before you have time to react, he’s adding a second finger into the depths of your pussy; stretching you out, guiding you to a close, burning ledge. 

“Shit, Joel!” You sob, open mouth, tears flicking to the corners of your eyes. Your hand stutters but Joel doesn’t mind, his hips thrust forward, grinding the full weight of himself into your grasp.

Even in your haze you manage to shift your hand to point him directly where his fingers disappear inside your seam. “Want you right here, Joel, please. Please, I need it.” You cry, nudging the tip of his cock into your clit. 

Joel growls, deep from within his chest, like a wild animal claiming its prey. His hips stutter just a little, pressing heavier into your clit. But he shakes his head, gritting his teeth. 

“No. No, that’s…off limits,” He groans even as he continues to nudge his head into your cunt. 

“Joel,” You whine but Joel shakes his head, curling his fingers inside to send a strike of lightning along your spine. 

“No. Not this time baby,” Joel coos in a soft, luring voice. Trying to tell himself more than he was warning you.

“Just, ah, the tip then please, please.” You whine, clenching around his fingers still stuffing inside your core. “Please. Just wanna feel you, just enough.” You pathetically beg. His fingers weren’t enough, even just a little bit of his thick head pressing inside you would solve all your problems. 

It’s Joel’s turn to softly whimper after you speak. “The tip,” He repeats, tasting your words on his tongue. “Just the tip.” He says again, finally deciding that just a little bit more was enough. His thick fingers slip out from your inner walls and you feel empty without him. As if your body had been made to fit just him and him alone; and with how fast your head was spinning, you didn’t doubt it for a second. 

You nod frantically as he accepts just using the tip of his head. You grab hold of his shoulder and squeeze it tight, preparing for what comes next. 

Joel takes his hand covered in your slick and wraps it around the base of his shaft. His fingers tangle and nudge against yours; and together you move over his entire cock, coating all of him in the remaining wetness on his fingers. 

He takes a smaller step into you, close enough to smother you entirely. He slots himself right into the slit of your cunt, dragging every inch of his shaft through your soaking wet folds. 

You shiver as he drags himself against you, gripping his shoulder just a little tighter as a mind numbing wave of pleasure races through you. You angle your head ever so slightly to kiss up along his neck, panting against his skin with every kiss you try to place. 

“Fuck…you’re droolin’ all over me sweetheart.” Joel groans, thrusting his hips forward again. He stares where the two of you connect, pupils blown and mouth slightly agape as he watches with awe how he disappears between you. The hand not guiding his cock against you hooks around the crook of your knee, bringing your hips into his. Joel opens your legs and in one fell swoop he slips inside your sloppy seam; and as promised, just the tip. 

When he presses the tip finally inside of you, it knocks the breath out of your lungs. You gasp for air, digging your nails into the thick of his shoulder. His name bubbles up into your throat but it never leaves your lips. Your thighs tremble just as much as your bottom lip does with his entrance into your aching cunt. 

Joel’s grip on your knee is sure to leave bruises but god if he asked, you’d tattoo them on your body. To remind him, and only him, that you belonged to him. 

His entire body shakes as he forces himself to remain totally still. He grunts through clenched teeth as he wills himself not to move further inside you; no matter how badly he wants to slam his hips forward with the way you suck so eagerly on just his tip— he refuses to do so. And it takes every ounce of his willpower not to thrust forward.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath. “‘S tight. You’re so tight, baby.” He adds with a slight whimper to his voice, eyes still heavily staring where the two of you connect. Hips sliding back, dragging the length of his cock out, before digging forward again.

You don’t answer, can’t answer; all you can think of is how fucking good he’s making you feel, even with just the tip.

When he finally sets a good pace, his thrusts are sharp but shallow and not near enough to truly satisfy every inch of your needy core but you’ll take it…until next time. Next time, he’s fucking you into the goddamn mattress until you pass out. 

You try your best to move your hips in sync with his shallow thrusts but Joel quickly shuts that down with his hand moving to grip your hip. When you manage to look up at him, he just weakly shakes his head a little. 

“No.” He mutters, sweat dripping off the high of his eyebrow. “If you move like that I’ll want more than this…” He admits with a flutter to his eyes. 

You groan but nod nonetheless. “Next time.” You huff with a hoarse voice. 

Joel chuckles a little and nods right back at you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Next time.” He mimics before returning to dig into your core. Your dress bunches under his grasp and he uses it just a little bit to keep himself grounded and you from moving. 

Your body is raging like a storm beneath your skin with how quick your orgasm is rising to greet you. And you’re almost sure if he fully pressed his cock into every inch of your sensitive pussy right then and there, you’d make the worst mess. You’d soak your dress and every inch of his jeans and boots. And while you want him so badly all the way, deep inside, kissing your womb– you’re a little thankful he wasn’t. Didn’t want to embarrass yourself too badly, this time anyway. 

“Joel,” You utter, stars blossoming across your vision with your impending orgasm burning inside your lower tummy. 

“Shh, I know darlin’.” Joel hums back. He doesn’t have to say anything about his own orgasm with the way his cockhead is beginning to swell inside of you. 

For a split second you almost want to beg him to cum inside, wanting to feel him warm and deep inside every inch of your trembling walls but you could already guess what the answer to that was going to be, so you keep your lips sealed. 

Your mind turns fuzzy as his shallow thrust turns chaotic and ruthless, stretching you with every drag. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle and break but his strong hands hold you up anyway. He wanted you to finish, wanted to feel you clench and flutter around his tip while he considered turning you around, bending you over and really getting the chance to stretch you out. 

“Baby girl,” Joel drawls, low and slow, pressing kiss after kiss into the crown of your head. His chest rises and falls with every rapid breath he sucks between his teeth. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy…not gonna last. Want you to come for darlin’, all over my cock, can you do that baby?” 

He doesn’t even have to ask twice. You can no longer find your voice to form any other word besides “please” as the heat of your womb blossoms. The warmth explodes through every inch of your body. Your back arches with your orgasm, hips stuttering and if it wasn’t for Joel’s big hand on your hip, you might have swallowed him entirely by accident. Your chest presses directly up into his and you can taste the tip of his name coating your tongue as you come all across his cockhead. 

He waits until you’re entirely spent before he allows himself to come as well. He lets go of your hip, grabbing the thick of his base once more, and drags himself out of your tight cunt at the last second before he smears his mark across you.

White, hot spurts of cum splash against your cunt with every stroke of his hand. With a deep groan, he presses his tip into your clit, leaving his mark right up against the curve of your pussy. His hand quickly moves along his entire shaft, pushing out every last drop of his cum into the slit of your quivering pussy. Your name is whispered so softly in time with every jerk of his hand, it leaves you lightheaded and whimpering for Joel.

When he’s finished, his own damn head is spinning. He’s out of breath, staring at the mess he’s made with half lidded eyes. He swipes his thumb through the stain he’s made, chuckling quietly at how much sticks to your skin. 

“Damn sweetheart,” Joel hums in approval, shivering at the sight of you covered in his mark. “You got so much outta me darlin’, like I’m fuckin’ in my twenties again.” 

You’re slowly coming down from your high when he speaks but his words make you laugh alongside him. You were no better than he was; that was one of the best orgasms you’d ever had in your life. The pleasure still pounding inside your ears like a second heartbeat. 

“Yeah? Imagine what it’ll be like next time.” You whisper, letting your full body weight fall back onto the kitchen counter he had previously backed you up into.  

Joel quiets then, letting silence stretch between the two of you like a dry, humid summer. You can’t read his gaze and with the silence accompanying him, you’re not sure you want to read it anyway. But it’s gone quickly and he returns to that softness you’ve seen all day long. 

“Next time?” Joel hums, threading his fingers through your sticky cunt. “Next time, you’re not even gonna be able to fuckin’ walk, sweetheart.”

@ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐄𝐕𝐑𝐑𝐀 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ���/𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

@lowrisemiller

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Stormy night”

Pairing: Pre Outbreak!Joel Miller x babysitter!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here Part 2 here

Summary: You’ve been babysitting for the Millers for months now, admiring Joel from afar. Until one stormy night things gets spicy.

WC: 3,3k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m!receiving).

A/N: I know the babysitter is such an overused trope but i’m just a sucker for fatherly and domestic pre outbreak Joel. This has a little fluff and lots of smut at the end, so there’s that.

You’d been babysitting Sarah Miller for the last six months. Some might think she was a bit old for a babysitter—she was twelve, after all—and far smarter than girls her age. But her father, Joel, mostly hired you for the company. He worked long shifts that often ran well into the night, and he never felt comfortable leaving his daughter alone for so many hours.

And you? You were a typical college student—desperate for a few extra dollars. So, when you saw the flyer on the bulletin board, you didn’t think twice.

You loved working for the Millers. It never really felt like work. Sarah was sweet, and you genuinely enjoyed helping her with her school projects, watching movies together, gossiping, and giving her advice on boys like an older sister would.

Joel was a good boss, too. He always paid you on time, left you and Sarah money for takeout most nights, and always offered to drive you home when it was too late or raining.

And, of course, the looks didn’t hurt. You couldn’t help but admire him when he was around. Joel was a handsome man—rugged and worn, but in a way that made him even more appealing. He was nothing like the college guys you were used to seeing—the ones who couldn’t grow a proper beard, who talked too much and said too little, trying too hard to impress. Joel was the complete opposite. He didn’t need to impress anyone. He barely spoke to you most of the time, but when he did, it caused an impression.

You arrived to the Millers’, the relentless Texas sun high in the sky, making your skin glisten and your clothes cling to your body.

“You brought the nail polish, right?” Sarah asked eagerly as soon as you stepped inside.

“Of course I did,” you said, holding up the small pouch filled with bright colors. “Hot pink and glitter, just like you asked.”

You’d only just settled in when Joel came downstairs. His hair was damp, a towel draped over the back of his neck, and his shirt was tugged down just enough to reveal the faint outline of his chest.

“I’ve got a lot of work today. I’ll be back around nine, maybe a little later. You good with that?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

You nodded. “Yep, that’s alright.”

“Don’t let her stay up past nine,” he said, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table before heading out the door.

You spent the evening with Sarah, painting each other’s nails, watching silly rom-coms, and making dinner together. It was a routine you’d come to enjoy more than you cared to admit.

“My dad has the hots for you, you know that?” Sarah said, her voice muffled through a mouthful of mac and cheese.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah.” You chuckled, your face flushing a little as you nervously laughed off the comment. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“No, I mean it. He’s like… less cranky when you’re around,” she said, swallowing another spoonful. “And he looks at you like those guys do in the movies we watch.” She leaned back, making exaggerated and comical love-eyes at you.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You’re being silly.”

“I’m not. I know him better than anyone,” she said, chewing lazily as she watched you. “But he hasn’t dated in, like, forever. I’ve actually never seen him date. He’s weird.”

You chuckled, trying to brush it off and change the subject. It’s not like you hadn’t wondered about Joel’s love life yourself. You had. He only ever asked you to babysit when he was working, which implied he never had any dates, and you’d never seen a woman around the house.

No. Stop thinking about this. Doesn’t matter if he dates or not. He’s your boss. He’s significantly older than you. Nothing is ever going to happen. You’re being stupid, you told yourself.

By 9:30, Sarah was curled up on the couch, leaning against your shoulder, completely out of it. She didn’t even stir when Joel stepped inside.

“Howdy,” he greeted you, his voice warm but tired. He looked exhausted—dark bags under his eyes, his broad shoulders looking tense and stiff.

“Hey,” you said softly, brushing a few strands of Sarah’s hair away from her face. “She’s out like a light,” you whispered.

Joel gave a small, fond smile as he looked at Sarah, then came closer to the couch to scoop her up in his arms.

“I’m gonna put her to bed,” he said softly as he started toward the stairs.

There was something so endearing about Joel’s dedication to his daughter. Even if he worked too much and wasn’t around as much as he would’ve liked, everything he did was for Sarah, it showed how much she meant to him.

A few minutes later, he came back downstairs, looking even more worn out than before.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice raspy, and with that thick southern drawl of his, it made your stomach twist in a way you’ve never felt before you met him.

“I’m good,” you replied, swallowing nervously. “We had mac and cheese for dinner—there’s a bit left if you want it.”

He hummed softly, glancing over at you.

“So I guess that’s it for today,” you said, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s pretty dark out there,” he offered, his hand already on the doorknob.

“It’s cool. I don’t mind the walk,” you said quickly. You’d never wanted to feel like an inconvenience, even though he’d driven you home several times before.

“C’mon. I’ll drive you home.” He was already pulling his keys from his pocket, moving toward the door to walk you out.

The drive to your place was about fifteen minutes, but with every second spent in the truck beside him, the air seemed to grow thicker. The tension was palpable.

“How was work?” you asked softly, trying to break the silence and ease the tension.

“Well, everyone seems to be assholes who mess up the simplest orders, so you tell me,” he said, his voice carrying frustration, though his eyes stayed locked on the road ahead.

“Sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. I chose this hell.” He glanced at you for a brief second before returning his focus to the road. “How’s school?”

“It’s fine. Hard, but I guess I chose this hell too,” you replied, shifting in your seat.

He let out a low laugh, almost inaudible. “You study psychology, right? Makes sense. You’re good with people.”

You smiled. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’re good with Sarah. I don’t say it enough, but I really appreciate it.” His voice softened in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“Thanks… I really care about her. She’s a great kid,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “And you’re a great dad. She’s lucky to have you.”

He scoffed lightly. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing half the time. It’s all just improvisation.”

“Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. It’s working. You’ve raised an amazing daughter.”

Joel smiled at you—probably the biggest, most genuine smile you’d ever seen him give anyone.

A few more minutes passed in silence before you arrived at your place.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm for a second longer than you should have. You suddenly felt too embarrassed, your face flushed as you quickly got out of the truck without saying another word.

Joel watched you walk to your door, his eyes lingering a little too long. He couldn’t help but notice how your shorts shifted with each step, revealing more of your thighs, and how the strap of your top slipped slightly off your shoulder, showing the edge of your bra.

And he felt like a creep.

Every single time. He felt disgusted with himself. He’d tried to avoid it, but every time you were around, his mind wandered. Like when you’d come over after getting caught in a storm, your white shirt soaked and completely see-through. Or when you were on the floor on your knees, helping Sarah with a school project, and all he could think about was how good you looked on your knees like that. Or the worst—whenever he found himself flipping through an old secondhand Playboy magazine Tommy had left around the house many years ago, just trying to get his imagination going… only for his brain to drift to you. Always you. Until he cummed to the memory of your nipples under that wet white shirt.

Joel felt like the worst kind of man. He was older, a father, an adult who should know better. And yet, here he was, fantasizing about a girl half his age. Even if he never acted on it, it still felt wrong. On so many levels.

The next day, when you arrived, Joel had already left for work. A note on the counter, written in his messy, all-caps handwriting, told you he’d gone out to run some errands before work and wouldn’t be back until around ten.

By seven, the sky had split open like something ancient had broken loose. Thunder rattled the windows, lightning tore lines across the darkening sky, and the rain came down in torrents. One of the worst summer storms in years.

You and Sarah had decided that the weather made the perfect excuse for popcorn and horror movies that probably weren’t appropriately rated for kids her age. But she loved them anyway.

By nine, she was fast asleep on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, soft breaths rising and falling, completely unaware of the front door opening.

“Holy hell,” Joel muttered as he stepped inside, soaked from head to toe, shaking water from his hair like a dog. He pulled off his boots, leaving puddles on the mat. “It’s been years since I’ve seen a storm like this. Streets are flooded, some trees came down, and they’re closing off the roads. Barely made it back.”

“Gee,” you breathed, glancing at the chaos outside through the window, the trees swaying like they might break.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re gonna clear it ‘til morning,” he said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”

“I—thank you,” you murmured.

He glanced toward Sarah, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he stepped over and scooped her into his arms. He carried her upstairs like he always did, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he came back down a few minutes later, he’d changed into dry clothes. A gray t-shirt clung to the shape of his chest, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.

“You can take my bed if you want,” he offered as he walked into the kitchen, already opening the fridge. “Clean sheets and all. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, no—I can’t,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “The couch is fine. I already feel like I’m intruding.”

“Don’t,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I sleep on the couch most nights anyway.”

He pulled out some leftovers and popped them in the microwave.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I had popcorn,” you said with a small smile.

“Popcorn ain’t dinner,” he muttered. He grabbed another plate and started dividing the food between the two of you.

You sat beside him on the barstools at the counter, eating quietly, listening to the distant growl of thunder and the drumming rain against the roof.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said softly.

“I wouldn’t let my biggest enemy out in that mess,” he replied, chewing slowly. “Least I could do.”

Later, you were at the sink doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, warm water running over your fingers. Joel stood next to you, drying with a dish towel.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said again.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Are you ever gonna stop thankin’ me for every damn thing?”

“Hey, just bein’ grateful here,” you said, grinning as you flicked a few drops of water at his face.

The smile faded from his lips in an instant. His eyes locked on yours. Intense. Heated. Without a word, he reached for your wrist—his touch soft, but firm—and pulled you gently toward him.

You inhaled sharply. His body was warm and solid against yours. His face just inches from yours. His breath hit your skin.

“Joel…” you whispered uncertainty.

“Ask me to stop,” he said, his voice low, ragged. “Please ask me to stop.”

But you couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathed.

And then his mouth was on yours.

It started slow, hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe he was finally kissing you. But seconds later he lost all inhibition, his lips crushed against yours, hungry, desperate, as if he’d been holding himself back for far too long. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tight as he lifted you onto the counter like you weighted nothing.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest heaving.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been dying to do that,” he murmured, voice thick. “I feel like I’ve been losin’ my mind.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his hand moved fast, sliding down between your legs with almost no pretense, just need. You gasped as his fingers found the heat between your thighs—confident, greedy.

“Joel…” you moaned, trying to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

“If you want me to stop just tell me and I will,” he said again, lips brushing your skin as he kissed along your jaw, down your neck.

But you said nothing. Didn’t need to. The way you tilted your head to give him more access said everything.

He slid your shirt over your head, his mouth following the trail of bare skin as he moved down to your breasts. His hand cupped one, thumb brushing your nipple, twisting it softly, before his mouth went to the other one, closing it over it, sucking gently.

“They’re so perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before giving them both equal attention.

You could feel how hard he was through his pants—thick and aching, grinding against you like he couldn’t help it. You rocked against him, searching for friction, for more.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

“I got you, baby,” he rasped. “Gonna make you feel real good.”

His hand slid under your skirt, fingers finding your soaked panties. He groaned at the feel of you—hot, wet, and wanting like he’d never seen before in a woman, and knowing it was all because of him drove him near feral.

He was scared of being way too rusty and out of practice, after all he hadn’t done this in longer that he cared to admit. As a reflex he pushed your panties aside and pressed his thumb to your clit, making you gasp again.

“You this wet for me?” he growled, rubbing slow circles. “Christ.”

Two of his fingers teased your entrance, gathering your slick. “This feel good?”

“So good… don’t stop,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, muffled by the bite you gave his shoulder to stay quiet. Sarah was upstairs, but keeping silent felt impossible with what he was doing to you.

Encouraged, Joel pushed his fingers inside you. Slow at first, careful. Then faster. Curling them, finding the spot that made you see stars—and when you moaned, he knew he had it.

“Fuck, Joel… I’m so close.”

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered, his thumb relentless on your clit. “Please let me feel you.”

Your hips rocked against his hand. You were barely holding on. Then your orgasm hit, fast and hard, ripping through you. You bit your lip so hard you nearly bled.

He felt it. The way you clenched around his fingers, your whole body trembling, your chest heaving. He looked up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“That was… I’ve never felt like that before,” you said, breathless, blinking through the haze. “Not ever.”

He stared at you, flushed and wrecked, eyes locked on your blissed-out face. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful right now.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” you said, eager to return the favor.

“You are,” he affirmed, not wanting to force you into anything, but dying to relieve the pain he was feeling in his pants.

“Like this,” You slid off the counter and dropped to your knees, hands on the waistband of his pants with a confidence that surprised even you. “Let me make you feel good too.”

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, watching you. The image of you, down on your knees, eyes wide and eager, was nearly too much.

You pulled his pants and boxers down, releasing his cock. Thick, heavy, already leaking.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slow, building pressure. Then your tongue replaced your hand, hot and wet and perfect.

He groaned loud, his hands gripping your hair—not to push you down, but to keep himself grounded. You took more of him, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling.

“God, baby…” he gasped. “Oh that feels—fuck.”

Your mouth took him slowly, savoring every sound he made, taking your time to enjoy everything, from the curse he breathed out when you licked along the vein on the underside of him to the way his hips jerked slightly when you hollowed your cheeks.

“Stop—fuck, baby, you gotta stop,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t wanna finish yet.”

He hauled you to your feet, kissing you hard as he picked you up and set you back on the counter.

“Need you,” he growled. “Need to be inside you.”

You nodded quickly, breathless. “Yes, Joel. Please.”

He pushed your legs open, standing between them, with one hand he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance.

“You su—?” he tried to ask before you cut him.

“I’m sure.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch, letting you adjust to him. Both of you groaning at the overwhelming sensation. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled. “You feel perfect… perfect little cunt.”

He started moving, each thrust deep and rough, every inch felt like a delicious torture. The wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the kitchen. You bit his shoulder again, muffling your cries so you wouldn’t wake up the entire neighborhood.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern breaking through his haze of lust.

“I’m alright,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop… harder.”

He obeyed, slamming into you harder, faster, one hand gripping your waist, the other braced against the counter. His name fell from your lips like a silent prayer.

“I’m close,” he gasped. “You feel so good—I can’t—”

He began to lose control, his thrusts turning frantic as his climax approached. He didn’t care about pulling out—not right now—even if it was the most reasonable thing to do. Right now, he wanted to finish inside of you, to feel his cum filling you up until it dripped out of your cunt. He wanted to mark you in the most primitive way.

“Shit—I’m gonna—”

A sharp stillness took over him as he spilled himself deep inside you, cumming hard like he hadn’t in years, painting your insides with his seed.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “I— You— That was—Joel…”

“Incredible,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “Jesus. I don’t remember ever feeling that good.”

He stayed there for a moment, head buried against your chest, catching his breath.

You stroked his damp hair. Neither of you said anything.

After his intense climax, he felt so vulnerable. All he wanted was to lay down in his bed, arms wrapped around you, holding you all night long, keeping you close and safe, like you belonged there with him. And pretending that this wasn’t something fleeting. That this was something real.

“You’re taking the bed,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And I’m sleeping with you.”

You smiled at him, heart fluttering. “Deal.”

READ PART TWO HERE

‪dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

[lowrisemiller]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴊᴏᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

| 3.6k words | masterlist | kissing, groping, oral f receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv smut (every joel deserves it raw I don't make the rules), no prep (its okay tho), teasing, joel is a menace, he rips the panties, rough sex, joel is a MUNCH

pre-outbreak joel!

The house is quiet when you slip through the door. Lights dimmed, a warm amber glow spilling from under the hallway as you kick your shoes off. Rain taps gently at the windows. It smells like cedar and laundry, like him.

You walk past the kitchen, past the folded throw blanket on the arm of the couch—his reading glasses tucked into the cushion crease. A soft smile pulls at your lips.

Joel’s home.

Bedroom door cracked just enough to show the light flickering from the nightstand lamp. He’s lying in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head, book forgotten on his chest. His eyes track you the second you appear.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice is low, gravel warm with sleep.

“Hey.” You rest against the doorframe. “Didn’t think you’d wait up.”

“Wasn’t sure when you’d get home.” He stretches, slow and unhurried, the covers dipping low over his hips. “Didn’t wanna fall asleep without ya.”

Your stomach flutters. Stupid soft man.

You pad toward the dresser, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one. His eyes follow. You feel it like heat on your skin. You fold your top neatly and set it down, slipping out of your jeans next.

Then—finally—he sees them.

New lace panties, soft lavender and sheer, with little bows on the sides. Not even remotely practical. Delicate and meant for his eyes only.

Joel’s whole body stills.

You turn toward the closet to grab a shirt, voice light. “I was gonna save ‘em for later.”

A low sound rumbles from his chest.

“The hell were you thinkin’,” he mutters, “walkin’ around in those, talkin’ about later.”

You glance over your shoulder just as he tosses the covers back. The book lands somewhere on the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, his gaze molten.

“C’mere.”

There’s no command in it—just the kind of drawl that makes your knees weak.

You walk toward him, heart fluttering. He reaches for you slow, calloused hands trailing up your thighs until his thumbs hook in the lace. His fingers trace the tiny bows like he’s reading Braille.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs. “Wastin’ somethin’ this sweet on later.”

“I was gonna change,” you breathe. “Figured you were tired.”

“Tired don’t mean dead.”

You laugh—and gasp when he pulls you gently into his lap, straddling one thigh. His hands cradle your hips, his mouth ghosting kisses along your belly, your ribs, just beneath the edge of your bra.

His voice is a low rasp against your skin. “This for me?”

You nod. His thumb tugs at one bow.

“Say it.”

“It’s for you.”

He hums like that’s his favorite sound in the world. Then he’s kissing your inner thigh, the lace dampening beneath the heat of his mouth. You shift, hands in his hair, gasping when he eases you down onto the bed, tugging the panties aside—not off—because he wants you ruined in them.

You’re breathless under him, spine arching as Joel drags his mouth up your thigh. One of his hands presses to your stomach, holding you steady like he knows you’re about to come apart.

“Such a goddamn tease,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough as his lips skim over the thin strip of lace. “Comin’ in here lookin’ like a dream.”

Your hips lift instinctively when his tongue flicks just where you need it. The panties are barely in his way—just pushed to the side—and it’s somehow worse that he leaves them on, like he’s savoring the sight of you still dressed for him.

You whimper, fingers digging into the sheets.

Joel groans low in his throat, clearly pleased. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back.”

His mouth is unrelenting—slow circles of his tongue, the soft scrape of his beard making your thighs tremble. He’s not in a rush. He’s never in a rush when it comes to this. Joel’s the kind of man who learns your body like a song, and he plays every note until you’re strung out and shaking.

You reach down, tugging gently at his curls, hips starting to buck against his mouth, and that’s when he grips your thigh harder, anchoring you to the bed.

“Easy, now,” he murmurs between licks. “I got you.”

Then he flattens his tongue, presses in deep—and you feel it everywhere. Heat floods your belly. Your breath catches.

“Joel—”

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice hoarse, mouth glistening. “Say my name just like that.”

He keeps going until you’re gasping, legs trembling around his shoulders, and when he finally lets up—when he kisses your thigh and pulls back, breath warm on your skin—you think it’s over.

But Joel’s not done.

He leans over you, pushing your legs apart, still tangled in lace. His cock presses hot and thick against your thigh, and you can feel how hard he is, feel the way he trembles just a little as he lines himself up.

“Think I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Pretty little panties still on.”

You moan at that, eyes fluttering shut as he presses inside—slow, deep, filling you completely. Your back arches, arms curling around his shoulders as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So goddamn tight. You feel that, baby?”

You nod, too wrecked to answer. The lace rubs against your hips as he starts to move, the slow, grinding thrusts more intimate than anything. You’re gasping into his neck, clutching at him as he rolls his hips—deep and steady, dragging every second out.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs into your skin. “You take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Your second climax builds slower, warmer—coaxed out of you with patient hands and thick, steady strokes. Joel kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple as you fall apart under him again, and then he finally lets go, groaning your name as he finishes, hips jerking once, twice.

He stays inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

Then a quiet chuckle.

“Guess I owe you a thank you for those panties.”

You laugh, breathless. “Told you they were for later.”

Joel grins as he brushes your hair back from your face, still inside you, still tangled up in lace.

“Darlin’,” he says, “it is later.”

smuggler joel!

The door slams shut behind you.

Joel’s already pushing you back into the shadows of the storage room—his mouth crashing over yours, rough and frantic. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, shoving your coat off your shoulders, the scratch of his stubble dragging over your cheek.

You gasp into the kiss. “Joel—someone could—”

“Don’t care.”

You barely make it three feet into the room before he’s spinning you toward the wall. The concrete is cold through your shirt. His hand plants beside your head, the other slips beneath your waistband.

“You wearin’ what I think you’re wearin’?” he mutters against your neck.

You nod, breath hitching. “Yeah. The ones from the market—those lace—”

Joel groans. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Then you feel it—the sound, the rip, his hand fisting the waistband and tearing straight through the fabric like it offended him.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you in these,” he growls. “Had to see for myself.”

Your cheek is against the wall, hips angled back as he shoves your pants down, baring you to the cool air and his calloused touch. The lace slips to the floor in tatters. You don’t even get a second to protest.

Joel’s already unzipping.

The room smells like gunpowder and sweat, dust rising from the floor as his boots shift behind you. He grips your hips—big hands rough and dirty from patrol, fingers biting into your skin like he needs to prove something.

“Wanted to fuck you so bad back there,” he mutters. “Watchin’ you walk ahead of me, swayin’ your hips like that. Knew you were wearin’ these.”

You moan when you feel him, hard and hot, thick against your thigh. He doesn’t ease in slow. There’s no time for slow. He grits out your name and pushes inside in one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“Joel—!”

He groans against your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You brace your hands against the wall, trying to catch your breath. He doesn’t give it to you. His pace is fast, brutal—desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for weeks. Maybe he has.

You cry out when his hand slips under your shirt, up your chest, palming your breast through your bra.

“Always so fuckin’ soft,” he pants, rutting into you. “Mine, yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel, yes—”

He grunts at that, slamming into you harder, his grip on your hip bruising. The slap of skin echoes in the room, filthy and fast, and your legs are shaking already, barely holding you up.

Then his hand moves down, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through the slickness he’s already made.

“C’mon, baby,” he growls, voice hot at your ear. “Wanna feel you come.”

You whimper, fingers clawing at the wall. “I’m close—fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah, you are. Let go for me. Right fuckin’ now.”

You cry out when it hits—tight, white-hot pleasure bursting behind your eyes. He fucks you through it, still muttering curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge with a groan that sounds like it’s been buried in his chest for weeks.

You both collapse against the wall, breathing hard. Your panties are in shreds. Your legs are trembling.

Joel presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “That was overdue.”

You laugh—weak and hoarse. “Think you broke my pelvis.”

He grins against your skin. “Was tryin’ to.”

boston qz joel!

The knock at his door is sharp and fast. Urgent. Joel opens it with his pistol half drawn, but it’s just you—soaked from the rain, blood on your cheek, breath shallow like you ran the whole way here.

“They raided my place,” you pant. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. Just steps aside and lets you in.

Your pack drops to the floor with a wet thud. You toe off your boots. His place is cramped and spare—brick walls, broken heater, one chair, one cot.

No guest bed.

You eye the cot. Joel follows your gaze.

“You can have it,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re too big for the chair.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

You lift your brows. “Joel.”

He sighs, jaw ticking.

“We’ll share, then,” you say before he can argue. “Just for tonight.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods, turns away, and grabs you a shirt. You change in the bathroom—wipe off the blood, clean up as best you can. When you step back out, he’s already in bed, turned to face the wall.

You slip under the blanket.

For a while, there’s just silence. Rain tapping against the window. Joel breathing steady. Your shoulders stiffen every time the bed shifts beneath him, every time your legs accidentally brush.

“You okay?” he mutters.

You glance over. He’s still facing the wall, but you can see the line of his jaw, the tight set of his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just cold.”

Joel’s quiet for a moment. Then his arm slides back, palm open.

You scoot closer.

He pulls you against him—big and solid and warm. Your back to his chest, his arm slung around your waist, fingertips resting low on your stomach. Neither of you breathes for a second.

“This alright?” he asks, voice low.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s…good.”

It stays that way for a while. His body heat seeps into yours. His breathing calms you.

Then his hand shifts.

Lower.

You freeze.

He doesn’t move again—but his fingers are brushing the waistband of your panties now. You feel his breath stutter behind you.

“You knew you were gonna end up in my bed tonight,” he mutters. “Didn’t you?”

You squirm. “I didn’t know they’d raid my place.”

“But you still wore these,” he murmurs, slipping his hand down further, cupping you through the lace. “Sweet little thing. Always actin’ innocent.”

Your breath catches. His fingers rub slow circles, the fabric dampening under his touch.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips brushing your neck.

“No.”

“Good.”

He shifts behind you—hips pressing into yours, thick and hard through his boxers. He hooks your knee over his thigh, opening you up to him. His hand slips beneath the lace, fingers slick and rough and just barely enough.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So wet already. Bet you been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

You moan, rocking your hips back into his.

Joel groans, deep and low. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose what little fuckin’ control I got.”

“Then lose it.”

You feel him tense—then shove his boxers down just enough to press against your entrance. Still behind you. Still slow. His hand lifts your leg higher, his other arm tight around your chest.

Then he pushes in.

You gasp, clutching the blanket. He’s thick, stretching you deep, your lace panties still hooked around one thigh. It’s filthy and hot and exactly what you’ve both been aching for.

“You feel that?” he grits. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tips back against his shoulder. He thrusts into you, slow and rough, the bed creaking under your bodies. You cling to his forearm, lost in the rhythm, lost in the heat curling low in your belly.

When he feels you getting close, Joel’s hand slides back down.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Right here in my bed.”

You break apart with a soft cry, your legs trembling, hips shaking. Joel follows with a growl, hips jerking once, twice before he buries himself deep and stills.

You both lie there, breathless.

The rain has stopped.

He brushes hair from your face. “You sleepin’ here from now on.”

You smile, turning in his arms to press your lips to his jaw. “Yeah. I know.”

jackson joel!

“You leave ‘em on purpose?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the quiet of his house, low and thick with that rough Southern drag that curls right down your spine.

The front door’s locked. The snow’s started to fall again outside.

His fingers hold the delicate black lace between two fingers, swaying slightly like a warning—or a promise. Ellie had waved them at him earlier in the week, grinning like the devil, told him she almost tossed them in the fire before realizing they weren’t hers.

You’d turned scarlet.

Now they’re dangling from his hand, that slow smirk playing on his face.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer.

The fireplace crackles behind you. His house smells like cinnamon and pine and something he picked up from the bakery this morning. You’d promised to make him a pie tonight. Apple. Just the way he likes it.

But Joel’s only hungry for one thing right now.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, heart thudding.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

His brow lifts. “Maybe?”

“I wanted you to find ‘em. Just… not Ellie.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”

He tosses the panties onto the table like a challenge, then closes the distance until his hips press yours into the counter, one hand bracing beside your head. His other hand coasts under your sweater, slow and warm and possessive.

“You walkin’ around town,” he mutters, “bakin’ pies, smiling like that—like you ain’t got your panties layin around.”

You squirm, breath hitching.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing yet.

“She said they were in my hiking boots, darlin’,” he adds, a little gruff. “Was that supposed to be some kind of message?”

You smile, innocent as sin. “Did you get it?”

Joel’s eyes flash.

The kiss is immediate—hot and deep, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans in the warmth of the kitchen. His hands explore like he’s been waiting weeks, sliding down to grip your hips, then lower, pulling you flush.

“Turn around,” he growls against your mouth.

You hesitate, but something in his tone makes your knees go soft. You turn, palms flat on the counter, back to him. He kisses the back of your neck, slow and reverent, while his hands travel under your skirt, pushing it up until the cool air hits your thighs.

He reaches for the lace again—those damn panties—and slides them slowly up your legs, back where they belong. His hands pause at your hips, fingers slipping under the elastic.

“Leave ‘em on,” you whisper.

He hums, satisfied. “You like makin’ me wait.”

You don’t answer—not when he pushes the lace to the side and drags his fingers through you, slow, methodical, feeling how ready you are.

Joel doesn’t rush. He keeps one hand on your hip and the other between your thighs, teasing you until you’re gasping softly, forehead pressed to your arm on the counter.

Then he pulls away, just long enough to undo his jeans.

You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, his hand guiding himself where you need him most.

He slides in slowly, a hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Always so good for me.”

You arch back into him, and his hands grip your hips hard as he starts to move. The rhythm is slow at first, deep and thorough, each thrust hitting just right with the lace still clinging to your thighs. The sounds of the fire crackling, your soft whimpers, and his low curses fill the room like a song only the two of you know.

“Thinkin’ about this all damn week,” he murmurs. “My kitchen. You in those little panties. Bent over like this.”

“Joel—”

He shushes you with a hand sliding up your front, under your sweater and bra, fingers finding your breast.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he rasps, voice like gravel and honey. “Gonna give you every damn inch.”

And he does—again and again—until you’re unraveling in his arms, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. He follows fast, hips stuttering against your backside, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot and shaky.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you from behind and holds you there against the counter, both of you breathless, tangled in lace and heat and quiet laughter.

You tilt your head back against him. “So... still mad about the boot?”

Joel chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.

“Only ‘cause now I gotta start checkin’ all my shoes.”

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[pedroscurls]

stranded (one-shot)

summary: your car breaks down on the side of the road and a stranger decides to help you out... and you have no choice but to accept his help.

pairing: no outbreak/dark!joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), DUBCON - please read at own risk / heed warnings!, stockholm syndrome, unprotected p in v, rough sex, manhandling, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial, begging, creampie, joel ties you up, spanking, light choking, fingering, age gap (reader is in 30s, joel is in 50s), no use of y/n. word count: 5.1k a/n: and here's yet another story where i'm stepping out of my comfort zone. i've always wanted to write dark!joel, but felt like i couldn't do it justice... but then ali's (@pedgito) hosting a writing challenge (spring fever) and i figured... why not? i chose backwoods horror #1 STRANDED/SIDE OF THE ROAD. please heed the warnings, y'all. this is gonna be very dark and filthy, so if you're not into that sort of thing, that's ok!

You had no idea what you were thinking—taking a solo cross country road trip after quitting your job. Maybe you thought that you’d find yourself, find some kind of purpose that was lacking in your life, but instead, you’re stranded on the side of the road. Gas empty, no cell service, and phone already on its last battery. 

This is where you’re going to die—you’re sure of it. It’s how all horror movies start and despite the sun still high in the sky, you’re increasingly getting worried about what could happen when night falls. You scream at the top of your lungs, the sound echoing through the vast empty void. 

God, no one would hear you scream for help if you were in real danger and that thought simply frightens you. Your friends had all but praised you for this trip—this journey to self-discovery and reflection. Your parents, on the other hand, had already been concerned when you said you would be alone on this trip. A woman, traveling the world by herself? Well, that’s just asking for trouble, they said. 

And now you understand their concern. You understand their fear about you traveling all alone because of where you are now—in the middle of fucking nowhere. You should have refilled your gas when you had the chance, should have charged your phone while you were driving. Should have, should have, should have. 

10%—your phone reads. You try to send a text to your parents, to send them your location, but every attempted text just comes back with the message in red text and an exclamation point next to it: NOT DELIVERED! You raise your phone in the sky, hoping that maybe you’ll get one bar of service, but no luck. 

The trip had been successful, up until this point. You were in Texas, that you were sure of. But where in Texas? You had no fucking clue. 

You lean against the side of your car—the sun glaring down at you and you can feel a thin sheet of sweat on the side of your neck. Why did you think this was even a good idea? Traveling cross country without a plan—how fucking naive. 

Your battery drains fast and your phone finally shuts off. You let out a quiet sigh of frustration and open the passenger door of your car to toss your useless phone inside. Just as you’re about to climb in, you hear a faint noise of a car engine. Suddenly, you feel hopeful—maybe you won’t die here after all.

The sudden excitement that you feel overpowers the possibility that what you’re doing is absolutely dangerous. You’re waving your arms in the air, trying to track down the person in the car who’s making their way in your direction. It’s possible that this person whose truck is slowing down as it nears you could very well be a serial killer, but what choice did you have? 

The truck pulls up behind your car and quickly, you run over to your savior. Your hero. 

“Hi. My car’s dead, my phone’s dead, and I just need a lift to the next gas station... Or any place where I can use a phone to give someone a call,” you blurt out, breathing heavily. 

He turns his head slightly in your direction—eyes gazing at your face, then down to your shoulders and the rest of your body that he can see from the driver’s side. You’re leaning against the opened window of the passenger side of the truck. You don’t belong here, he knows that for sure. 

“Next gas station is in the next town over,” he finally answers. 

“Could you give me a lift there? I can pay you. Let me just grab my things and—”

“No need,” he interrupts, voice low. “I’m headin’ in that direction anyway. Get in.”

You grin and Joel’s jaw ticks briefly. God, you’re beautiful and it’s truly been a long time since he’s been with—

“Promise you won’t kill me?” you laugh, climbing into his truck and interrupting his thoughts. 

Joel finally takes in the rest of your frame and can immediately feel his length stirring beneath his dark jeans. His hands grip the steering wheel to ease some pressure, but you’re still talking and you’re laughing and it shoots straight to the center of his pants. It must be his lucky day. 

“If I were to kill you, I don’t think I’d be confessing that, darlin’,” he answers—the corners of his lips lift slightly. Oh, you had no idea what you just got into by climbing into his truck. 

“Right,” you reply. “That’s a good point.” You look at him—taking note of his damp hair that’s slicked away from his face, his broad frame, salt and pepper patchy beard. You realize that he must be in his fifties, but you can’t help but notice how handsome he is. That’s a good sign, you think. He won’t hurt you. He’s going to drop you off in the next town and hopefully, you’ll be able to head back home in the morning. 

“I’m guessing you live around here?” you ask, feeling the truck move back onto the main street. You glance out the window, watching your car become smaller and smaller as Joel drives further away from it. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Guessin’ you ain’t from around here.”

“That obvious?” 

He just nods. Joel needs to focus on the road ahead of him. He has to make it seem like he’s not a threat, like he’s not just about to take you directly to his home. His secluded home. 

You introduce yourself formally, telling him your name and turning your body to face him. “What’s your name?”

“Joel.”

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” you smile in his direction and Joel glances at you from the corner of his eyes. 

“Not much to say.”

“Well, how long is the drive to the next town? If you don’t have music, I’m gonna end up talking. I don’t usually like it when it’s too quiet on a drive and—”

“It’s about fifteen minutes,” he interrupts. “Radio is busted.” 

“So talking it is then.”

“No use in talkin’ if we ain’t gonna be seein’ each other after this.” 

“I guess you’re right,” you answer with a sigh. You try to remain quiet, fidgeting with your hands as you stare out the window. Every few seconds or so, you glance over at him and you can’t fully read his expression. He’s so stoic that there’s a part of you that feels like an inconvenience to him. Maybe he should have just kept on driving. 

“How long were you stranded for?” Joel asks. 

“About a couple of hours. Couldn’t get reception to call someone.”

“Yeah, phones don’t work out here.” Joel shrugs. “You eat anythin’ yet?” 

You shake your head. “Skipped breakfast this morning to get on the road.”

“My place is just a couple of minutes away,” Joel says. “I need to grab a few things. Got some food and water for you,” he offers. 

You smile and reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. It’s an innocent gesture, but it makes Joel shift in the driver’s seat. Your touch is so soft, so gentle and he flexes his arm underneath your fingertips. “You’re sweet, Joel. That sounds great. I am starving.” 

Joel bites back a smirk. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

Your hand drops from his arm and there’s a subtle frown that settles on his lips before he pulls off the main road. Within minutes, Joel pulls up to his secluded home. When he shuts off the car, he looks over at you and you’re still smiling. 

“This is a cute place, Joel,” you tell him, climbing out of the truck. 

He follows you and rounds the truck until he’s standing behind you. His fingers itch to reach out to touch you—especially when you raise your arms over your head to stretch, the ends of your shirt lifting just above the waistband of your denim shorts. He wants to touch every inch of you and he lets out a quiet grunt when you accidentally fall back against him. 

“Sorry,” you say, looking over at him from over your shoulder. 

“S’fine,” Joel mumbles and then walks past you to walk towards his front door. He unlocks it and opens it for you, watching you step across the threshold as you look around with curiosity. 

“It’s very dark in here,” you point out, walking further into his home. You see a light switch on the wall and flip it on, illuminating his entire home. Surprisingly, Joel’s large hand encompasses your wrist in a tight grip. You let out a quiet gasp and turn around to look up at him—eyes wide, lips slightly parted. 

“You always like to make yourself comfortable in a stranger’s home?” he asks with a threatening tone. 

“S–sorry,” you whisper, trying to pull your wrist away from his grip but he doesn’t budge. His grip just tightens. “Joel, you’re hurting me.”

“Pretty little thing,” he mumbles, stepping closer to you. “It’s like you were waitin’ f’me out there,” Joel says quietly. 

“Joel—”

“Shh.” Joel brings a finger up to your lips and his eyes drift down, moving his thumb to brush against you. “Shh, baby.” 

“I think I want to leave now,” you answer. “I think I just want to head into town and—”

“Oh darlin’,” he grins. “Ain’t no town for at least another fifty or some miles.” 

“B–But you said—”

“Guilty,” Joel interrupts, turning you so that your back presses against the wall. He cages you in, hand still gripping your wrist as the other comes up to rest gently over your throat. “M’sorry I lied to ya.” 

Your eyes widen in horror, the realization finally hitting you like a freight train. You had spent most of the drive admiring him—his broad frame, his quiet and mysterious nature, his large hands that gripped the steering wheel, his husky southern accent—that you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

This was a bad idea. 

Getting into his truck was a bad fucking idea. 

“I just want to go home,” you whisper. “Please just let me go home and—”

“Shh,” he repeats. Joel steps closer to you, his nose brushing against your own. “Gonna keep you here all to myself. Been a while since I had a little plaything like yourself.” 

You shake your head. “Please, I’ll give you all the money I have back in my car.”

“Don’t want your money. Want you.” 

“Joel—”

“Love the way my name comes out of your mouth, darlin’. Say it again.”

You shake your head, closing your mouth shut. You know you’re in danger, but you’re not sure why you feel a familiar wetness pool between your legs. Your body is responding to him—to this stranger… this handsome fucking stranger who can easily strangle you if he wanted to. 

“Say. It. Again,” he repeats.

“Joel,” you whisper. 

“Good girl,” Joel grins proudly. He drops his hand from your throat and releases his grip around your wrist. He stares into your eyes, searching for any hesitation or any inclination that you’re going to run and leave. He sees your eyes flicker to the front door and he narrows his eyes—his large hand once more coming up to splay against your throat. Joel applies just a bit of pressure and he watches your eyes go wide again. “Wouldn’t think about it, if I were you.” 

You beg with your eyes—apologetic and pleading for him to just let you go. “I’ll be good,” you mumble against his grip. “I promise. I–I’ll be good.”

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun,” Joel nods, releasing his grip around your throat. “And I bet if I were to reach between your legs, I’d feel just how fuckin’ wet you are f’me, won’t I?”

You shake your head in defiance. “N–No…” 

Joel lets out a chuckle. “Mmm, that so?” He tugs on the waistband of your denim shorts and pulls you to him. He’s so rough and there’s an excitement that courses through your veins. He tugs down your shorts and panties down your legs, looking down at your white lacy thong with a grin. He can see a blotch of wetness and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply as he lets out a contented sigh. “I bet you taste fuckin’ good too,” he whispers. 

You suddenly feel self-conscious and your hands immediately move to try and tug down the end of your shirt to cover your lower half. Joel just shakes his head and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head against the wall. You squirm against his grip and he kicks your legs apart, stepping in front of you to keep them spread open. His free hand comes down and immediately runs the pads of his fingers across the length of your sex—your body betrays you because you let out a quiet whimper as you arch your back against his touch. 

“Wet,” he points out. “You like this, don’t you?” 

You shake your head. 

“Liar,” he chuckles. Joel wastes no time in sliding two of his thick fingers past your folds—your warm, tight, and so fucking wet that a large grin spreads across his lips. 

You squirm against him at the sudden and rough intrusion, eyes gazing up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust and more than likely sinister thoughts, but you can’t help but notice his grin and the cute fucking dimple that appears on his cheek. You shouldn’t like this, but your body is yearning for more. Yearning for him. 

Joel’s thick fingers plunge into you repeatedly—his other hand gripping your wrists so tight above your head that you’re sure there’s going to be bruises. You shut your eyes tightly, keeping your lips in a thin line and forcing yourself to stay quiet because you know that if you make a sound, it’s only going to fuel him further. 

His eyes stare deeply at you and you’re so wet that Joel’s fingers pump into you with ease. He can see you struggling against his grip and he leans closer, lips near your ear as he whispers huskily. “Lemme hear you, baby.” 

You shake your head in defiance, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. You suck in a breath when his thumb brushes against your clit and a quiet—almost inaudible—moan escapes your lips. 

“Ah, darlin’,” Joel grins, gently nipping at your earlobe. His grip around your wrists loosen just slightly and he’s distracted, yearning to pull more sounds out of you and it gives you just the right moment to push him away. You miss his fingers immediately, a loud squelch echoing the walls when his fingers slip out of you. 

With as much strength as you can muster, you shove him so hard that he stumbles backwards with a grunt. You look around haphazardly, eyes wide, heart beating out of your chest. You’re very well aware that your lower half is bare, but you think maybe you can make a run for it—you just need to grab his keys, run out the door into his truck and drive away. 

You glance over your shoulder and Joel chuckles. He fucking laughs at your poor attempt at running away because he takes three strides in your direction and takes a fistful of your hair. You let out a loud yelp and he’s already quick to bend you over the back of his couch—the edge of it digging into your lower abdomen.

You’re already trying to squirm away, but his grip in your hair tightens and pain rushes through you. You’re about to beg him to stop, to beg him to let you go, but you feel his free hand connect with your backside. The slap reverberates through your entire being and the sound of his hand coming in contact with your ass echoes through his quiet home. 

“You just got here, baby,” he growls—he doesn’t let up, your skin already reddening with each spank. “You can’t leave me yet.”

“I–I–” you mumble and your body reacts automatically, pushing back into him. “Please!” 

“M’gonna have to tie you up, I think,” Joel grins. “Just to make sure you don’t pull that shit again.”

Your ass is beginning to sting and you try to scramble away, but Joel pulls you upright against him. His large hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into you as he uses your body to rub his bulge against you. 

“I think you’re gonna feel real good around me,” he whispers into your hair, hand sliding over your abdomen and down between your legs. “You’re actin’ like you ain’t enjoyin’ this, but you’re so fuckin’ wet f’me.” 

He begins to circle your clit with the pads of his fingers and it causes your back to arch against him, hands darting out to rest on the edge of the couch. A loud moan finally escapes your lips and Joel lets out a low growl at the sound—he wants to hear more of it, craves more of it. 

“From the way you’re squirmin’,” he continues, “Makes me wonder if you’ve been neglected.” 

You shake your head—lying.  

“Oh? Got a boyfriend back home, hm?” 

You shake your head again.

“Poor little thing,” Joel mumbles, head dipping down to the side of your neck as he presses his soft lips against you. It causes a shiver to run through you—his soft lips and his rough beard. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m here now. I’ll take care of ya.”

You’re an absolute mess by the time Joel’s done with you. You’re lying on his mattress, hands bound by rope and attached to the headboard. You’re completely bare for him and he’s brought you to the edge of orgasm too many times to count that you’re practically begging for some release. 

His hands are surprisingly gentle when he settles himself back between your legs and it causes you to flinch. His fingertips brush against your hardened nipples, dark bruises already forming around it from his love bites—he liked to call it. 

“You’re soakin’ my sheets, honey,” he grins. 

“Then let me fucking come!” you retaliate with a huff. Your eyes go wide the minute it leaves your mouth and you’re already trying to scramble away from him, despite being all tied up. 

Joel laughs again. “You’re cute when you’re angry, baby… but let’s not forget who’s in charge here.” 

He finally pulls the ends of his shirt over his head and you lift your own head off the pillow to get a good look at him. There’s no way this fucking man is in his fifties—you shake your head of the thoughts that begin to fill your mind. He has you here held captive and you’re sure that he’s going to kill you once he’s gotten what he needed. 

But you can’t help it. 

Joel’s fucking gorgeous. 

Is this what Stockholm syndrome is? Attracted to your captor? Whatever the fuck it is, you’re squirming impatiently. There’s a dull throb between your legs, an ache, a need for him to give you what you need. 

And he smiles. The same fucking dimple that appeared earlier that day is now in full display because Joel knows he’s got you right where he wants you. 

“Gonna be a good girl f’me? No more fightin’ back?” Joel begins, reaching down to tug his boxers down his strong legs. Once the fabric is gone from his body, your eyes widen once more at the sheer size of him. Girthy. Leaking at the tip. You’re not sure if it’d fit inside of you and Joel notices a flicker of uncertainty flash across your features. “We’ll make it fit, baby. Don’t you worry.”

You whimper quietly in response, feeling him brush his rounded tip against your opening. You try to wiggle your hips down, yearning for more, but he just pulls back and shakes his head. 

“Please,” you plead. You bat your eyes at him, gazing at him under the rim of your eyelashes. It’s a poor attempt at begging, at looking innocent because you look anything but that. 

Joel just lets a small smile line his lips before he pulls away and mounts your upper half. You clear your throat—the size of him this close almost threatening. 

“Don’t be gettin’ shy on me now,” he growls lowly. “Been pleasuring you for a while now, so it’s only fair that you return the favor.” 

“I–I haven’t come yet. Please just let me come and I’ll do anything—”

Joel clicks his tongue and runs the tip of his manhood across your mouth, smirking at the sight of his precome now on your lips. “You ain’t the one in charge here.” He pushes his tip past your lips and lets out a low groan. One hand moves to grip the headboard ahead of him as his other hand keeps a steady grip around the base of his length. “Open wider f’me,” he whispers. 

You have no choice but to obey—parting your lips wider and feeling more of his manhood slide into your mouth. You can feel the corners of your mouth stretch due to his girth. It isn’t long before he pushes further into your mouth, feeling him hit the back of your throat and you gag almost instantly. Tears sting your eyes and he only gives you a few seconds to breathe before he pushes back into you. 

You squeeze your legs together, trying to alleviate some pressure that has been building and building between your legs and the pit of your stomach. You glance up in his direction only to see Joel with his head tilted back, chest and neck exposed, and his eyes completely shut. A quiet groan escapes his lips as he begins to move his hips forward and backward—you swirl your tongue around him, hollow your cheeks and it causes him to moan loudly. 

And fuck, it’s a beautiful sound to come out of him. 

He’s moaning. He’s deep in his own pleasure. 

And it’s all because of you. 

By the time he pulls out of your mouth, Joel’s eyes snap open to look down at you. Lips swollen, tears streaking down the corner of your eyes. You’re so distracted by your desire to come that you don’t realize what could possibly happen once he’s done with you. 

You’re going to die. 

Joel is going to fucking kill you. 

And this cross country road trip you had originally planned was a stupid fucking idea. 

Joel sees a look of fear flash across your features and it only makes him smile, makes his cock jerk at the sight of you. He moves down your body and settles himself between your legs again. 

“Gonna fill you up now,” Joel nods. “And you’re gonna lie there and take it like a good girl.” 

You nod. 

His hand comes up to grip your chin roughly, staring into your eyes. “Say it.” 

“I–I’ll be good. I’ll take it like a good girl and—”

Without warning, Joel pushes fully into you in one stroke. You feel your body jerk upwards at the sudden intrusion and you’re lucky that you’re so wet because while he slides in so easily, you can’t help but feel the painful stretch to give way to his size. Your hands try to wiggle out of the bondage, but the rope just digs further into your skin—it’s like he expertly tied you in a way that the more you struggle, the tighter it gets. 

Joel’s hand moves from your chin to cup your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple as he remains still for a moment. “Feel so good,” he whispers, head dipping lower to brush his nose against yours. He can hear you panting heavily, lips parted slightly. “Like you were made f’me.” 

Then, Joel pulls out to his tip only to slam himself back into you. He repeats this movement multiple times and your moans—the ones that you’ve tried so desperately to hold back—finally escape your lips and mix in with the sounds of his skin slapping against yours. 

The bed rocks against the wall—his thrusts are so rough and you’re sure that your entire body is going to ache for the next few days. 

That is if you’re still alive by then.  

One hand moves to your hip as the other moves to wrap around your neck. He applies a bit of pressure to cut off your oxygen and you gasp, eyes wide as you stare up at him. 

Begging. 

Pleading. 

Not for him to stop… 

…but for more. 

Joel grins at that and continues his thrusts, the sensation of your walls sliding along his length only urging him closer and closer to release. He can feel the tightness in the pit of his stomach begin to unravel and he pulls out, not yet wanting to be done with you. 

When Joel does pull out of you, he releases his grip around your throat and hears you take one deep breath. You’re breathing heavily and he looks between your legs—so fucking wet, so swollen and he taps your clit gently with the tip of his manhood only to see you squirm. 

You’re sensitive, he thinks to himself with a grin. 

“Joel,” you whisper. At this rate, you don’t care if you die. Having him bring you on the edge of an orgasm only to stop is worse, you’re sure of it. 

“Gonna keep you here forever,” Joel says with a dark gaze. “You’re mine now. You understand?” 

You clear your throat and nod slowly—anything to get him to make you come. “Y–Yes, yours.” 

“Doesn’t sound too convincing.” 

“Fuck, Joel! Please,” you beg. “I don’t care what you do to me, please just let me come…” 

Joel chuckles—dark, sinister. He leans down and lightly pecks your lips before he climbs off the bed to look at you from top to bottom. “Like I said, you ain’t the one in charge here.” 

Your eyes stare at him and you notice the way his manhood stands fully erect, glistening with your arousal. He follows your gaze and smirks, reaching down to tug on it. “This what you want?” 

You nod. “Please.” 

“So if I untie you, you gonna be a good girl and obey?” Joel contemplates, still stroking the base of his length. His hand doesn’t feel as good as being inside of you and he almost loses his resolve. 

But he doesn’t. 

Joel’s patient. 

“Y–Yes, please,” you plead once more. 

“Love hearin’ you beg, darlin’,” he grins. Joel slowly reaches over and begins to untie the rope around your wrists but he makes sure that his attention is focused on you. He needs to make sure that you’re not going to run again. 

Once the rope is finally undone, you roll your wrists and touch the bruises around it. You flinch and then look up at him—eyes still pleading. 

“One wrong move and I’m tyin’ you up again. You hear me?” Joel growls, seeing you move to sit up. You nod in agreement and he tugs on your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed with such force that you let you a quiet yelp. 

Joel flips you onto your abdomen and grabs your hips, lifting you up so that you’re now on all fours on his mattress. He comes up behind you and slides into you with warning—again. 

A loud moan escapes your lips and you fall forwards—cheek resting against his mattress, eyes fully shut tight, and your hands gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles turn white. 

“Feel even tighter this way,” Joel points out with a grunt. 

Your toes curl at his rough assault against you. It’s like he’s possessed, so territorial and so animalistic that his thrusts drive you further into the mattress. You wanted this, but you can’t help the pain that shoots through you at his size. Joel’s by far the biggest you’ve ever had and it wasn’t like you had a healthy sex life before this. 

“Fuck!” You scream, now trying to scramble away from him because it’s too much. He’s edged you for too long that you’re sure you can’t even get there—your body is humming and you can feel the familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach. You’re close and Joel knows. 

He laughs and grips your hips, pulling back onto him with such force that you arch your back. Joel grabs your arms and pins them at your lower back as he pulls your body forward and backward against him. He glances down and sees just how wet you are—the hair at his base completely damp from your arousal. 

“You wanted to come… then fuckin’ come,” Joel groans, pulling you up against his chest. He grunts into your ear as he keeps your arms pinned at your lower back. His other hand reaches around and dips lower to begin circling your clit against the pads of his fingertips. 

You moan so loud that it echoes throughout his home. Your head tilts back against his shoulder and he drags his teeth across the side of your neck—both your bodies now covered in a thin sheet of sweat. 

“J–Joel, I–,” a loud sob escapes your lips when you finally reach your orgasm. Your body shakes against his own and his thrusts don’t let up—still hammering into you from behind and using your slickness and tightened walls to bring himself closer to his own release. 

“Fuck,” he groans against you, releasing your arms and pinning you back onto the mattress. His hips sling against your own—Joel is literally fucking you into the mattress and you’re already so fucking sensitive that you try to move away. 

Fuck him. If he wanted to deny you of your orgasm, you can do the same to him. 

But it’s no use. Joel’s so much stronger and his large hands grip your hips so tightly that you feel pain from it. 

“S’cute,” he says in between thrusts. “Thinkin’ you can run away.” Joel grunts lowly, chasing his own orgasm. “Can promise you one thing, baby…” He slams into you once more and releases his warm seed into you—paints your tight and wet walls with his come. He leans forward, pushing further into you as his tip kisses your cervix. “You ain’t ever leavin’ me.” 

He presses soft kisses along your shoulder before he pulls out, watching with a smirk to see his come trickle out of you and down your legs. 

“You’re stranded, darlin’. Ain’t no one comin’ to save you,” Joel grins. “And I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ���fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N—.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair disheveled and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[flemursworld]

Babysitting

Summary: Your worrying father gets his best friend Joel to look after you for the night, but what he doesn’t know, is that Joel ends up looking after you a different way.

Notes: Okay so this is my first time ever writing smut or anything really so please be kind. This will not be a fic, just a little story I thought would be fun to write. I’m still kinda getting my head around how to work tumblr so I’m sorry if this isn’t great. Thank you for reading though!

Warnings: Age gap (reader 20s/ Joel 50s) , strong language, dbf, spanking, unprotected priv sex, LOTS of smut, tension, creampie and slight degradation.

~~

“Dad, I think you’re forgetting that I’m actually not twelve anymore and well capable of takin’ care of myself.” You said with a scowl. Your dad was going away for the weekend on a work trip and insisted that Joel stay with you in the house. You were twenty two years old for Christ sakes, a senior in college, studying film, you didn’t need a babysitter.

“Hon I’m well aware of your age, I just don’t feel comfortable leavin’ you here on your own for the weekend with all the break- ins recently. It ain’t safe.” He said shaking his head as he threw in two pairs of folded jeans into his suitcase, the same ones he wore every fucking week. You guys lived in a small town in Austin, Texas and after your dad hearing about one, singular, tiny break in a neighbourhood close to yours, he insisted on you not staying by yourself. Your dad raised you on his own, your mom leaving when you were just a baby. Because of this your dad was a tad bit too overprotective of you. And as sweet as it was, it did get pretty annoying at times.

You rolled your eyes and ran your hand through your hair. “This is seriously humiliating for me, you realise that?” It wasn’t like you didn’t like Joel, you liked him a lot in fact. Too much probably. You have known him since you were a kid, from your dad being friends with him since highschool. He hadn’t had any kids, was married once but you don’t remember. They divorced after a year of marriage. The name of his ex Wife escapes you. He was a typical southern middle aged guy. Into his football, drank lots of beer and absolutely loved country even though he would never admit it. He was the regular scowly dinner guest, the brooding figure grumbling about football to your dad at the holiday barbecues. A family friend. Someone who was very much off limits to catch feelings for. But you just couldn’t help it. Those piercing brown eyes, curly salt and pepper hair, extremely manly biceps from years of manual labour. Nobody can blame a girl for looking, even if it was at your dad’s best friend.

“Listen angel, I’ve already made my mind up and ain’t changin’ it. That’s final.” He said with a stern look, alongside a wink.

“Bein’ babysat by Joel. Jesus.” You mumbled shaking your head. “Now what’s so bad about bein’ babysat by Joel huh?” A voice from behind you drawled. You spun around and a blush crept onto your cheeks to be met with Joel, one hand on his hip and a teasing smirk on his pink lips. He was standing in your doorway wearing the same kind of outfit he always wore. A light blue denim shirt alongside a pair of dark jeans, a duffel bag clutched in the hand that wasn’t on his hips.

“Well look at that, your hurtin’ poor old Joel’s feelings now honey.” You dad chuckled out, zipping up his suitcase and clapping a hand hard down on Joel’s back.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head to try get the blush off of your cheeks. The nervousness you felt around Joel was beyond embarrassing, it made you feel like a lovesick teenager. “Sorry about that. Just talkin’ to my dad about how unnecessary it is to have a baby sitter when you’re a senior in college. No hard feelings cowboy.”

“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” Your dad says, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’ll be back Monday mornin’.” You smiled up at him and watched him walk for the door, giving Joel another manly pat on the back and some grumble of a thank you to him before leaving and shutting the door. Just you and Joel.

“So uh.. I don’t know if my dad already told you but your sleepin’ in his room so..” You said awkwardly sitting down on your couch as if it wasn’t yours. Joel stood around the door way and smirked at you before sitting down on the armchair across from you. “He told me.” He grumbled, nodding his head as if he were amused.

“So.. just us for the weekend then huh?” He mused, spreading his legs comfortably. From the way he looked at you, it was almost like he was trying to seduce you. Ever since you turned twenty two, there’s been a few moments between the two of you that have led you to believe there was something between you two. What that something is? You don’t know. A tension in the air that feels like a magnetic force pulling your eyes to him. To the curve of his jaw and the muscles in his biceps. You would sometimes catch his stare on you, your cleavage if you wore a particular top that accentuated your breasts. The way you would catch his gaze on the dip of your hips or your thighs.

You looked up at him through your eyebrows and smirked softly, biting down on your lip. You averted your gaze from him, trying not to make you staring too obvious. “Mhm. You must be lookin’ forward to.. babysittin’ me.” You said, your tone coming out unintentionally flirty, quickly clearing your throat to make it less obvious.

To your surprise he brushes over it, clearing his throat and looking away before answering. “You know I don’t mind, you’re a real good girl.”

Good girl. Fuck. Him. It’s almost like he knows what he’s doing, knows how he affects you and says these things purely to watch the way your cheeks redden. You could feel his gaze drip down from your face to your thighs, lingering their for a moment before snapping back up to you face.

“Stop.” You snapped out, smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. You let the words slip before being able to stop yourself.

“What?” He says, straightening up in the arm chair. He almost looked startled that you had told him to stop. Acknowledged the flirting, the way he was intentionally making you nervous.

“Stop doin’ that.”

“Doin’ what?” He muses.

“That!” You say, pointing frantically at him. “That- lookin’ at me like that- talkin’ to me like that.” You said, letting out a giggle.

He was quiet for a beat, looking between you and the ground. He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, as if he were trying to pick his next teasing sentence carefully.

“I ain’t tryin’ to make ya nervous.”

“Nervous? Who said you were making me nervous?” You say, propping your elbow up on the arm of the couch and resting your cheek on your hand. Your tone was challenging. Two could play this game.

Joel shook his head, a smirk threatening to form on his face, tugging at the corners of his lips. His stood up suddenly and marched into the kitchen enjoined with your living room. He grabbed a glass and poured in some whiskey, filling it with more whiskey than necessary. You appreciated the way the muscles in his biceps and back moved while he poured the drink. He then walked back over to you, but this time sat down on the couch next to you.

“You’re playing with fire sweetheart.” He claims with a shake of his head.

“Playing with fire? I think you’re the one with playing with fire sweetheart. You’re the one practically eye fucking your best friends daughter.” You muse, moving your hand up Joel’s leg and tracing your fingers delicately over the denim of his jeans. You don’t know what has given you the audacity to be so bold with him. It was so out of the blue, so out of character but for some reason you couldn’t help yourself.

You hear the hitch of his breath and before you knew it, he had you pulled over his lap, ass up in the air eliciting a yelp from you. “You wanna be a brat baby?” He says, a slap landing on your ass. He grabbed the bottom of your skirt and hiked it up to your waist, exposing your very not sexy panties. They were full butt, white cotton with pink bows on them. Just casual everyday panties. Your cheeks burned even thinking about him seeing them. He soothed the redness on your ass cheek and landed one more on your other cheek, making you whimper in his lap. “So fuckin’ sweet huh?” He remarks. You can only assume he’s referring to your panties.

“Joel,” You choked out, biting down hard on your lip when another smack landed on your ass. The feeling of white hotness pooling in your core was enough to make you whimper again, pressing your facing into the couch cushions.

“Shh,” He cooed “I know baby girl, we’ll fix that. Gonna make that pussy feel real good.” He says sitting you up so you were straddling his lap. “Is that what you want?” His tone is gentle but also quite firm, wanting to make sure you really do want this. You nod frantically, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Need you to tell me honey. Tell me what you want.” He says moving his hand up to cup your jaw so you were looking directly at him.

“Want you.. want you to eat my.. my pussy.. please?” You say almost pathetically. You could feel the puffiness of your pussy underneath your underwear, clit swollen and aching for some kind of friction. A dark, almost mocking chuckle left Joel’s mouth. If you weren’t so turned on right now, you would probably slap him.

“Good girl. See all you had to do was ask nicely.” He says, flipping you gently onto your stomach, off of his lap. You ass once again, goes up in the air, skirt still bunched up at your waist. You feel Joel behind you on the couch and you are suddenly aware of your situation. You are on your hands and knees on your father’s couch about to get your pussy eaten by his best friend. But in some dark, twisted way, you almost like the thrill of it. Knowing it’s so wrong, that you are both crossing so many lines, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Joel kneels behind you and carefully slides your panties down your thighs, allowing your to step out of them, and then repeats the action with your skirt. He then leans down and presses a kiss to your ass cheek, making you shiver.

“Just relax for me baby. Wanna treat this pussy real good.” He coos, spreading your ass cheeks to expose your pussy. You hear an almost animalistic groan behind you and then feel his thumb on your clit.

“Look at this pussy. All puffy and wet huh? This all for me angel?”

God. He just used the nickname your father calls you. This is fucking filthy, but so good at the same time. “Please Joel.” You cry out softly, your hips bucking back into his hand, needing, yearning for more friction from his thumb.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Without warning he slides his tongue into your tongue. A cry escapes your lips and his thumb continues working your clit in slow, agonising circles while his tongue plunged in and out of your dripping cunt. He drawls praises that just circle around your head, too fucked to make out what he was saying. He then suddenly pulls his tongue out and sits you up on his lap again.

“Please Joel.. need you..” You whine almost pathetically, grabbing onto his biceps like you would fall if you didn’t.

“I know baby, gonna give you what you need.” He muses, reaching down beneath your bodies and undoing his belt and pulling the zipper of his jeans down. His bulge was evident in his pants, straining against his boxers. Your mouth almost watered with anticipation. He pulled his jeans off alongside his boxers, his cock springing free against his stomach.

Fuck this man was big. Bigger than any other guy you had slept with. Eight inches kind of big, at least. You were snapped out of your thoughts by a hand on your jaw, forcing your gaze up from his cock to his face.

“You want this baby girl?” He says, wrapping a hand around his cock and positioning it at your opening, tip brushing against your clit intentionally. The look on his face was serious, firm. Lust filled eyes and need straining to break free, but the fact that he wanted to make sure this was what you really wanted made you feel safe in his arms.

“Yes.. please Joel..” You whimper out. That was all it took and before you knew it, he was helping you sink down onto his cock. A cry escaped your mouth, the fullness and slight sting from his length hurt so good. Joel let you adjust for a minute, holding you by the waist tightly, other hand cradling the back of your neck.

“That’s it honey. Just feel it.”

“Look at this pretty pussy, so full.”

“Atta girl, rock those hips just like that. Take what you need.”

His praises and touches were intoxicating, you felt as if you were on cloud nine, floating in the air. The drawl of that velvet smoothie accent in your ear was enough to send you right over the edge, your hips bucking erratically to chase that high. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, almost begging to spill. White flashes of ecstasy clouded your vision, your pussy spasming, rippling around his cock. You fell forward against his chest. You can’t remember the last time you came that hard, or came at all for that matter. His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against his chest.

“Gonna.. fuck.. gonna come baby girl.” He mutters in your ear, a low groan falling from his parted lips. “Inside me.. I’m on the pill.” That was all it took for him. You felt his release spill inside of you, eliciting a low, soft moan from you.

He cradled you in his lap, hand wrapped around the back of your neck the other on your lower back. He placed hot kisses to your neck and collarbone, whispering soft words into your ear.

You have a feeling this weekend of babysitting won’t be as bad as you thought.

~~

Notes: Okay so this is absolute ASS so please don’t judge me, as I said it’s my first time writing. Please let me know what you think and if there’s any tips y’all have PLEASE don’t be shy to recommend them to me. Thank you for reading !

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Birthday Blues✨

Jackson! Joel Miller x bartender fem! reader

A/N: This is a little one-shot I did for @justagalwhowrites Joel Miller’s birthday celebration writing challenge! I had so much fun with this one and love it so much. I hope you enjoy! This one is all in Joel’s POV 🩵

Summary: Joel spends his birthday sulking on the porch, regretting the mistakes of his past. Just when he thinks he’ll spend his birthday alone, you come around and turn his cloudy skies into sunshine.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: Lots of angst, Joel’s POV, Jackson! Joel, losing Ellie, regrets, no use y/n, fluff, yearning, angst/comfort, lots of feelings, Joel’s birthday, age gap (Joel is 54, reader is 30)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The wooden rocking chair creaks like a rundown, abandoned building, making the old floorboards of the porch groan beneath him with every shaky breath he takes. The acoustic guitar feels like a heavy anchor in his arms as he thinks about those long afternoons when he’d teach Ellie how to play songs of his past. Now, it feels like sawdust under his calloused fingertips. Brittle and old. Just like he is.

   September twenty-sixth. The day he can’t fucking stand anymore. The day he was brought into this unapologetic world, not realizing he’d lose himself along the way.

   Birthdays were supposed to be spent with loved ones. A celebration of life. But what does he have to celebrate anymore? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t have anyone anymore. He’s just… alone. 

   Sarah is gone, dead. And Ellie… she wasn’t coming back. Not to his house, his doorstep. No. She’d just stay away like the plague. 

   Fifty-four-years-old. Just one step closer to being six feet underground. He wishes he was already dead because that’s how he feels. Hollow, broken, lonely. 

   God, he’s so fucking lonely. Ever since Ellie found out about the fireflies. About what he did…

   She hates his guts, hates the way he lied straight to her face for months, hates the reason he did it. She thinks he’s selfish and feels like she was used. But really, he only looks at it one way. 

   He saved her… And he’d do it a thousand times over if he had the choice. To lose another daughter. Well… he just couldn’t. So, he did the selfish thing and got her out of that hospital. Because if he lost her, he’d surely lose himself.

   But he already lost her. Lost himself, too. So why does any of this even matter? It’s useless. He’s useless. 

   He strums along to the melancholy tune, the frail strings sliding along calloused skin, echoing the quiet melody back into the cool autumn breeze of Jackson. Maybe Ellie would hear it, come running back with tears staining her hazel eyes, apologize for moving out and screaming at him to stay away. But she was the one that stayed away. He never wanted to…

   He just strums along and keeps playing. The song that he had written just for her. A song she probably hears in her nightmares now. Maybe it’d bring her back…

   He gets lost in the music, greying curls tousled by the wind, his green flannel clinging to his flexed biceps, broken military watch glistening in the dying orange sky. Just when he starts to get drowned out by the screaming voices in his head, a soft, lilty voice pulls him from the darkness.

   “Hey.”

   His head snaps up and his calloused fingers still from the sudden intrusion. When he sees who it is, he freezes in place. His jaw locked, eyes wide, teeth clenched together. It’s you. The pretty bartender who caught his eye the moment he stepped into Tipsy Bison that first he arrived in Jackson.

   There you are. Hair blowing gently in the brisk breeze, doe eyes locked on his, a half-smile curled against your glossy red lips. Jesus. You’re even more beautiful with the orange sun shining down on you, casting halos over the crown of your head. 

   You’re absolutely breathtaking.

   “Haven’t seen you around Tipsy Bison lately. Was wondering where you’ve been.” You look at him intently, questions spiraling in those pretty shades of moonlit eyes. 

   “Been a little busy, I guess,” he mumbles, keeping his fingers locked tight around the neck of the guitar. 

   “Got your whiskey waiting for you behind the bar. Been saving it just for you,” you smile sweetly, nearly making him drop to his knees at the sight.

   “Thanks, darlin’. You don’t gotta do that, though. Might as well jus’ give it to someone else,” he sighs, eyes dropping to his denim-clad lap. It’s been a while since he went and drowned his sorrows at the bar. He’d rather just do it in the comfort of his own home. A home that was empty now except for him.

   “You okay?” you ask, voice leery as your eyebrows thread together in worry. 

   “’m fine,” he states lowly, eyes hollow and weathered from the pain he wears like weights under his eyes day after day. He’s not fine. He’s far from fine. 

   When’s the last time someone asked if he was fine? He can’t even remember.

   “You don’t sound fine. You look… sad.” Your voice is quiet, subdued, and your eyes look like clouded skies with hurricanes and thunderstorms brewing ominously. You look just as sad as he feels. 

   You’re so empathetic and tuned into other people’s feelings. He wishes you’d stop that. Stop looking at him like he deserves to not feel like that. But again, It’s hard to look away when a beautiful girl who’s kind, caring, and all around good is standing right in front of him, asking him if he’s alright.

   “Reckon I am sad,” he finally mutters, eyes cast down to the fading paint of the wooden boards on the porch. But then he looks up again, and there you are. Beautiful eyes swallowing him whole.

   “You want to talk about it?” You lean against the stairwell on the porch, eyes boring into his, arms crossed over your soft blue jacket.

   He shakes his head and sighs. “Darlin’, I really don’t think you wanna sit here and listen to an old man talk ‘bout how he’s feelin’.”

   You shift your weight and flex your jaw, like he just punched you right in the gut. Fuck. He’s already ruining everything, but what you say next surprises him. “I’ve got time.”

   He stares at you a moment, feeling like he just got struck by lightning. You want to stay and listen? You’ve got time?

   “Why don’t you take a seat then? I don’t wanna bore you with my problems. And God forbid I waste more of your time,” he murmurs.

   You shuffle your way up the steps and sit slowly into the wooden rocking chair next to him. The one he crafted by hand. “Like I said, I’ve got time. I’m listening.” You smile softly at him, and he can’t help but to memorize the outline of your pretty face. Your deep dimples that appear whenever you’re grinning, your light freckles scattered across your nose. The ones you get from sitting out in the sun for too long. You always did love the sunlight. That’s something he picked up on quickly.

   He’s watched you for so long from a distance. Only really saying hi if he was stopping by the Tipsy Bison for a drink, maybe waving at you when you walked past him on the street, the casual back and forth glances the two of you would exchange every once in a while. 

   He’s shy, reserved, an introverted man that likes his space. But he’d have no problem sharing his space with you. Especially when you wear that flowery lavender scent that magnetizes him to you.

   After a moment of comfortable silence, he huffs out a heavy breath and begins. “Look, I’m not the best at talkin’. Especially ‘bout how I’m feelin’. But let’s make this short ‘n sweet. I know you got better places to be.”

   You lean back into the slant of the chair and rest your arm on the smooth armrest, smiling over at him with your sweet demeanor. “I don’t have anywhere to be, Joel. So take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

   He sets his guitar down and leans it against the edge of the porch, carefully scooting back into the worn chair. His thumb taps nervously against the armrest, but you just stay quiet and keep your eyes on him. It helps him breathe a little easier, he thinks. 

   Taking his time chewing over the words, he finally spills them. “I’ve made some stupid mistakes in the past that I can’t fix. No matter what I do, nothin’ is gonna change what happened.”

   You knit your eyebrows together like you’re mulling it over, guessing what he could be talking about. The way you bite your bottom lip and flick your eyes between the open mailbox that says Miller’s and back his way says you do know. “Are you talking about Ellie?” you ask hesitantly.

   “How did you know…”

   You shrug and push a piece of fallen hair behind the slope of your ear. He wishes he could be the one doing that. “This town is small, Joel. I notice things. It’s not a secret Ellie moved in with Dina.”

   He sighs deeply and pushes his fingers back through his slick hair, letting the tousled curls fall back into place. “Guess gossip gets ‘round fast here. Shit.” He lets his head hang low, cursing under his breath when he thinks about the way Ellie stormed off that day. She said she never wanted to speak to him again, and it hurt just as much as Sarah’s death.

   Your voice jolts him out of those dark thoughts. “Have you talked to her lately?”

   He clenches his jaw and shakes his head defeatedly, tears lining the back of his eyes as pain radiates down his spine. “It’s been over two months. She can’t even stand to look me in the eyes. Fuckin’ hates me, and it’s all my fault.”

   And there you go again. Looking at him like a lost puppy with those big doe eyes of yours. You make him so soft. Nobody else can do that. Not since Tess.

   “I don’t think she hates you.” 

   You place your dainty hand on the back of his for a few seconds. Warmth shoots through his skin, races down his bloodstream, nearly chokes him up when you retrieve it and place it back in your lap. In just those few seconds, he felt what it would be like if you were his. But that couldn’t happen. You’re far too young for him, a twenty-four year age gap, fresh out of your twenties. Just now thirty. You’re too pretty, too out of his league, too good. 

   You’re just too good for him. He’d never deserve a woman like you. Not after everything he’s done. 

   I don’t think she hates you. The words permeate and sizzle deep in his brain.

   “No? Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that jus’ ain’t the case,” he scoffs, kicking the heel of his worn boot into the porch to get his point across. 

   You twist your fingers together nervously and look up at him, sparkling eyes shining like starlight. “You know she asks about you, right?”

   His mouth gawks open, and he stares wonderstruck at you. “What?” He can’t believe his ears. “She… asks ‘bout me?”

   A faint smile lifts over your red lips. “Yeah. She sometimes comes up to me at the bar and asks if you’ve been in recently or if I’ve talked to you lately. She wonders about you, Joel.”

   His mouth feels like sandpaper, throat dry and closed up. Maybe the dry air will suffocate him before he gets his hopes up. “Why would she do that…”

   You shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s not my business to ask, but I don’t think she’ll stay away forever, Joel. No matter what you did or how bad you think it is, she’ll come around. I know she will.”

   His grip tightens against the armrest, nails digging like claws into the rustic wood. “I dunno. She really stuck it to me to leave her alone. Don’t think she wants me ‘round anymore. S’why I stayed away. She’ll never forgive me…” His voice is strained, sad, choked up like he forgot how to breathe. He wishes she’d forgive him. Just one word from her. That’s all he wants.

   “Give her time, Joel. I know she will,” you say encouragingly as the wind laces through your silky hair, blowing it just enough for him to see the pretty blush painting your cheeks pink.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   His deep bravado voice drops an octave as he looks up through glassy eyes at the sunshine of a woman sitting before him. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

   You just shrug and smile. “I just know, okay?”

   “Mmm.” Sitting back in his rocking chair, he thinks and thinks over your encouraging words, analyzing them like tiny jigsaw pieces. A puzzle that just can’t be put together. You never were the type to linger on sadness. Never seemed to let a rainy day cloud your joy. You were always so carefree, always bringing rainbows after destructive thunderstorms. Always just there.

   Slowly, steadily, your fingers curl around his dark green flannel, hooking underneath his bicep. And your eyes, like a warm summer’s day, shine brighter than he’s ever seen them shine before. Just like shimmering sparkles under a starlit sky. Embers and all. “Hope is like a migrating butterfly. It spreads its long wings and takes off in the morning sky. The butterfly may not return to the same place for quite some time, but it always seems to come back to the place it came from. Eventually, it returns home. She’ll come back, Joel. Ellie will come home.”

   His eyes cloud over, foggy from the tears building in his dark brown irises. And when one slips free and slides down his cheek, falling like a raindrop and landing on top of your hand, you don’t pull away. You stay. No one else had stayed. But here you are, smiling up at him like he’s the center of your gravity. Like he’s worth something to you. 

   And then something happens. Something he hasn’t done in so long. He smiles. He smiles at the pretty girl that turned his entire birthday upside down. He smiles because you stayed when no one else did.

   You stayed.

   “Think you jus’ might’ve struck some hope inside me after that speech, darlin’,” he drawls, brown eyes sparkling into yours.

   “Glad I could be of service,” you giggle, your hand brushing over the fabric of his soft flannel. And there you go. Giving him that breathtaking smile. He wishes you’d never leave.

   “Look at you. Ruinin’ my plans of sulkin’ for the rest of the evenin’.”

   You tilt your head and give him that look. A look like you want to drown out all his sorrows. “Why are you sulking in the first place?”

   Sighing loudly, he rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard and stares out into the void of the green and yellow leaves littering the ground. “‘Cause it’s my birthday. And I got nothin’ to celebrate.”

   You sit forward in your seat, drawing your hand back to your lap and staring all wide-eyed at him like you just can’t believe he’d be alone. “It’s your birthday?”

   “Mhm,” he hums, feeling the excruciating pain of losing Ellie all over again. 

   “What are you doing spending it alone, then?” you whisper, heartbreaking eyes tearing his soul in two.

   He pushes a hand painfully slow through his windblown curls and takes a deep breath as he thinks of that stupid fight he and Tommy got in. “Me and Tommy had a fight the other day. Reckon he doesn't wanna see me for a few more days after that. Maria’s on Tommy’s side. And Ellie… well. You know. Needless to say, I got no one to celebrate with.”

   Silence permeates through the cool air, a deafening noise that rings through his ears. He wishes you’d say something, anything. Break the lull that hangs like a thick, impenetrable wall in the sky. Maybe you too are having second thoughts of being here alone with him in his suffering.

   “Can you just… wait here for a few minutes?” you ask, pushing yourself up and hanging over the thresholds of his rickety porch.

   He takes a minute to digest your words, thinking you won’t come back. “I suppose. Not goin’ anywhere. Why?” he asks hesitantly, his voice hoarse from the thought of you disappearing too.

   “Just wait here. There’s something I forgot,” you plea, your pretty smile telling him you’ll be back.

   Before you take a step off the porch, he stops you. “You don’t have to, you know. Come back, I mean.”

   You give him a small smile, your hair blowing softly in the wind, tangling around your beautiful face. An angel cast in shadows from the purple and pink painted sunlit skies. “Nobody deserves to be alone on their birthday, Joel. Not even you,” you say in a soft, lilty voice. 

   You hang there a second, just watching each other. Waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. And eventually, you take that step off the porch. “Be right back! Just wait here,” you shout, running off into the sunset.

   “Alright,” he whispers, watching you go. And then you disappear down the street, practically sprinting back to your house or back to the bar. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he hopes you come back. 

   Please, come back. 

   He fidgets in his chair, trying his best not to pull out the greys from his tousled curls. His chest feels tight, like his button-up shirt is stifling the chilly air all around him. He feels choked up, like something is lodged deep in his throat. Feels like he drank too much whiskey, palms sweating against his jeans. 

   Lord knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t act like this means anything. But what if it does? What if this is everything he’s waited for? He shouldn’t yearn for you, shouldn’t pine mindlessly for the pretty bartender that’s way too young for him to be falling for. But he fell head over heels the first moment you said hi to him in the bar. Your smooth fingertips brushing against his when you passed him a glass of whiskey. It felt like fire smothering his insides, igniting dangerous feelings that he should’ve never developed in the first place. 

   He shouldn’t have fallen for you, but he did. And now, he was wrecked. 

   You come walking back just minutes later, your hands behind your back, something hidden behind your jacket. And when you make your way back up to the porch, you hold out a single muffin with a blue birthday candle placed right in the center.

   “What’s this?” he asks, eyes wide as you place it in the palm of his hand.

   “A blueberry muffin. I just made them this morning. I hope you like blueberries. It’s not much, but it was made with love and care. So here, something sweet that I hope will brighten up your day.” 

   He stares in awe at the fluffy muffin, blueberries scattered around the pastry. His eyes mist over, tears licking at the edges, threatening to spill at any moment. He’s not used to this kind of treatment. Someone being nice, thoughtful, acting like he’s special. 

   He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

   “Th—thank you…” he chokes out, holding back tears.

   “Happy birthday, Joel,” you smile, lighting the candle and making shadows cast over his palm from the flame. “Make a wish.”

   “Think it already came true…” he whispers. 

   Your eyes meet, tension thick in the air, smiles bouncing off each other's mouths. And when he blows out the flame, you give him a quick, fleeting kiss to the cheek. A kiss that’ll surely never wash off his skin. It’ll stick like permanent ink until his mouth hangs over yours.

   “You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” he asks, his skin tinged red from the blush you’ve painted over his tanned skin. 

   “Sweeter than a shaker of sugar?” you giggle out. A laugh that sounds like music to his ears.

   “Sweeter than sugar, darlin’,” he confirms with a wide grin.

   His hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through until your warmth is mixing with his. And as the sun goes down, stars igniting the sky in glitter, you lean your head on his shoulder while you tell him stories of your past. He could listen to you all night. He thinks he could listen to you forever. 

   You stay there until midnight, fingers entwined together, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, memorizing your perfect smile and dazzling eyes. And just before you go, he pulls you in for a kiss. A kiss that could make the entire world stop. Because in that moment, on your soft lips, he thinks he found heaven. 

   Just as you turn to go, a figure emerges from the dark shadows, leaving him breathless and dumbstruck from the sight. He rubs his eyes, figuring he’s seeing things. Maybe the sleepless nights have finally got to him. But your encouraging smile says it’s real.

   “Joel, look. She came back,” you smile, eyes glossy just like his are now. 

   She hesitates out in the road, jaw locked and eyes watery. Those big hazel eyes haven’t changed a bit. 

   Ellie. She came back. She’s here…

   And just like a butterfly, she spreads her wings and waves, mouthing happy birthday as she lingers by the open mailbox. But that’s enough. That’s one step to fixing a promise he broke. 

   “Ellie,” he calls, voice cracking as tears drop down his face. 

   “Joel,” she nods, giving him a half-smile. “Can I… can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

   “‘Course you can, kiddo.”

   And it’s then, right at that moment, where everything fell back into place. Right when she stepped back into his life. He has a feeling you had something to do with it, but he’ll thank you for that later. Maybe tomorrow when he stops by your house and asks for some more blueberry muffins. 

   Today will go down in history as one of his favorites because he got the girl, and Ellie came back home. He got his birthday wish after all. 

[aurorawritestoescape]

I KNOW BETTER THAN TO CALL YOU MINE

Pre outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader || 7k

Summary: Joel lets himself have a treat. You.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, slight age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel is 30), sex work, idiots in love, soft Joel, praise kink, size kink, f/m oral, cum eating, alcohol consumption, m!masturbation, sex toy usage, bondage, protected/unprotected piv, creampie, light pussy spanking, somno, aftercare, mention of degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, honey). Reader has hair, wears dresses. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is for @janaispunk ‘s 1500 kisses challenge. My prompt was ‘first kiss’ with Joel Miller. Congrats again, Jana, and thank you for the fun challenge!😘 The pic in the m/b is from this post by @liminaltourist. Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘🫂 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 The title is from the lyrics of ‘Let’s fall in love for the night’ by FINNEAS. Hope you will enjoy this story! Love you all!💖

MASTERLIST

Joel met you at Tommy’s birthday party and was instantly attracted to you. You were beautiful, sweet, funny, a little shy which he found charming. You told him that you worked as a waitress, meanwhile looking for a steady job after graduating college. He spent the whole night talking to you. The whole night being a couple of hours when he had a sitter for Sarah. Joel noticed a trace of sadness in your gorgeous eyes while you two were saying your goodbyes and for a second he regretted the way his life turned out. A single father at the age of thirty, working tirelessly to give his daughter the best life he could. But all the regrets vanished into thin air the moment he returned home and saw Sarah, sleeping peacefully in her bed. He planted a gentle kiss on her temple and quietly went to his empty bedroom. She was his life and he was ok with it.

Next time when Joel went out with Tommy for a drink, he asked about you in passing. He tried to make it seem like a simple curiosity but his younger brother still gave him a knowing smirk. Joel really liked you but his life was hectic enough. Work and being a single parent took all his time and he couldn’t squeeze in a relationship. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, he thought, and you deserved only the best. But your image— your eyes, your smile, your body, was flashing behind his eyes again and again, reminding him that he had needs and desires.

After a few beers and tequila shots, their conversation circled back to you and Tommy blabbed out that you worked as an escort. Joel was astonished. You seemed shy and sweet. He had never been against sex work but he always imagined a different type of people in that business. He didn’t know what to make of it but he felt his cock twitch, thinking of how sexually liberated you were.

He thought about asking for your number, but Tommy would tease him to death and he decided not to.

The next time you met Joel was at another Tommy’s party. Joel agreed to come, wanting to see you again. You talked and laughed like before but the air was almost electric between you two. The glances were darker, your hand brushing his skin here and there made him want more— touch you, feel you close against his body. He could save up and do all that if you agreed. So he made a decision and offered to drive you home when the party was over.

As soon as Joel parked his car at your driveway, he cleared his throat and asked if he could see you sometime.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your voice was soft and a shy smile tugged at your lips.

“Ehm… fuck, I —I know what you do,” Joel admitted, turning to you slightly in the driver’s seat, “Tommy told me when he was drunk. Forgive him and me, please, ok? And— I don’t know what you call that, but— can I meet you for an appointment?”

Your face fell and you were blinking at him with a mouth agape. Joel’s heart froze- what if Tommy had been fucking with him and you didn’t sleep with people for money.

After a few longest seconds of his life, you took a deep breath and gave him a little nod. Joel asked you about the details and you explained to him what he needed to do to book a session with you and though you were talking about sex, it sounded cold and dry. You gave him a little smile before getting out of the car and he drove off with the thought that he had made a mistake.

He really didn’t plan to call you, thinking he had killed whatever spark and connection you two had, but his thoughts returned to you again and again. He was hearing your laugh everywhere and your face was behind his eyelids every time he went to sleep.

One night after a few beers he imagined you in his bed and his hand flew to his already stiffening cock. He shut his eyes and saw you next to him, naked and ready for him. Pleasuring himself, Joel imagined your hand wrapped around his length, sliding up and down, then your mouth sucking on his tip and soon he was spurting his load all over his stomach and fist. He could have you, you already agreed to it, and he deserved to feel good, to treat himself once in a while. With those thoughts on his mind he texted you and booked a session.

Joel tried to be on time for your first meeting, but everything seemed to go wrong that day and when he arrived at a hotel, you were already waiting for him at the bar. He showered you with apologies for being late but you assured him that it was ok. He felt the flames of desire, when he took you all in. Your black dress was hugging your body perfectly and he couldn’t wait to take it off you.

You had already got a room for them so Joel followed you to the elevator. He had never been that nervous in his life. You must have noticed it, so you took his hand and gave him a warm smile.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this, Joel.”

“Never done this before,” he admitted when the elevator doors opened and you walked to the room.

“It’s ok, Joel. I’m sure we’re going to have a great time,” you said, smiling to him, and opened the door.

When Joel stepped inside, he saw a typical hotel room with one big bed. You turned to him and asked,

“Before we start, do you have any questions or suggestions about what you want us to do?”

Joel swallowed loudly.

“I want —, he scratched the back of his neck and continued, “just the usual, I guess.”

“The usual?” you repeated with a little smirk.

“Yeah, just sex.”

You pouted your lips in thought, then smiled with mischief in your gaze and slowly came up to him.

His breath hitched when your behavior changed in front of his eyes, like a little kitten turned into a panther in a matter of seconds. You looked the same but there was an allure in your every move, each glance was magnetic, as if you were calling for him to touch you, fuck you. You were irresistible. Your body was inches away from him, your perfume subtle but enticing, enveloping him, and you purred,

“I don’t think we want it to be ‘just’ sex, Joel. How about we make it special.”

Your tongue caressed your lower lip and he slowly leaned down. You swiftly swerved him and instead of tasting your lips, he nuzzled your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Joel— I don’t kiss on the lips during sessions.”

“Oh fuck, sorry.” Joel felt really bad and explained, “I got carried away... I’ve read the rules you sent me… I remember no kissing part, like in “Pretty Woman”,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his scruffy cheek in a nervous gesture.

You giggled, too, probably trying to make him feel more comfortable, “Yes, just like in “Pretty Woman.”

Without noticing it, he tried to memorize the sound of your laugh, how pretty it was. You slightly pulled away from him and tilted your head.

“How about I take the lead at first and then we’ll see how it goes?”

Joel nodded. He wanted to take your dress off, carry you to the bed and fuck you till you screamed his name. But he was afraid to do something wrong, he’d never been in that type of situation. You took his hand and gently caressed it, your fingers dancing over his hardened skin. Then he watched you bring it to your red lips and kiss his palm. You glanced up at him with your big beautiful eyes, not taking his hand away and his whole body reacted to your gentle touch. He was getting hard.

You led Joel to the bed, your fingers intertwined with his, and gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. You slowly took your dress off and he tried not to start drooling like a cartoon wolf, seeing you in front of him in a black lacy set.

You stood between his spread thighs and bent over to tug at the hem of his dark tee. He helped you to take it off and when you kneeled in front of him, he almost moaned. Your beautiful face was so close, he wanted to kiss you so much but he couldn’t and he’d never do anything you didn’t want.

You unbuckled his belt and softly asked him to take his jeans off.

Soon Joel was sitting there in his boxer briefs with you on your knees between his spread thighs.

"You're so hot, Joel," you whispered, as your dark gaze slid over the expense of his broad shoulders and chest, and your nails slightly scratched his muscular thighs.

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you look, wearing your lingerie and your high heel shoes, how much he'd been thinking about you since the day you'd met but his mouth was dry and he felt himself like a teenage boy who was trying to compliment a hot girl.

You weren't aware of his inner torment. As always calm and confident, you leaned closer to his torso and kissed a spot on his chest, right over his heart. Joel took a sharp breath and shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm down. He couldn't believe what just a gentle chest kiss from you was doing to him, but he was already painfully hard.

Your lips glided lower and you started leaving open mouth kisses, tracing a path down to the bulge in his boxers, and he opened his thighs wider to give you more space. When your face was close to his clothed cock, you rested your head on his left thigh and looked up at him.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed and growled at the sight of you so close to his already throbbing manhood. You were so pretty, so obedient but even on your knees he felt that you controlled the situation.

“Joel?”

“Yes, baby?”

You smiled hearing the pet name and asked,

“Can I take you in my mouth?”

His cock visibly twitched when he heard your soft voice and the words you uttered.

“If you want.”

You bit your lower lip and asked, rubbing your cheek on his hairy thigh.

“I do but would you like me to?”

Joel nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly but he didn’t care. He wanted you so much.

With a content smile, you sat up straight and shifted on your knees, getting comfortable. Then you pulled at the waistband of his boxers and in a second they were on the floor and his cock was bobbing in front of your face. Your breath visibly hitched and you glanced up at him.

“You have a gorgeous cock, Joel Miller,” you whispered and he wanted to kiss you again, hearing the praise. But instead he brought his hand to your face and cupped your cheek. You purred into his touch but parted from his palm in a second when you lowered your face and kitten-licked the fat tip of his cock. Joel sighed and bucked his hips already impatient for more. You didn’t make him wait long.

Your lips soon welcomed his cock between them as you started taking him deeper, covering his length with your warm saliva as your hand was firmly wrapped around his girthy base.

Joel moaned loudly at the sensation, he didn’t care what sounds he was making, completely lost in the pleasure your soft lips and skilful tongue were giving him.

Your mouth was slowly caressing his cock as your curved up lips were sliding over his sensitive skin and your tongue danced around the fat head, now and then stroking the leaking slit. There was so much precum, he saw you swallow it again and again. Your hand was gently massaging his balls and his big palm was lying on your head, not pushing, just showing you how much he needed you at that moment. Joel was in heaven.

Soon you took all of him and your throat contracting around his length was the last straw. He was dangerously close to coming and painting your mouth creamy white. But he had other plans for you.

“Shit, baby,” he cupped your cheek and gently pulled you off his ready-to-explode cock, “you’re too fucking good at it. I won’t last. And I wanna..”

He lost his words as you were looking at him with sparkling eyes, full of understanding and warmth.

“Of course, Joel.” You slowly got up on your feet and took off your high heels. Then you padded to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Joel saw a few toys lying there and his heart started to beat faster when he imagined using them on you. Maybe he could suggest it, he mused inwardly, but when you started sliding your panties and bra off your body, he lost his train of thought.

Now completely naked you came up to him and placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Then you planted your knees on each side of him and got on his lap.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said in a low voice as his hands found your hips and he rubbed your skin with his calloused thumbs.

You thanked him, smiling, and opened the package with your teeth. You brought the condom to his hard cock, slid it on and then got up on your knees, your pussy hovering over Joel’s tip.

You searched for his eyes and as soon as your eyes locked, you started sinking on his thick length.

Joel watched pleasure twisting your face while his cock was slowly parting your insides. He moaned at the sensation of your wet warm pussy welcoming him, grasped your hips tightly and when you took all of him, your ass was flush with his balls, you both loudly sighed.

“You feel so good, baby. So warm and tight.”

“Thank you, Joel. Your cock is so fucking big.”

He took a sharp breath, hearing you curse, and at the back of his mind he wondered if you said it to every client but he drove the thought away. He needed you too much.

Your breasts were right in front of his face and he asked, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess he was praying to.

“Is it ok if I kiss your body?”

“Yes, Joel, please. You can do anything to me.”

“Just not kiss your beautiful lips?”

“Joel,” you whined and he felt you clench around his hard cock.

He scolded himself for those words as soon as they left his stupid mouth. It was the thing you kept for yourself, he understood and accepted it but his desire drove him insatiable.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know it’s a rule. I understand it. It’s jus’ my brain doesn’t work properly, all the blood is down there.”

“Oh, right,” you softly giggled, “Let me shut you up then.”

You lifted your hips, making his cock almost leave the heaven of your cunt, but when the tip was close to slipping out, you sank back down on his manhood inch by inch, gliding your hands over his broad chest.

Joel’s mouth got slack and you both moaned at the ecstatic sensation of him, filling you up again.

With a groan Joel swiftly put his mouth on your breast and you whimpered when he swirled his tongue around your perky nipple. While he was gently sucking and licking your tits, you were languidly riding him, as soft whimpers were leaving your half parted mouth. At one point you nuzzled his forehead and your hot breath on his lips let him imagine you kiss him. His fingers dug into your hips but just for a second. Afraid to hurt you he glided them over your back and arms. He raised his lips to your neck and kissed your skin there.

Joel knew that he was getting close. His hand slithered to your pussy and he slipped his thumb between your folds. He found your clit hardened and throbbing for attention. He began stroking it slowly and you reacted immediately with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Joel,” you breathed out and he clenched his jaw, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Want you to come on my cock, baby.”

You stopped bouncing on his member and he saw you furrow your brows in concentration.

He made his thumb dance faster over your bud and soon your pussy was pulsating around his cock. Your contracting walls sent him over the edge and he started coming, filling up the condom inside you. Oh, how he wished to paint your walls with his creamy load but rules are rules.

As you both started descending from your highs, panting heavily, Joel held you in his big arms and you rested on his broad chest. You were breathing into the crease between his neck and shoulder and at one point he thought you’d fallen asleep.

But the next second you sat up straight on his lap with a satisfied smile. You gently kissed his scruffy cheek and he tried not to purr like a happy cat.

You cuddled a little bit more but soon his time was over.

“Can I see you again?” He asked when you got out of the bed.

“I’d love to, Joel,” you replied, putting on your underwear, “Text me when you have a day in mind.”

You looked like you wanted to say something but stopped yourself. You put on your clothes, kissed his cheek again and left.

After the first time with you Joel knew immediately it wasn’t the last. The need to have you, to be with you again squeezed his heart as soon as that hotel door closed behind you. But he wasn’t rich. He couldn’t spend all his money on you. So he started saving up here and there, anything he could, without damaging the level of life of his daughter.

He texted you as soon as he had enough to pay you and you told him that your regulars got a discount which was a nice surprise for him.

Joel invited you to his place. Sarah was at a sleepover and he had the house for himself for a night. He needed just a couple of hours, no way he could afford a whole night with you.

When you arrived at his place, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tank top, his mouth immediately started watering. He tried to be a gentleman and a good host and gave you a tour of the house, but when you stepped into his bedroom, all his decency came crashing down. Soon your jeans were discarded on the floor while his head was between your trembling thighs. Joel was licking up your juices straight from the source, grunting into your wet cunt and fucking his tongue into your clenching hole. He was fully clothed, grinding his hard cock against the bed and staining his gray sweatpants.

You were singing for him so beautifully when he began plunging his thick fingers in and out of your heat while his mouth was gently sucking on your throbbing clit. Your back was arched and your hands were clutching his dark curls. He curled his fingers, pushing on that soft spot inside your creaming pussy once, twice and you came, crying out his name, while your walls were fluttering around his digits.

When he parted from your puffy glistening cunt, he saw tears in your hazy eyes. Joel was happy he still got it but what filled his chest with pride was that he made you cry and writhe with ecstasy.

"I'm here, baby. You did so good for me," Joel praised you, climbing up the bed and taking you in his arms. You were trying to catch your breath and he gave you a respite, manhandling you so your head would be resting on his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Joel, you didn't have to," you mumbled.

"Have to? Sweetheart, it was my pleasure."

He heard your giggle, followed by a content sigh. His hard cock was tenting his gray sweatpants but he didn't care. He was happy to hold you, breathe in the fruity scent of your hair, and when a few minutes later he saw you peacefully sleeping in his embrace, his heart almost burst with affection. He closed his eyes for a second and drifted off too.

Joel woke up in the middle of the night when he felt you move in your sleep. He must have woken you up as you started to shuffle next to him and then sat up straight.

“Fuck! I fell asleep?” You asked, eyes widened, covering your naked thighs with a bedspread.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel. It’s never happened before. Oh my god, it’s so unprofessional.”

He hastily sat up next to you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, no. It’s ok. I loved sleeping with you— next to you.”

He smiled, leaning closer to you and rubbing your hands with his thumbs, trying to reassure you and it seemed to work because you gave him an apologetic smile but he felt you relax a little.

“I won’t take any money from you today.”

“No, you spent so much time with me. I owe you even more.”

“Joel, you ate me out, made me come, and then I fell asleep. I definitely don’t deserve to get paid,” you giggled. “The way I see it I owe you now.”

“I’ll think about the career change,” Joel chuckled and at the same time he felt his cock get harder when you talked about the oral. The arousal he had felt before falling asleep came back with a renewed force and swept him away.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his gaze slid up and down your body and the air in the room got heavier.

“What did you like the most?” he asked as his eyes darkened.

Your breath hitched and even in the dim light of the room he saw your pupils dilate. You dropped your gaze for a second and when you raised your eyes, they were filled with need and desire.

“I loved how much you enjoyed it. How good you were. It felt amazing when your mouth was on my clit. When you were sucking it,” you bit your lip almost shyly and your words went straight to his cock.

You whispered, “Should I go or…?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Joel interrupted you, palming his stiffening bulge, and you quickly nodded before throwing away the bedspread and taking off your top. Your tits bounced as you straddled him and he wrapped his big arms around your naked body.

Joel let you take off his shirt and when your lips latched onto his neck he held you closer and flipped you on the bed, covering you with his body.

You gasped at the fast shift but then moaned when Joel pulled his cock out of his sweatpants.

It was already hard as a rock and wet with precum under his fingers. He gave it a few pumps to spread it over his heated skin.

“Shit, condoms.”

He hastily reached to grab a pack from the nightstand. He opened one, while your fingers were caressing him, dancing over his torso and arms. As soon as the protection was on, you pulled him closer and he pushed his length into you without any warning. He had already stretched you with his tongue and fingers so his tip easily slipped into your crying hole.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Joel breathed out and started rolling his hips. His lips were caressing every spot he could reach and you were kissing his shoulders and neck.

Without pausing he braced his hands on the bed, hovering over you, his dark gaze locked with yours. He wanted to memorize every lip bite, every twitch of your brows when his cock was sliding in and out your needy cunt. You were so wet for him, he felt your juices on his balls and inner thighs and he closed his eyes trying not to come too soon.

“Look at me, Joel,” you purred and he immediately did what you asked. Your gaze slid from his dark eyes to his lips and it took everything from him not to kiss you right now.

He leaned down and instead gently kissed your heated cheek, leaving a wet spot on your soft skin. With a whimper you wrapped your legs around his waist and started grinding your hips, chasing your orgasm by rubbing your little clit against his pubic bone.

“Do ya wanna come, sweetheart?

“Only if you want me to, Joel,” you breathed out and he furrowed his brows, reminded of the nature of your relationship.

“ ‘course I do.”

With that he pulled away from you and sat up on his knees between your sweaty thighs. “Let me…,” he pulled out and you whined.

“Oh, baby, so impatient.”

You bit your lip with a sly smile but Joel quickly wiped it off your face when he took the condom off and asked,

“Can I slap your pretty pussy with my cock, sweetheart?” He gripped his cock at the base, squeezing it a little to postpone his climax and when you whispered a sultry ‘yes’ he slapped your clit with the tip of his throbbing length.

“Oh my god, Joel!” you cried out with a jerk, looking up at him with your brows pulled together and eyes rolling back.

“You like it?” He asked and when you nodded he started slapping your pulsating bud with his cock again and again until he saw some slick, seeping out of your clenching hole. He rubbed his red tip against it, coating his manhood with your juices, and began grinding it between your folds. His tip was bumping into your clit rhythmically and your taut muscles told him that you were close to your climax.

“Come for me, baby, please,” he asked softly and slapped your clit one more time. A jolt of pleasure made you shut your eyes and a loud moan escaped your lips. Wanting to prolong your orgasm and chasing his, Joel pressed his tip to your clit with his hand and started thrusting his cock, rubbing your twitching clit and at the same time massaging his whole length against your soft pussy and his own palm.

The overwhelming sensation, your sweet sounds and the sight of you coming in his bed made him explode and he began spurting creamy ropes of cum on your belly and sternum. He growled when a few drops landed on your bouncing breasts.

When you both stilled and the ecstasy started dissipating he sat down on his heels and watched you for a few seconds.

Joel wanted to remember that image- you, beautiful and satisfied, eyes shut, chest and belly heaving, was splayed on his bed, body glistening with sweat and cum. The happiness soon mixed with regret and the feeling of longing for more, wishing you were really truly his tightened his chest. But the reality was cruel. You didn’t need a single father in your life, you were free and your whole life was ahead of you.

Your curious gaze interrupted his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about, Joel?” You asked with a warm smile.

“I'm thinking my bed has never looked better than now.”

Your smile turned into a grin and you started to sit up but Joel stopped you with a raised hand.

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart.”

He went to the bathroom to get a wet towel and then gently wiped away his cum off your skin.

Before you left, he hugged you, breathing in the scent of your hair one more time and you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

You kept seeing each other for another month. Joel preferred his place to hotels and whenever he had the house for himself and got enough spare money, he would text you. In his own home it was easier to imagine you as his girlfriend, or even wife. He knew that it wasn’t healthy and he was getting a little delusional but it made him happy to think that you were his. If only in his dreams.

Sometimes Joel would literally dream about you. He’d wake up hard, yearning for your touch, your lips on his body, your gentle fingers running through his hair. It was easy to imagine you there with him. His hand would pump his needy cock and the image of you behind his eyelids was enough to make him come, groaning into his pillow.

As time passed Joel got more confident in expressing his desires. The possibilities were endless and you always looked excited whenever he suggested trying something new.

Like the time your eyes glinted with mischief when he asked if he could edge you the next time. Just the idea of making you beg for a climax made him rock hard. So during your next session he had you tied to his bed, as you were whimpering and pleading for a release, a vibrator in his hand pressed to your puffy clit. Though he caved in quite fast and finished you off with his thick fingers massaging your core, his teasing made you squirt and Joel lapped it all up with the wildest eyes and an aching cock. You returned the favor by drinking him till the last drop after he shoved his cock down your throat keeping you in place with his hands clutching your hair.

He loved experimenting with you, loved being rougher. But more often he craved making love to you, wanted you softly purring under his big body, as his cock was buried deep inside your heat, your pussy fluttering around him. He still couldn’t kiss you but your neck, your breasts, your cheeks were enough for him. Yet he couldn’t deny it— he was down bad for you.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asked you, pulling away from your neck that he was peppering with open mouth kisses a moment ago.

You were sitting on his lap, wearing a pretty summer dress and his only thought was to tear it off you but when his hands started roaming your body, you jerked and sniffed.

“Nothing. Everything’s ok, Joel,” you replied softly and nuzzled his neck. He knew something was wrong and you were hiding your pretty face. During the time he had known you, he learnt to read your body language and even feel your mood. So Joel stopped his ministrations immediately and kissed the top of your head.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. If you want.”

For a few minutes, he was holding you in his arms, rubbing your forearm with his thumb. Finally you took a deep breath, not raising your head off his shoulder, and opened up.

“I had a session with a new client yesterday. It was horrible.”

As soon as he heard your soft voice, saying that, his insides burned.

“Who? What did he do to you?”

He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up to face him.

When he saw tears in your eyes, he immediately wanted to rip that asshole apart. But your expression told him that you needed him to be gentle, to be there with you and he wanted to give you that.

“He was really degrading. Clients want it sometimes but it hadn’t been discussed and the things he said— made me feel like a cheap hooker. He didn’t hurt me though,” you added hastily but Joel saw that he had. Not physically but that fucker had made you really upset.

“I should talk some sense into the asshole. Can you give me his name?”

“No, no,” you were shaking your head, “I can’t. It’s all confidential. I’ll get over it and won’t see him again of course.”

You took a deep breath before mumbling,

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood.”

Then you reached for his belt buckle but Joel’s hand stopped you and he placed your hands between his big palms.

“No, you’re not in the mood. It’s ok. Can we just cuddle?

“But— I will be in a second. I’m professional, Joel.” You shot him almost a fiery glance and pouted your lips.

“Hey, baby, your client here—,” Joel pointed a thumb at himself with raised eyebrows and a sly smile, “wants to role play a big spoon tonight. Can we do that?”

“You’re so kinky”, you said with a giggle and lay down on the bed. In a second he was holding you, his chest pressed to your back, his strong arms embracing you, giving you comfort.

He was semi hard and surely you noticed it. He felt the warmth of your skin through the thin material of your dress and it drove him insane but the way you flinched at his touch, your tears, your shaky voice told him you wanted him to just hold you. For the second time you fell asleep in his arms and he woke you up with a kiss on your soft cheek the next morning.

Another month passed. As weird as it might have sounded, you became a huge part of his life. He knew every crevice, every curve of your body, knew every hope and dream. He kissed every spot on you, except for your beautiful lips. He tasted them a million times in his imagination but with time it stopped being enough. So he decided to invite you to celebrate his birthday with his family and the closest friends and finally ask you out on a real date.

Joel was nervous when you stepped into his house that day. Tommy raised his eyebrows, surprised to see you there, but fortunately didn’t ask or say anything. You seemed anxious as well at first, but after introducing you to everyone, Joel was happy to notice you chatting with the other guests, giggling with Sarah about something and when his daughter pulled you upstairs to show you her drawings, warmth spread in his chest. He was glad and relieved that you two got along. He wasn’t looking for a mother for his child, he would never ask you to take such a responsibility, but it was important to him that you two could be friends.

Just before dessert you asked him if you could talk privately. Tommy gave Joel a wink, lips twisted in a smirk, when you two headed upstairs, and the older brother just rolled his eyes.

When you stepped into Joel’s bedroom, his cock twitched in his jeans. It was a Pavlovian reflex at this point. He was used to seeing you there naked, your gorgeous body wriggling in his bed, whimpers and moans escaping your mouth.

But Joel told himself to calm down when you came up to him with a serious expression on your pretty face.

“Joel…,” you started and dropped your eyes, fumbling with your fingers.

“Yes, baby?” His heart started pounding in his chest. Always calm and self assured you seemed really nervous and the change scared him. What if you decided to break off whatever weird relationship you two had, what if…

You interrupted his thoughts when you raised your face to him and a little shy smile tugged at your lips.

“I want to give you your birthday present.”

He opened his mouth to say that you hadn’t have to do it, seeing you there was enough but he paused when you inched closer, your big sparkling eyes staring right into his soul. Then your gaze slid down to his lips and Joel seemed to stop breathing. He felt your palms on his forearms and then you slightly pressed your lips to his. They were barely there at first, hesitant, waiting for him to react.

He had been imagining that moment, dreaming of it for so long, so his hands immediately flew to your waist and he pressed his body closer to yours, welcoming your kiss with his whole being.

Joel’s lips started moving against yours, gently and slowly as if he was afraid to scare you away, to ruin the moment. But when he heard you sigh happily against him and your body relaxed into his, Joel wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. He wished that moment to last forever, wanted to never have to let you go.

His tongue brushed your lower lip, asking for permission to breach the last divide between you two, and you graced him by opening your mouth and letting him taste you fully. His tongue was caressing yours while his hands were gliding over your back. Then Joel gently cupped your cheek and tilted his head to give you the best kiss he could. You were so sweet and soft, so warm and lovely on his tongue and he didn’t care that you could probably feel his cock swell against your belly. Your ability to make him hard in seconds was not a secret to the both of you and he bucked his hips against your body with a soft groan.

Joel felt your smile on his lips and playfully squeezed your ass cheeks.

You giggled, your mouth parting from his.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you whispered, putting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck.

“Thank you for the best birthday present, baby.”

Joel kissed your forehead and you fluttered your eyes shut with a happy smile.

“Sweetheart?” he called.

“Yes.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

You lifted your head and your eyes locked.

“Like— on a date?”

“Yes.”

Your lips twisted into the widest grin he’d seen on you and you nodded.

“Really?” he asked, making sure that he was really that lucky, “Fuck, I know I’m not a catch. My life is chaotic and I’m a single dad and…”

“Shh,” you placed your finger on his lips and said softly, “I’d love to date you, Joel Miller.”

Joel beamed at you and embraced you in a tight hug.

“I quit escort,” you murmured against his chest and Joel furrowed his brows.

“Is it because of me? Sweetheart, I’d never ask you to quit your job. If you like it I won’t …”

“I don’t. I don’t like it anymore. After that guy I realized I wanna do something else.”

“Ok. Whatever you decide, baby,” he said and then added with a little smile, “I can still pay you though.”

You laughed at him and playfully punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Joel.”

He took your face between his big palms, marveling at your beautiful face, and whispered, “You know how to shut me up, baby.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his.

Joel opened his eyes to see the early morning sun peeking through the blinds and your face twisted in pleasure just before his. He soon realized that your wet warm pussy was wrapped around his hard cock and you were slowly grinding against him, lying on your side, face to face, your leg thrown over his waist.

He moaned at the sudden pleasure and you noticed that he was up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, honey. I just— I wanted you so much I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were breathing heavily and he wrapped his arms around your naked body and began rolling his hips, helping you to reach your high and chasing his.

“Never apologize for this, baby. I woke up in heaven thanks to you.”

You smiled and kissed him while his hand slithered between your slightly sweaty bodies and he slid his thumb between your folds to stroke your hardened clit. He was swallowing your moans and tried to get his own ecstatic growling under control, not wishing to wake up Sarah.

Soon you both exploded in each other’s arms and Joel flooded your pussy with his warm cum while you were writhing and trembling with euphoria against him.

When your climax subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder. He was drawing patterns on your back until you lifted your head to give him one more kiss.

“Sarah wanted pancakes for breakfast. I’m gonna go make some batter,” you said, getting out of bed and putting on your robe.

“I’ll help you. Be up in a minute.”

You smiled at him and bent over to give him a peck on the cheek but he swiftly pulled you back into his embrace, searching for your lips. You giggled and soon melted into his arms, while he was kissing you, passion and love in every stroke of his lips and tongue.

You were his, fully and completely, and all the fears evaporated when he realized that you were the final puzzle piece, missing from his life. He would do anything to make you happy.

“I love you,” Joel whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you murmured back.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more stories for you, lovelies!❤️

Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @fruityreads @joelmillerisapunk

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[mssalo]

dirty old man - sleeping

In the quiet of the night, Joel can’t resist the temptation to have you just as you are - sleeping, warm, and all his to use. By morning, you’re eager to give back, slipping under the sheets to wake him up with your sweet mouth, proving that sometimes, the best dreams are the ones you wake up to.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, somnophilia, age gap, caretaker f!reader, Joel is a perverted old man (imagined age 60-70), reader in her 20s, DDLG dynamic, daddy kink, consensual somnophilia, intense possessiveness, penetrative sex, p in v sex, cuming inside, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, power dynamics, and themes of control, degradation, size difference, explicit sexual content, Joel having to pop some pills to keep up with reader bc hes an oldie

more dirty old man in masterlist

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It was the dead of night, and a profound stillness blanketed the world outside, making it feel as though you and Joel were the only two souls in existence.

He lay beside you, his warm body pressed against yours, a comforting presence that filled the space between you. His hand rested on your thigh under the covers, the gentle weight of it stirring a heat within you even in your deep slumber.

Hours had slipped by since you had drifted off, lost in dreams, while Joel remained wide awake, his thoughts consumed by a singular focus: you. Every gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed, captivated him.

You had unknowingly spent the day teasing him, your playful glances and lingering touches igniting a simmering desire that he found impossible to ignore.

As he lay there, his dark eyes roamed over your peaceful face, memorizing every detail—the soft curve of your cheek, the way your hair fell across your forehead. So damn pretty.

It was a temptation that felt like a potent spell, pulling him closer to the edge of something he craved deeply. The urge to wake you, to make you aware of his need, pulsed through him, igniting a fire that flickered in the pit of his stomach.

With deliberate slowness, his fingers began to explore your thigh, inching higher, savoring the softness of your skin beneath his touch.

The intimacy of the moment was electric, every subtle movement charged with anticipation. He knew you were his, entirely and completely, and the thrill of that realization made his heart race. The way you teased him without even knowing it had awakened a hunger in him, one that demanded to be satisfied.

Tonight, there would be no holding back.

His hand slowly slid higher up your thigh, grazing the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath it.

You weren’t wearing anything underneath, just like he like - easy access, always ready for him.

He let out a quiet groan, feeling the slickness between your legs, even in your sleep. His cock twitched at the thought, already hardening against your backside as he pressed himself closer.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered low in your ear, his voice thick with need. “Even in your sleep, you’re ready for daddy, huh?”

You stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake up.

Joel grinned to himself, his fingers slipping between your folds, spreading your wetness as he teased you gently.

He loved this—having you completely at his mercy, knowing you were his to take whenever he wanted.

“You know what daddy wants, hm, sweet girl?” he whispered, his voice dripping with lust. “Gonna fuck you nice and slow, baby. Show you how much I need this sweet little pussy.”

You mumbled something incoherent, half-asleep, but your body responded instinctively, shifting toward his touch.

Joel took that as all the permission he needed. He reached down, positioning his hard cock at your entrance, pressing the tip against your slick folds.

“That’s it,” he muttered, pushing inside you inch by inch, groaning at the feeling of your tight, warm walls enveloping him. “So fuckin’ tight, - even in your sleep.”

Your body tensed for a moment, adjusting to the sudden fullness, but soon you relaxed, letting out a soft whimper as Joel started to move. He kept his pace slow, dragging his cock in and out of you, savoring the way your body clenched around him.

You were still half-asleep, your breathing deep and even, but the pleasure was unmistakable.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Joel growled, his hips pressing against yours as he buried himself deeper inside you. “Always so fuckin’ good for daddy, even when you don’t know it.”

He thrust into you slowly, his hand gripping your hip to hold you in place.

You whimpered again, your body stirring as the pleasure built inside you, even in your sleepy state. Joel smirked, loving how easily he could turn you on, how quickly you responded to him.

“You love this, hm?” he teased, his voice low and filthy. “Love bein’ daddy’s little fucktoy, lettin’ me fuck you whenever I want. "- always so ready for it, sweet one.”

His dirty words sent a shiver through you, even in your haze of sleep. You moaned softly, your hips moving against him, and Joel chuckled darkly, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“that's my little girl,” he murmured, his voice softening just a bit as he slowed his thrusts. “Daddy’s gonna make you cum, just like always. - gonna fill you up so good, baby. 'You need that, don’t ya? Old man cum inside your sweet cunt?”

You moaned softly, barely able to form words, but Joel didn’t need a response. He kept thrusting into you, his pace picking up just enough to push you closer to the edge. Your body trembled, the pleasure building inside you, and before you knew it, you were coming undone around him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel groaned as your walls clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. “That’s it, come for daddy. Let me feel how much you love this.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. You were barely conscious, your body limp against him, but Joel didn’t care. He loved having you like this—completely at his mercy, his to use however he wanted.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours as he finally reached his climax.

He buried himself deep inside you, groaning as he filled you with his release, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into you.

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of Joel as he held you close. He stayed inside you, his cock softening as he pressed kisses to your neck. And lastly to your soft lips.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispered, his voice softening as he stroked your hair. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

And as you drifted back into a deeper sleep, you couldn’t help but smile.

· · ────

The morning sun was barely creeping through the curtains when you woke, the soft rays painting the room in a gentle light.

Joel was still fast asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling steadily, a peaceful expression on his face. But as you lay there, the memories of last night flooded your mind—his hands gripping your hips, his filthy words in your ear, the way he used your body like he owned it.

The thought of it sent a familiar heat coursing through your veins. You couldn’t help yourself. You needed him again.

Carefully, you slid under the covers, moving quietly so as not to wake him just yet.

Your lips brushed against the soft skin of his stomach, trailing lower until you reached his cock. He was soft, but the weight of him in your hand made your heart race.

You wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking gently, savoring the taste of him.

Joel stirred slightly, but he didn’t wake. Not yet.

You smiled to yourself, your mouth sliding further down his length as you began to suck him off, slow and deliberate. The heat between your legs was already growing, the memory of how he fucked you last night playing over and over in your mind.

You couldn’t get enough of him—could never get enough.

As you worked him deeper into your mouth, you felt him begin to harden, his cock swelling between your lips.

His breathing changed, a soft groan escaping his throat as he slowly woke up to the sensation.

“Mmm… what’re you doin’ down there, sweet girl?” Joel’s voice was rough with sleep, but there was a smile in it too. His hand found your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he finally opened his eyes, looking down at you with that familiar hunger.

You leaned forward, the soft graze of your lips against his skin lingering as you looked up at him with a playful gleam in your eye.

“Thought I’d remind you of last night, daddy” you murmured, your voice dripping with mischief, heat in every syllable. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you fucked me.”

A rough groan tore from Joel’s chest, his fingers tightening in your hair, his hips pushing up slightly, his cock heavy and throbbing under your touch.

“Knew I’d spoil you too good,” he muttered, the edges of his voice low and gravelly, thick with lust. “Spoiled from Daddy’s cock, huh? Look at you. Young thing, just desperate for it…”

You only hummed in response, eyes darkening as you took him back into your mouth, feeling the weight and warmth of him press against your tongue.

You let him feel every inch of your attention, the way you circled your tongue around the head, teasing the sensitive skin there before sinking lower, deeper, lips sliding slowly down his shaft.

His rough breaths filled the air as you worked him over, and the steady beat of his pulse against your tongue was just as intoxicating as the groans slipping from his lips.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction, his hand guiding you further down his length, pushing you to take him deeper.

“Suck me like that, sweetheart. Just like that.” The words only spurred you on, adding a new spark to the hunger simmering inside you.

You worked him harder, hollowing your cheeks as you moved, watching his eyes go dark with lust as you took him in, inch by inch.

His fingers tightened their grip in your hair, his hips thrusting up to meet the movements of your mouth, filling you over and over, his cock sliding deeper each time.

You could feel his gaze on you, heavy with admiration as he watched your lips wrap around him, taking him so eagerly. The rough timbre of his voice made the heat between your thighs ache, every word only feeding your need.

“Just can’t get enough, huh?” he murmured, his eyes darkening as he continued to watch you. “Look at you, sweet girl, so damn hungry for it. Daddy’s cock got you addicted already?”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked up at him, your lips tightening around his shaft as you answered with another hum, letting him feel every inch of you.

His breathing grew more ragged, his cock twitching against your tongue as you took him deeper, savoring the way his hips bucked, the way he couldn’t hold back.

“Fuck, little one,” he muttered, his words edged with tension as he kept moving, guiding you, thrusting steadily into your mouth, each stroke deeper than the last.

“Just—look at you, a pretty young thing like you, all wrapped around me like this.” His hand flexed in your hair, the heat in his eyes pushing you further as he muttered, “Goddamn perfect, sweetheart, fuck…”

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating against him as you took him down again, feeling the rush of satisfaction every time he cursed, every time he let out a rough groan.

His hips thrust up with a final, shuddering need, and you could feel him reaching the edge, his body tensing, his grip in your hair tightening as he moved harder, needier, voice low and thick.

“Gonna make me cum, baby. You want that? You want Daddy to fill your pretty mouth?” His voice broke, heavy with lust, his words hitting you like sparks as he thrust one more time, hips jerking as his release spilled down your throat.

You took him in, swallowing every drop, not letting an ounce go to waste, savoring the taste as he finally began to relax, his breathing slowing, his hand slipping from your hair as he looked down at you, his expression somewhere between satisfied and awed.

“Jesus,” he murmured, his thumb tracing over your swollen lips, eyes warm, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “You’re somethin’ else, baby.”

You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, smiling up at him. “Just wanted to make sure you woke up with a smile.”

Joel chuckled, pulling you up into his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You grinned, your body already pressing against his, craving more. “Not before you fuck me again.”

“Damn, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, his hand sliding through your hair, tugging gently as he gazed down at you with a smirk of pure satisfaction. “With that mouth of yours… I’m gonna need those pills if I’m gonna keep up with you. Go get ’em for me, sweetheart. I wanna take my sweet time with you.”

He released a long breath, his chest still rising and falling from the aftermath of his release.

His thumb brushed your cheek, his eyes softening slightly as he spoke again. “Ain’t never felt this before. Not ‘til you came into my life. You make me feel like I’m twenty again, darlin’. Like I can’t get enough of you.”

His fingers slid down the side of your face, his touch tender now, petting your hair like he couldn’t stop admiring you. “God, you’re somethin’ else. My good girl, takin’ care of me like that.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the familiar heat building between you again at his filthy praise.

You leaned into his hand, knowing full well that the moment you got back with those pills, Joel wasn’t going to hold back.

He was going to take his time

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

uhh......yes <3

[josephquinnswhore]

Christmas Eve - joel miller x female reader

summary: Christmas Eve with your husband.

word count: 2k

content warning: fluff..slight insinuations to sex, girl dad joel, heavily pregnant reader, anxiety surrounding pregnancy, birth etc. Pre established marriage, joel is in his early 30’s. no outbreak. I think that’s it?

a/n: it’s chrissy eve in Australia… 10:15pm as I’m posting this. Merry Christmas to all my moots / fans of Joel / Pedro / whoever reads this. Love you all x

Lights draped around the window frames and along the porch were strung up, emitting a golden glow along the cleared pathway to the front door. Tinsel is tightly wrapped around the wooden frame of the steps to your front house, complete with a beautiful wreath on your front door.

Through the curtains, you could make out Joel’s figure up on the step ladder, hanging more lights in the living room.

As you step foot into your home, the harsh wind follows you as you tap the snow off your boots on the doormat, a freezing breeze curls up your neck, making you shudder.

But as the front door closes behind you, all you feel is warmth. The ugly Christmas sweater you wore has poorly stitched reindeers, snowflakes and the ugliest shade of green you’d ever seen. Alas, You’re shocked to see Joel wearing his matching sweater as you step through the threshold of the living room.

Tinsel hangs along the hallways, the smell of the pine tree fills your lungs with warmth. Never did you think it could be possible to crave a smell—until now. The fresh scent of pine tree that Joel had cut down, he and Tommy had lugged it into your living room to use as a Christmas tree upon your insistence.

He turns to face you, raising an eyebrow at your messy hair and few intact snowflakes on your sweater. In hand, you’re clutching a sacred tin of powdered hot chocolate.

His ugly Christmas sweater is the same as yours, but red. His dark hair is littered with greys, feral curls untamed and his face framed with a pair of thick specs. The rainbow lights he’s hanging up with a hammer and nail reflect in them for a moment, before he removes them. His sweet, warm brown eyes meet your own.

“House looks good baby,” you call softly, admiring how beautiful the decorations looked with his determination, not allowing you to do anything more than decorate the tree, and wrap the gifts, since it was your favourite part about Christmas, excluding the gingerbread baking.

He climbs down the ladder, hooking his glasses through the neckline of his sweater, setting the hammer and nails onto the flat surface at the top of the step ladder.

“Without your vision this never would have come to life. Sarah’s going to love it.” He preens, stepping toward you. “How was it out there?” With an all recognisable voice of concern, you smile.

It was beginning to snow outside, and Joel was anxious the entire time you’d been gone.

“Chaotic, shopping on Christmas Eve isn’t for the weak. I had to practically fight an old lady to get this tin of hot chocolate you know?”

His soft laugh breaks the tension of his anxiety, just glad to have you back. His arms snake around you, resting on your hips. “Sounds like you needed your man to come with you hm? I’ve got no problems protecting my girl from the oldies.”

“I can handle them, plus.. I’m glad you stayed. Sarah’s going to be so happy when she sees all of this. Did you remember to do Santa’s footprints with flour?”

Tsk. “So much distrust baby, course I remembered, I ain’t the one with baby brain y’know?”.

You roll your eyes at him, shoving his chest lightly. “And who’s fault is that, hm?”

Joel chuckled as you rolled your eyes, knowing how much you secretly loved his teasing. He followed your gaze to the lights before smiling, proud of his work.

"I’ll take half the blame, honey," he said,

“If you don’t recall, I’ll recite the way you begged me to get you pregnant—“

With your cheeks warming you interrupt. “Alright.. alright. I remember.”

His thumb leaves your waist, curling into your cheek to caress you softly with adoration. "I’m glad you convinced me, baby. You look so beautiful, you’re glowing.”

Your cheeks feel warm at his praise. The warmth of the fire crackling inside of the living room begin to ease the ache in your joints, particularly your knees and ankles.

“I look and feel like a whale.” It had been hard on you, anyone could see, with your stomach so round and swollen, the Christmas sweater struggled to stretch over your stomach to cover it entirely.

Joel shook his head, slipping his warm hands underneath your sweater to caress your aching stomach in a soothing notion.

"No," he protested softly. "You look like my beautiful, pregnant wife who is about to bring a little bundle of joy into the world. Half of me, and half of you.”

With a soft hum, you find yourself smiling. The thought warmed your heart, a small bundle of love, made of you and him. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Joel Miller.”

"Hm?" Joel hums in return, planting a kiss on your cheek, his nose nudging your own. "That's good to know, I might have to use that to my advantage."

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe... it'll get me everything I want."

With a baited breath, you breathe out a shaky response. “And what is it that you want?”

"Hmm..." Joel pretended to ponder about it for a moment, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips again, fingers curling into the curved surface.

"Since you asked," he murmured, his voice low and enticing. "All I really want for Christmas is to spend it with you. But if you're looking for a more tangible gift, I guess I could think of a thing or two."

With a roll of your eyes, you snag a candy cane off of the tree beside you, and uncurl the plastic and stick the hooked peppermint lolly into your mouth, sucking the flavour off with a pop.

“Hot chocolate first.” You insist, kissing his cheek, leaving sticky residue on his warm skin. “I didn’t drive through a snowstorm and fight an old lady for nothing.”

You shake the tin of chocolate powder as if to remind him, garnering his attention.

Joel chuckled wipes the sticky candy cane residue off his cheek. “You got it mumma. Hot chocolate first, then I'll tell you what I really want for Christmas."

Joel gestured towards the couch by the fireplace with one hand and an expectant gaze.

"Go take a seat and relax. I'll make the hot chocolate, and then you can tell me about that beautiful baby of ours and how you’re feeling."

He swats your ass softly, amusement clear in his voice.

“Thanks baby. For everything. My feet are killing me.” Minutes later you graciously accept the warm mug of hot chocolate, the white mini marshmallows are soft and starting to melt.

"Anything for you baby.” You know he means it too.

He took a seat on the couch beside you, the leather sinking under his weight. "How's everything been today? Any contractions?"

You shake your head with a small mouthful of the gooey, warm, sweet drink. “No, nothing yet. I feel like she’s never going to come at this rate..”

A soft hum vibrates within your chest as he encourages you to shift towards him, and he props your feet up onto his lap to remove your shoes and socks, promptly massaging your swollen ankles.

“Do you think she’ll come before the new year?”

Joel continued massaging your ankles, looking down at your huge baby bump as you rubbed it tentatively, he can sense some anxiety coming from you as a first time expectant mother.

Sure, you’d practically raised Sarah since she was twelve months, but this was different. A newborn, the birth.. that was all new to you.

"Hard to tell, baby," he said with a thoughtful expression, not wanting to cause you any stress. "But judging by how big you are, I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to make her debut soon."

He looked up at you, his gaze meeting yours as he decided to pry further, coaxing the truth from you. "You feeling ready for the big day yet?"

“I’m terrified,” you admit in a gentle whisper between you, a sudden sense of vulnerability curates between the two of you. It makes it all the more real.

Joel's expression softened as you admitted your fears, his fingers pausing in massaging your ankles. Watching as you set your now empty mug down onto the coffee table, having satiated your sweet tooth.. for now.

"Hey, I get it," he reassures quietly, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your foot in a comforting gesture this time, rather than a massage. "Giving birth is a big deal, baby. But you're gonna be incredible. You're strong, you're capable, and I'll be right there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

Joel smiled warmly, squeezing your shoulder gently as you slowly processed his words of encouragement, that no matter what happened through the birth, you’d soon have a family of four. “You’re right.. it’s all going to be okay.”

"You're damn right it's going to be okay," he said with conviction. "Because we've got each other, Sarah, and our precious little girl.. Sadie, right?”

He moved his hand from your feet, leaning closer to place his hands on your stomach, feeling his daughter actively kick at his affectionate touch. Seeing you nod in confirmation. “Yeah.. Sadie.”

"Just think, in a few days, you'll be holding our baby in your arms."

The thought is overwhelming, a small baby in your arms, Sarah, who had turned six earlier in the year. She was stoked to be a big sister, asking every day when the baby was coming. Constantly cradling your heavy stomach with her small hands, singing as she prompts the baby to kick.

The image of innocence, a young child that still believes in Santa, which will hopefully carry into the next few years of your lives.

The thought makes you smile, wrapping dozens of presents for everyone and sticking them under the tree for all of you, your family of four plus Tommy and Maria who annually joined you for Christmas celebrations.

Joel glances around the living room, taking in the sights of the lights and the decorations that adorned the house. The tree stood in a corner, covered in colorful, homemade decorations from Sarah, the topper at the top of the tree shaped like a snowflake coloured in with a half dozen colours being Joel's favorite of them all.

"You know," he said softly, his hand still resting on your tummy. "This is going to be our last Christmas as a a family of three..."

The thought makes your heart ache with guilt or perhaps anxiety, biting into your lower lip. “It’s all a bit much isn’t it?”

"Yeah, it is," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. He was getting older now, creeping into his early thirties. To start over again, he felt a little out of practice.

"It's a lot to take in, baby, I know. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. We can do this together, Tommy and Maria will help.. we aren’t doin’ this alone. Sarah will adore our little girl. And I know you’re goin’ to be an incredible mother.”

Ever the romantic.

With a wry smile and your heart swelling inside of your chest, you offer him what he had indignantly prompted for earlier in the evening. “Want to try and get this baby out?”

Your hand trails through his hair with a suggestive smile. Joel raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm... Now that's a proposition I can get on board with, baby."

[grayandthyme]

nights in white satin | oneshot

masterlist

jackson!joel miller x f!reader

synopsis: what if that cold winter day happened a little bit differently? what if he survived? what if you got your happy ending. and, what if you showed him what that happiness really felt like? warnings/tags: 18+ smut, mentions of violence, death, and gore. mentions events of s2e2/second game, mild angst, confession, mentions of survivor's guilt, extreme guilt, anxiety, maybe some ptsd, yearning, unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation, oral sex (f receiving), mature language, grumpy x sunshine, no use of y/n. maybe a fix it fic....

authors note: im a widow, okay? take a oneshot bc i miss seeing him. also this has been in my drafts for awhile.. so pls ignore if its choppy</3

w/c 10.1k

"Mornin'," he rumbles, voice thick with sleep, rough like gravel under boot. The coffee cup skates across the cool granite, leaving a streak of warmth behind, and the smell—rich, dark, almost divine—hits you like a prayer answered by the gods above. Liquid fuckin sleep.

"Good morning to you too, Miller," you murmur around a yawn, curling two fingers through the handle and pulling the mug close. Heat seeps into your skin, chasing away the chill clinging to your bones.

Your gaze lifts to him—Joel—watching as he drags a hand down his face, wiping away whatever dreams still clung to him. His fingers thump against the counter with a soft, aimless tap, and you catch yourself staring at the rough, calloused pads of them, worn, weathered and real.

"Tired?" His voice is softer this time, threading through the sleepy silence between you.

You nod, sipping carefully at the coffee. Blessed and sorely needed.

"Is Ellie up, or did you let her sleep in?" you ask, stifling another yawn as you tip your head in a lazy nod toward the next patrol filing into the mess hall.

"I let her sleep," he mutters, gaze flicking down to the coffee steaming in his hand. You don’t have to press him—you already know. They’re still tangled up in whatever silent war they started. Fighting, ignoring each other, walking on eggshells… some messy, stubborn version of a father-daughter standoff that's got both of them fraying at the edges.

"Aren’t you a good daddy, eh?" you tease, hiding a smirk behind the rim of your mug. Your eyes cut sideways, waiting—almost daring him—to react.

Right on cue, he lets out a low, gruff hnf, a sound half embarrassment, half warning.

"I wouldn't press you about it anyway, Miller," you say with a soft grin, slipping down from the barstool. The soles of your boots scuff lightly against the floor, the sound too loud in the sleepy hush of the mess hall.

"I'm with Jesse this morning—we’ve got the market patrol," you add, turning as you shrug into your jacket, tugging it into place with a few sharp tugs. Still, your gaze can’t help but drift back to him.

Joel stands there, broad-shouldered and a little crumpled around the edges, like sleep hadn't quite finished with him yet. Your eyes catch on the strands of silver threading through the dark, messy curls at his temples.

Pretty, you think, a little surprised at yourself. Stupidly pretty.

He doesn’t notice the way you’re looking—or maybe he does and just pretends not to. He’s good at that.

"I'm with Dina," Joel says, giving a small nod. His eyes flick sideways, quick, like a habit he can't quite shake. Watching you. Pretending not to. It's subtle, the way he does it—barely there—but you catch it anyway.

"If you’re back in time, we can hit the bar for happy hour~," you tease, voice lilting into a singsong as you nudge a playful jab toward his shoulder, stopping just shy of actually making contact. "Maybe even get you to talk about your little daddy-daughter debacle."

You flash him a grin, wide and shameless, knowing full well how much he hates when you call it that. The word debacle alone is enough to get that tight, uncomfortable pinch around his mouth—the one he tries and fails to hide every time.

He huffs out a breath, more air than sound, and levels you with a look—one that’s supposed to be warning, but doesn’t have much bite behind it. His mouth pulls into a tight line, and for a second, you think he’s going to let it go.

But, of course, Joel Miller never lets anything go easy.

"You’re askin’ for trouble, y'know that?" he mutters, low and gravelly, eyes narrowing just a touch. Not angry. Just… exasperated. The kind of exasperated that sounds a whole lot like fond when it’s him.

You just laugh, light and careless, throwing a wink over your shoulder as you head for the door.

"Been askin' for trouble since the day you met me, old man," you call back, earning a rough, half-hearted hnf that follows you all the way out into the morning chill.

. . .

Patrol was boring. The kind of boring that makes you wish for something stupid to happen, just to feel your blood move a little faster. The roads were dead quiet, muffled under thick, heavy snow. Jesse didn't talk much—just rambled now and then about town repairs, busted generators, and roofs that needed patching. Stuff that drifted past your ears without sticking.

Building wasn’t really your thing, anyway. You stuck to what you were good at—helping out in the greenhouses, lending a hand at the infirmary—anything that didn’t require a hammer and nails. Unfortunately, you were still subjected to freeze your ass off on patrol.

The wind bit at your face until your eyebrows went numb, your eyelashes stiff and clumped with frost. You were about five minutes away from becoming a human popsicle when you finally reached for your walkie.

"Jackson, come in, over," you called, voice crackling through the static.

There was a beat of silence before a faint voice answered, a little too quick, a little too tense. "Jackson copy. Twin Forks, how’s it looking out there?"

You glanced over at Jesse, who just gave a small shrug, his breath clouding in the frozen air. Raising the walkie back to your mouth, you huffed out a sigh.

"Freezin' half to death. Roads are mainly clear. We're headin' back, over" you said, teeth chattering a little around the words.

Static hissed through the speaker again. Longer this time.

Your eyebrows pulled together, unease creeping slow and sharp down your spine. That wasn’t like Jackson. They were usually fast—too fast sometimes, like they were just waiting for any excuse to chatter your ear off.

Before you could say anything, the walkie cracked back to life:

"Twin Forks, copy—have you heard from Dina or Joel? Over."

Your stomach dropped clean through you. Like stepping into thin ice.

You tightened your grip on the walkie, heart already kicking up in your chest.

"No," you said, sharper than you meant to. "Aren’t they supposed to be back already?"

The static answered for them.

And for the first time all morning, the cold wasn’t the thing making your hands shake.

Your eyes flicked up to Jesse. His face was stone—jaw tight, mouth a grim, thin line. You knew he had something with Dina. Whatever messy, tangled thing it was between them, it ran deep enough to light that cold fury in his eyes now.

"I'm following their route," you said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You can come with me… or you can go home."

Your teeth caught your bottom lip, biting down hard enough that the sting cut through the churning anxiety in your gut. It felt like your stomach was trying to turn itself inside out, the nerves scraping raw against your ribs.

For a second, Jesse didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, snow catching in his hair, breath huffing out in slow, frosted clouds.

Then he nodded once. Sharp. Decisive.

"Let's go."

You didn’t wait. You just adjusted your pack and started moving, boots crunching hard through the deep snow, following the trail Joel and Dina were supposed to take.

Every step forward made the pit in your stomach twist tighter. Something was wrong. You could feel it, thrumming under your skin like a warning.

You tapped your heel against your horse’s side—once, twice—and the animal surged forward into the snow, kicking up white powder in its wake. Fingers tightening so hard around the reins that the leather bit deep into your palms, leaving angry, stinging red imprints.

"Joel? Dina? Come in. Over," you barked into the walkie, voice clipped and sharp from the cold and the panic creeping higher in your throat.

Static answered. Again. No Joel. No reply.

"Fuck," you hissed under your breath, jamming the radio back onto your pack with a rough snap.

The trail ahead was still. Too still. Snow stretched in every direction, pristine and coated except for a broken trail of hoof prints leading up toward the mountain.

You didn’t need to think. You urged your horse faster, heart hammering in your chest, every muscle wound tight.

It was only a few yards up the slope when you saw it—Dina and Joel’s horse, standing riderless in the snow.

But no Dina. No Joel.

Your eyes snapped to the cabin tucked just ahead. It looked solid—half-renovated, sturdy enough to stand against the winter. Someone had been here, maybe still was.

"Jesse—front door," you ordered, voice low but firm. "Make sure no one goes in or out."

Your gaze cut to him, sharp and urgent. He nodded, pulling his gun free from his belt as he circled wide, boots crunching over the frozen ground.

"I’ll take the side door," you added, already slipping from your horse, landing hard in the snow. "Look around."

You hesitated, just for a second—just long enough to catch his eye—and the words slipped out, rougher, quieter:

"And… be safe."

The look you gave him said the rest. You were already wired tight with anxiety, your nerves scraped raw. One wrong move, and this whole thing could turn sideways fast.

Jesse gave you a tight nod, disappearing toward the front, and you turned toward the side of the cabin, heart hammering loud enough you swore it echoed in your ears.

Hand on your weapon, you moved in.

he bile clawed up your throat, threatening to spill out. Your whole body felt like it had caught fire—nerves sparking, brain short-circuiting, tears stinging hot at the corners of your eyes.

You rounded the corner of the basement, sweeping it methodically, breathing shallow, every inch of you tight with dread. Clear. Clear. Clear.

Until the stairs came into view.

You climbed them slow, careful, each step deliberate, barely daring to breathe. The wood creaked under your boots, but only slightly—only enough to make your heart jump into your throat.

Then— "Ha—ha—HA—"

The ragged gasping hit you like a blow to the chest. Violent. Desperate. A woman’s voice, cracked and breaking from the strain of it.

You froze, finger curling tight around your trigger, inching closer to the source.

Through the narrow sliver of the cracked door, you saw it.

Blood. Everywhere.

The metallic scent hit you hard, thick and suffocating.

And then— The mess of salt and pepper curls. Familiar. Burned into your mind from only this morning, when you were smiling over your coffee and teasing him about happy hour. When you wished you had told him that since the day you met him, he had meant everything to you.

Joel.

Blood soaked the floorboards beneath him, pooling like something alive, something hungry. Gushing. And he wasn’t moving.

Your body moved before your brain had time to catch up. You slammed your shoulder into the door with a force you didn’t even know you had, sending it crashing backward with a groan of splintering wood.

The room was a blur—chaos and blood and panic. The familiar weight of a body on the ground, unmoving. Your eyes barely caught it before you were reacting, fingers tightening around your weapon. The shot was instinct, clean and precise, straight to the face. The sound of the gunshot rang in your ears as one of the women dropped like a ragdoll, her body crumpling.

But then— The wind was knocked out of you.

The second she hit the floor, another figure lunged, grabbing you by the shoulders, slamming you back against the wall with bone-crushing force.

You gasped for air, panic flooding in as your body screamed to move, to do anything but be pinned here. There was a man on you, wild eyes flashing with terror and fury. You fought back, muscles burning, your hand darting to the nearest thing—anything to give you an edge. It landed on a glass bottle, slick and cold in your grasp.

Without thinking, you swung it, the bottle crashing against his skull with a sickening crack. He staggered back, momentarily dazed, giving you just enough space to slip away, your chest heaving as you fought against the rage, the fear, the overwhelming anxiety that turned your blood to fire.

Your eyes blurred—tears, or maybe just the smoke of too much anger, too much chaos. Every breath felt like a fist in your ribs.

You barely recognized yourself in that moment.

The fury inside you was pure, uncontrollable—fueled by terror, by the sight of him, by the fact that he was here, and he shouldn’t be.

And it was all too much.

You spun around, gun already raised, your finger pulling the trigger without a single hesitation. The man who had been on you moments ago crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud, his body twitching once, twice, thrice, before stilling.

Your eyes snapped to the remaining two. One was kneeling over Joel, her braided hair swinging wildly with each frantic movement, fingers locked tight around a golf club. The other was above Dina’s body, her face stained with tears as she hovered over the fallen woman. You couldn’t tell if Dina was still breathing. The sight of it made everything inside you twist in fury.

The world around you narrowed—there was no room for hesitation, no time to think.

Angry. So fucking angry. Calculated. Bloodthirsty.

You took a step forward, the weight of the rage feeding you, making everything feel sharp and clear. With one fluid motion, you threw your empty gun to the floor. The clatter echoed in the room, loud and final.

The braided woman took a sharp breath, and before you could even blink, she swung the club at you, a brutal arc aimed right for your face. You felt the crack against the bridge of your nose, the force enough to send you stumbling back, but you didn’t flinch. You welcomed it—felt it fuel the fury already pumping through your veins.

You wanted to feel this.

You didn't give her a second to recover. You lunged, body crashing into hers with everything you had. It was all strength—no technique—just pure violence. She hit the ground hard beneath you, gasping for breath, but you didn’t stop.

Your hand found her side, fingers brushing over the knife strapped to her waist. In one brutal move, you ripped it from her and lifted it high.

The first slash was messy, a deep gash across her throat. She choked, but you didn’t stop. Not until the blade bit down again and again, each thrust deeper, each second an eternity of rage, until her body stopped moving entirely.

You pulled the knife from her throat, your breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through you, a sick buzz that made everything feel… distant. Empty.

The silence in the room was suffocating now.

You hadn’t even realized it, but Jesse had already moved in, subdued the woman who had been hovering over Dina, and now he was holding the girl in his arms, checking her pulse. Through the ringing in your ears, his voice cut through—low, steady, but with a note of relief.

"She's alive."

The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor with a sickening finality. But you didn’t even look at it. Your body was already in motion, adrenaline still coursing through you, pulling you toward the only thing that mattered now.

You stumbled over to Joel, heart hammering in your chest, each beat pounding like a war drum. You leaned over him, your breath shaky as you hovered above his bloodied form.

"Hey, hey, hey…" The words came out soft, almost like a prayer, your fingers hovering above his battered skin. Every inch of you wanted to touch him, to make sure he was still breathing—still there—but you were terrified. Terrified that if you did, if you moved too quickly, you might break him with a single touch.

His face was bruised and battered, blood streaked down his jaw and neck. His breathing was shallow, ragged—but it was still there. He was still here.

Your hand trembled, fingers hovering just above him, a fragile hesitation before you finally let them settle on his chest, feeling the weak rise and fall beneath your palm.

"Joel," you whispered, voice cracking, soft but desperate. "Joel, stay with me. Cmon, don’t do this.”

. . .

It had been two weeks since the incident, but time felt warped—like it had both stopped and dragged on at once. You hadn’t left this chair. Maybe just to go to the bathroom, but even then, you barely registered it, too numb, too drained.

The room had become your world. The pale walls, the soft beeping of the machines keeping a rhythm to your broken thoughts. Every other sound faded into the background, until it was just you and the memories that haunted you.

At some point, Tommy had barged in and threatened to force-feed you if you didn’t eat something, anything, before dragging you out of the infirmary for a few minutes of air. You barely remembered it—just that he was there, urging you to move, to care, but you hadn’t felt it.

And then Maria had made you change. She wasn’t gentle about it, but you were too far gone to fight back. She made you strip the bloodstained clothes off your body—clothes that clung to you like a second skin of guilt—and put on something fresh. Something clean. Something that didn't smell like the blood of the man you nearly lost.

Joel was in stable condition now, his heart still beating, his lungs still taking in air. He still hadn't woken up.

His face was burned into your consciousness. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it. The bruising. The blood. The scar on his temple you always teased him about, now covered with black and blue. The deep, unsettling weight of it all settled in your chest, each time harder to breathe through.

You couldn’t escape it.

His face. The desperate, silent plea you could never erase.

Ellie had visited numerous times. She never asked what you were thinking, never pressed you to speak, but she didn’t have to. She knew you well enough to see the anger, and sadness swirling beneath your skin, the tension in your every move.

She knew this wasn’t just exhaustion or grief—it was guilt. Deep, suffocating guilt. Whether it was survivor's guilt or something more, Ellie saw it, knew it. And she also knew, without a doubt, that you cared for him. The way your eyes lingered on his sleeping form. The way your hands would twitch, wanting to touch him, but afraid to.

But you didn’t act on it. You couldn't.

It was too much. The weight of your own feelings, the weight of what had happened, the fear that maybe you didn’t deserve to feel this way. Not after everything. Not after the bloodshed. Not after the fact that you were still here, breathing, while he was lying unconscious, fighting for every breath.

Would it be better to die? The thought had plagued you more than once. To die with him, to end it all and erase the possibility of this endless ache that gnawed at your insides. To take away even the chance of missing him, the chance of waking up and still feeling this pain in your chest.

What if he died and you never got the chance to say you loved him. How each and every longing stare meant something more than 'I'm afraid to let you in.' Please don't leave without letting me love you.

You wondered if it would be simpler, if the universe would just let you follow him into the dark. Maybe it would stop this gnawing emptiness. Maybe it would stop the endless loop of what-ifs, of imagining him waking up and letting your hands roam against his skin—lips and tongue trailing against every scar, every inch pain he's ever received. kissing it better.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy.

But, you couldn’t escape it. The raw, bitter truth that you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t leave him. And somehow, even if it felt like a punishment, you had to keep going. Had to keep breathing for him, even when every part of you wanted to shut down and fade into nothing.

. . .

You could barely function the morning it happened. Your body felt like it was made of lead, eyes swollen from exhaustion, hands shaking as they pressed against your temple in an effort to stay upright in the hospital chair you hadn't left in days.

The rustling of sheets cut through the exhaustion. Your eyes shot open, heart hammering against your chest, panic. For a split second, the room seemed to warp—was it another dream? Another cruel twist of your mind playing tricks on you?

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of fatigue, and then you saw it. A pair of soft, tired mocha eyes meeting yours—slow and heavy, yet unmistakably aware. It wasn’t a hallucination. He was here.

“Joel…” The name slipped from your lips, barely a whisper, trembling and unsteady, as if you weren’t sure if it was real either.

He blinked once, his gaze flickering around the room like he was still piecing things together, his breath shallow but deliberate. The faintest glimmer of recognition passed through his expression, a slight furrow in his brow as if the fog in his head hadn’t completely lifted yet.

But the sight of him—alive, awake, breathing—was enough to make the world stop spinning for a moment.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body frozen. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You didn’t want to blink, didn’t want to miss a single second.

Before you could finish your thoughts, before you could form some grand gesture, before your body could even drop to its knees in relief or allow yourself the catharsis of crying… the door to the room opened.

The flood of people—Tommy, Ellie, Maria, and a few others—poured in. Their voices were muffled, distant, like static in your ears as the room seemed to close in on you. You felt their eyes, their relief, their joy. But all you could feel was the suffocating weight of guilt pressing down on your chest. It crawled beneath your skin, an infection that wrapped itself around your throat, choking the air from your lungs.

He’s alive. You wanted to scream it, to be happy, to feel like you had the right to feel something other than shame. But it was like the joy couldn’t reach you.

Instead, it only deepened the ache. The guilt. You had almost lost him. You had almost killed him. What if you didn't make it in time? You should have gotten there sooner. Look at him. Do you see those bruises? Do you see his face? This is your fault. Your fault.

You didn’t want to face anyone. Not yet. Not now.

You turned, before anyone could speak, before they could reach you. The world seemed too loud, too bright. The room felt like it was spinning out of control, like every inch of space was filled with a thousand questions you didn’t want to answer. You left.

You couldn’t breathe in that room, surrounded by their relief, their comfort. You couldn’t breathe with him alive, with everything still hanging in the balance. You couldn’t face them. Not now.

It had been four days since he woke up. Four days since the flood of guilt and relief had crashed over you, and you hadn’t spoken to anyone since. You hadn’t answered your door when they knocked.

The world felt suffocating, and you didn’t feel like you deserved to face it. You didn’t want to face the world. You shouldn’t. The anxiety gnawed at you, relentless. It kept you up at night, pacing in the small space of your mind, suffocating you with every breath. And tonight, it was no different.

You found yourself standing outside his door in the infirmary, fingers trembling as you reached out. The wood was cool beneath your touch, but your hand felt as if it might tremble right through it. You had to do this. You had to.

A soft breath escaped you as you gathered whatever courage you could, your hand hovering just inches from knocking. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, a steady, painful rhythm that echoed in your ears.

Knock Knock Knock

What if he’s angry? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if it’s too late for us?

The thoughts swirled, but you pushed them down, your knuckles gently tapping against the door. The sound seemed to reverberate through your body, like an announcement that you were about to face everything you had been running from.

"Come in."

The voice was rough, deep, and it hit you like a wave—like honey to your brain, smooth and warm, yet leaving you trembling in its wake. The same voice you had sinned thinking about. "Thatsa' good girl." … "It's like you were made for me." … "Take me so good." Late at night when your thoughts spiraled, when guilt and longing tangled into something too complicated to sort through.

The same voice that had sent chills down your spine and made your heart race even when you tried to ignore it. The same voice that had teased you about liking sugar in your morning coffee, a soft joke that always lingered just a little too long.

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. You could still remember every word, every inflection, like the memory of him had been etched into you long before this.

You let out a shaky breath, pushing the door open slowly. You didn't dare let your footsteps be loud, like maybe if you made yourself small enough, you could avoid the flood of emotions threatening to pour over the edge.

You shut the door softly behind you, the sound of it clicking shut making everything feel too real. Too right.

Your gaze flickered to him.

Joel was sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows, his figure still worn but somehow more solid than you'd seen him in days. His expression was tired, but his eyes—they locked onto yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart skip. His hair, though still messy, had the same dark, unruly curls you remembered. But the bruises were fading now, the bloodstains mostly gone, leaving just the raw remnants of the pain he'd been through.

He didn’t speak at first, but his gaze said everything.

You’re here.

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn't come. They got stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled in the fear, the guilt, the ache.

"Hey, Miller…" Your voice came out soft, creaky, and far too small. Awkward. You felt like a stranger in your own body, unsure of how to act, unsure of how to bridge the chasm of silence that had stretched between the two of you for so long.

Joel's gaze softened slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was tired—physically, mentally, emotionally. His face still held the remnants of pain, the tiredness that seemed to etch deeper into his features every day. He had a rough, unshaven jawline, the dark stubble more pronounced now, and his eyes looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks either. You weren’t the only one haunted by everything that had happened.

You felt a flush of heat rise up your neck, self-conscious of how you must look—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and flushed from lack of sleep, your clothes barely hanging on your frame from the stress and nightmares that had claimed your nights.

It felt like everything about you was falling apart. You didn’t want to show him this side of you. The broken, tired version of yourself that you were trying so hard to bury beneath the weight of it all.

Joel's voice was rough when he finally spoke. "You look like hell."

The words were blunt, honest—but there was no cruelty behind them. Just a quiet, tired acknowledgment.

Your chest tightened. You don’t even know the half of it.

"I—" You swallowed thickly, but the words stuck. The shame, the anxiety, the feeling of being so lost in your own head, it all bubbled up, suffocating. "I didn't—"

The guilt was there again, squeezing at your lungs, choking the air out of you. You hadn’t been there for him. Not in the way you needed to. And now, everything between you felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You swallow. Deep. Visibly. The lump in your throat is thick, hard to push down, but you try. You have to say something.

"You're one to talk." Your words are meant to be a jest, a poor attempt to deflect, to mask the fragile state you’re in. But the moment the words leave your lips, you know it’s hollow. You feel it in the way your voice cracks, in the way your shoulders tremble with the weight of everything unsaid.

The tears start to fall, slowly at first, as if your body couldn't hold them back any longer. You feel them trickle down your cheeks, hot and stinging, leaving tracks where they slip beneath your eyes. It’s like the dam inside of you has broken.

"C'mere, Darlin'." His voice is low, a soft sigh that seems to carry all the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Before you can even respond, his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, gentle but firm enough that you can’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. The touch isn’t demanding; it’s an invitation. A silent plea for connection, for comfort, for whatever fractured piece of yourself you were too afraid to offer.

His pull is soft, like he’s letting you decide whether or not to lean in. And you do. Slowly, you lean over the bed, drawn toward him like a magnet, feeling the warmth of his body. It’s the closest thing to safety you’ve known in days.

The moment you’re within reach, his arms are around you, pulling you in, and you can’t stop the sob that escapes you. His hands are in your hair, fingers splaying against the back of your head, holding you to him like he’s afraid you might break into pieces if he lets go.

It’s a hug. No words, no explanations. Just him and you, and the space between you that was never meant to be there.

Your arms sink into his body, like you were carved for each other, like you were always meant to find this moment. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart. It’s solid. It's real. It’s the reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself break. His presence steadies you.

"I thought I lost you." You hiccup, the words coming out ragged, broken. The tears just keep falling, unstoppable now. The weight of everything hits you harder than you expected, each sob shaking you to your core.

"I thought I didn't make it on time—" You inhale sharply, the breath hitching painfully in your chest as your heart races. The air feels too thin, too cold. "I thought, I thought—" The words don’t come out in a way that makes sense, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to explain.

Joel doesn’t speak at first, but his arms tighten around you just enough to ground you. To remind you that you’re still here. That he’s still here. But when you whisper the words that have been haunting you, your voice soft, shaking, the weight of it lingers in the space between you:

"What if you died?"

It’s like you’ve just said the one thing you’ve been avoiding for days. The truth. The thought that has been crushing you silently, quietly, as you tried to keep it together. The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. Joel's breath stills for a moment, and you can feel the subtle shift in his chest, like he’s absorbing what you’ve just said. He doesn’t pull away, though. He doesn’t let you go.

After a long pause, his voice comes, deep and steady, like he's trying to find the right words to anchor you. "I’m here, Darlin'. I’m here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

You tremble against him, a few more tears slipping free. His words feel like a lifeline. Like the space you’ve been treading on has finally found solid ground.

It felt like hours passed, the tears still coming in waves, but slowly they began to quiet. You didn’t even know how long you’d been there, in his arms, the two of you sorting through the guilt, the fear, the helplessness.

The silence between you now wasn’t suffocating—it was calm, soothing.

Somehow, though, you found yourself on the infirmary bed, tucked next to him. His presence was warm, steady, and his chest rose and fell with a deep, even breath that kept you grounded.

You had never thought you’d end up like this—lying next to him, with the scent of sterile bandages in the air, the soft hum of the room around you, and the quiet weight of his hand in yours. But here you were.

The pad of your finger traced along a deep purple scar against his forearm the one you couldn’t help but notice when you first sat down beside him. It was a stark reminder of how close you came to losing him.

Your touch was gentle, almost reverent, like you were afraid that if you pressed too hard, the moment might shatter. His skin was rough under your fingertips, but it was warm, real, and alive. Each scar, each mark on him felt like a story, a part of him that you couldn’t change. It made you ache. It made you feel sick.

Joel’s voice broke the silence, quiet but with a hint of warmth that made your chest tighten. "You don’t gotta do that, y'know." He said, his voice softer than usual, but there was an understanding in it.

"I know," you whispered, your voice a little strained, but calm, for the first time in what felt like forever. "I just… need to know you're okay."

"I'm here. Can't get rid of me." His voice is steady, but the weight of it carries something more—something unspoken. Joel’s eyes drift over your face, tracing each line, each imperfection. He doesn’t say anything about how you look, though the words are there, heavy in the air. You look like hell—tired, broken—but to him, you’re still the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever seen.

The intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten. For a second, it feels like everything stops. The world outside the infirmary fades away. His eyes are searching you—like he’s trying to figure something out, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s the same thing you’ve been trying to figure out, too.

Your breath hitches slightly, but you hold his gaze, even though you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. It's like time slows down. An eternity of silence stretches between you, and in that silence, everything seems to hang.

You don’t want to ruin this. Not this moment. Not whatever this is.

The thought of naming it—of putting a label on it—feels overwhelming. Is it friendship? Coexistence? Just two people trying to make it through this hell together? Or is it something more? You can’t tell, but you’re afraid that if you try to define it, if you try to make sense of it, you might destroy what little of it you have left.

“You’ve got a way of making everything feel… complicated,” you finally whisper. You wish you could say more, but you don’t know how.

He chuckles softly, and you can hear the tiredness in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve got that effect on people.” His hand shifts, his fingers lightly brushing the side of your face, almost tentative, but the warmth of it fills the space between you. "I don’t have all the answers. But you’ve got me, Darlin'. That’s more than I can offer right now."

Your eyes close for a brief moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s a kind of comfort in them, in the uncertainty. In the fact that neither of you has it all figured out.

Fuck it.

Like a string that snaps, your brain rewires the moment you make eye contact again. It’s sudden, electric—You don’t think about it. You don’t think about the consequences, the mess, or the fact that this might break whatever fragile balance you’ve managed to keep. You just act.

Your hands slip up, fingers trembling ever so slightly, but the moment they make contact with his dark curls, something inside you stills. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. His eyes are steady on yours, but there’s something raw in them now. Something that tells you he’s as desperate for this connection as you are.

Inches away, you breathe in his scent, that familiar mix of dust and earth, the roughness of the world outside, but underneath it—there’s him.

A presence that’s always been there, always just out of reach. But now, now it’s close enough to touch.

Your lips part, but it's only an invitation. You don't say anything. Don’t have to. Everything that needs to be said is written in the way your bodies lean toward each other, drawn together like magnets.

His breath hitches, and before you can even think about it, he’s closing the distance between you. His lips find yours with a desperation that takes your breath away, and the world outside falls away entirely.

It's nothing like you imagined. It’s messy, raw, and full of that intensity that neither of you can contain.

His free hand slips effortlessly against your thigh, lifting your leg and guiding it over his waist. It’s instinctual, animalistic, the movement seamless. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, if that’s even possible. He kisses you like a man starved, teeth scraping lightly at your bottom lip, as if claiming you in a way words never could.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the rush of heat, the feeling of him—his strength, his need, his warmth, the way his body presses against yours.

Then, as if sensing the balance of control slipping away, you pull back just enough to whisper, your voice rough, "This was—"

He inhales, as if the pull away from you visibly made him chill.

"This was a mistake. I'm sorry." You mumble, slipping back from his hands cascaded gently into your hair. His eyes dull, as if they really calculate what's really happening here.

"I don't want to mess anything up — make it weird…" You hesitate before taking another step back. Feet brushing against the ground of the hospital, boots making a small scraping noise as they lift from the floor. "I'm glad you're awake. I'm glad you're alive." You practically spew, "But this— Us? This can't happen."

Joel doesn't move. Not right away. His hands remain suspended in the air where you'd just been, as if the weight of your absence took a moment to register. Slowly, they fall to his lap, fingers curling inward like he's holding something fragile that just shattered in his palms.

His brows pull together, the light in his eyes dimming but not extinguished. He nods once—slow, like he's swallowing something bitter—but doesn’t speak right away. The silence between you is thick, suffocating. The kind that says everything without a single word.

Then, his voice breaks through, rough and low. “You ain’t messin’ anything up.” He pauses, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory in case you don’t come back. “But I get it. Hell, I probably shouldn’t’ve—”

He stops himself, jaw clenching. You can see the hurt there, just beneath the surface. Not anger. Just a quiet ache he doesn’t know what to do with.

“You don’t owe me nothin’. Not after what you did for me. For Dina.” His voice cracks slightly, but he clears it, steadying himself. “If this—whatever this is—ain’t somethin’ you want, I won’t push it.”

You turn to go. You don’t want to, but standing in this room any longer feels like peeling skin off a wound that’s still fresh. Like clawing your skin open, nails rough, sharp. You grip the door handle like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The cold metallic of the handle searing into your hot sweaty palms.

But before you pull it open, you hear him again—softer this time, almost like he's talking to himself.

“I was glad it was you. When I woke up… I was glad it was you sittin’ there.”

Your chest tightens, fingers trembling around the handle. The sound of your boots echo as you leave, but his words follow you long after the door clicks shut.

. . .

It was two days later. Two days of hiding from the town. Hiding from the man whose ghost now walked on flesh and bone legs, breathing and real, and everywhere, even your head. Since Joel had been released from the infirmary, you hadn’t so much as walked past the diner. Not the greenhouse. Not even the training range.

He was free now. Free to walk Jackson’s frosted streets. Carrying the weight of that night, that kiss, that almost. Whatever almost was.

Flyers for the winter social had started popping up, taped to doors with half-used duct tape, and coffee stained paper.

Pulling one off your door with more force than necessary, crumpling it before it could flutter too long. The word celebrate stared at you like an accusation.

Celebrate what? Survival? Guilt?

You hadn’t even gone into town yet. Too afraid of seeing him again. Of his eyes. Of that voice, gravelly and soft, saying your name like it meant something.

But, I guess it did mean something. 'If this—whatever this is—ain’t somethin’ you want, I won’t push it.'

'I won't push it.'

Fuck, Joel—You don't have to push anything. If you asked me to lay down on the ground and die, I'd surely succumb.

Your jacket felt too heavy as you shrugged it on. Maybe you’d walk. Maybe not toward town, but just out. Just far enough to quiet the thoughts screaming through your skull. Just long enough to convince yourself he hadn’t meant anything by it.

But then—three soft knocks on the door.

You froze, hand on the knob. Breath held. Like if you didn’t move, whoever it was would give up and go.

But they didn’t.

“Darlin’…?” The voice was muffled, but unmistakable. A drawl like smoke and honey, carrying your nickname like it was a prayer and a curse all at once.

Joel.

You don’t open the door. Can’t. Your fingers ghost over the handle like it might bite, like turning it would unravel something you’ve spent days trying to sew back together.

“Yeah?” you call, voice thinner than you’d like, strained from disuse and guilt and whatever mess you and Joel had brewed up in the dark of that infirmary room.

A pause. You can almost hear him shift his weight on the porch. One boot against the old wood, creaking just slightly. He’s nervous. Or maybe annoyed. It’s always hard to tell with him.

“I ain’t here to fight,” he finally says. His tone is gentler than expected. Tired. “Just… wanted to talk.”

You lean your forehead against the wood. Cold. Solid. Safe. “About what?” you ask, not unkindly, but not welcoming either. Somewhere in the middle. A purgatory of almost.

Another pause.

“’Bout that night,” he says, like it hurts to even admit it out loud. “About… what you said..”

You squeeze your eyes shut, breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your chest.

You don’t want to open the door. But God, you want to hear what he has to say.

"I am uh— very sick. very ill." You lie, a fake cough following the announcement. "Cough, Cough, Haack."

There’s a pause. Long enough to make you think—maybe—he bought it.

“That so?” Joel says, flat. Almost amused.

You can practically hear the eyebrow he’s raising.

“’Cause I saw you at the stables this morning, arguing with Tommy ‘bout the feed schedule. Didn’t look real near deathbed to me.”

"That—was a hallucination," you say quickly. "Fever dreams. Very common with… plague. And, you're still recovering." Your face burns. Shit.

A muffled chuckle—soft, rough, and goddamn sweet.

“I’ll wait,” he says simply, like he's got all the time in the world. “Out here. Cold’s good for the immune system, and recovery.”

You bite your lip. Damn him. Damn that gravel-sweet voice and that infuriating patience. Damn that sexy ass fucking voice.

Because you know—you know—you’re going to open the door. Maybe not now. Maybe not in the next ten seconds. But eventually.

Your fingers wrap around the handle, pressing it down and pulling toward you. The wooden door creaks open, revealing the screen door. A thin barrier between you.

He looks… good. Brown jacket, blue jeans, a belt, and new boots, the remnants of blood no longer. His eyes were still dark, and tired, but there was an air of relief to them, like he had relaxed long enough to feel somewhat a semblance of peace.

The cold air rushes in, bites at your skin like karma. He’s watching you with that unreadable expression, the one that’s somewhere between stern and soft. Somewhere between don’t push me and please, push me just a little.

“Hey,” he says, simple. Low.

You swallow hard. Your throat’s suddenly dry, like the lie about being sick took too much out of you. Fuck, maybe you were ill.

“Hey,” you echo. Quieter.

He shifts, thumbs hooking against his belt. It’s a casual stance, but you can see the tension sitting behind it. You know him well enough to read the signs. He’s rehearsed something. That jaw twitch? That's anxiety settling into his gut. That tiny nod to himself? That’s a man about to dive headfirst into something he’s not sure he knows how to swim through.

“I ain’t here to mess things up,” he starts, voice steady, “or push somethin’ you don’t want. But I been thinkin’, and…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, y’know.”

That hits harder than you expect.

“I wake up every day grateful I get to be scared,” he adds, quieter. “Grateful you pulled me outta there. Grateful I get to even have this conversation.”

Your fingers twitch around the edge of the doorframe. The weight of it all, the what-ifs, the blood, the almost—they come rushing back.

He steps a little closer, boots scraping softly against the porch wood.

“So I figured… if you're done bein’ on your deathbed," his mouth tugs in a half-smile, “maybe you’d let me take you to that winter social at tipsys…”

You stand there. Mouth hung agape open like some fucking fool. I'm sorry? He said what? What the fuck did he just say to you?

"You.. uh.." You stutter, fingers curling against the door frame, "You… don't hate me?"

Joel’s brow furrows—just slightly. Not in frustration, but in that Joel Miller kind of way. The one where he's thinking? The one where he's registering how to fix this. The kind where concern looks like confusion and softness hides behind the grit.

“Hate you?” he repeats, like the words physically repulse him. “Darlin’, I don’t think I could hate you if I tried.”

He steps a little closer again, enough that the warmth of his breath ghosts across the screen.

“You saved my life. You nearly lost your damn mind doin’ it. I saw it. Hell, I felt it.”

His hand lifts, hovers at the screen like he wants to touch you through it but won’t risk the boundary unless you give the signal.

“I hated that you ran. I hated that I woke up and you weren’t there. But hate you?” He shakes his head, the weight of it settling like snowfall. “I could never.”

The silence that follows is sharp and thick, clinging to the air between you.

“You still think I don’t want you?” he asks, voice rough. Not angry. Just naked. “'Cause I’ve been tryin’ not to want you every damn day since I met you. And I’m losin’ that fight.”

Your pulse is thunder in your ears.

Oh fuck…

Your gaze drops—floor, boots, anywhere but his eyes. Then slowly lifts again, like your body’s trying to catch up to your heart.

Your brain? Gone. Empty. Nothing but static between your ears.

Your hand moves on its own, fingers brushing the cold metal of the screen door latch. One soft twist.

Click.

The lock gives.

You glance up, startled by your own movement, eyes locking with his like you just said something out loud without speaking.

Because you did.

That sound—that soft, quiet click—wasn't just a noise. It was a confession.

You wanted him. Still do.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, waiting for him to make the first move. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, a nervous habit you can’t shake. Your pulse hammers in your ears, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s just you feeling this, or if he’s as sick with it as you are.

The seconds stretch on, too long. Too quiet.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches up, brushing the edge of the screen door, before he grips the frame with the same steady, sure hands that had been so tender earlier.

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “You sure about this?” he asks, low and rough, voice dragging across your skin like a touch.

It’s a question, but you both know it’s not. It’s him waiting for you, giving you space to breathe, even as every inch of him is drawn to you.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, and it pulls at you like gravity, drawing you closer despite every rational thought telling you to back away. He’s patient, but there’s that edge beneath his calm—something hungry, something wild, that’s been buried too long.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, betraying the storm crashing in your chest.

He gives a half-smile, a flicker of something dangerous. “Good,” he mutters, then leans in, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips, but not close enough to touch.

The tension is suffocating. The world outside doesn’t exist. Not anymore.

And then he speaks again, voice almost a whisper, lips brushing against your ear.

“Because you ain't runnin' away this time.”

With one quick motion he's in the house, hands slipping against the hooks of your jeans. His boot knocks against the wooden door, closing it. A sway of air as it slams.

His mouth is already against yours, hand moving up to splay against the middle of your back—leading you, leading you straight back against your kitchen countertop only a few feet away. Mouth falling from your lips, he moves into the nape of your neck, a quick and deep inhale—"Fuck, darlin,'"

"You don't know," A small nibble against the tender skin, "… what you do to me."

The air is thick, heavy with anticipation. His body presses against yours, firm. You gasp, it's the warmth of his breath skimming across your neck, his lips brushing against the delicate curve of your shoulder. Facial hair leaving a tickling sensation in wake.

His fingers tighten around you, pulling you even closer, and it’s as if your bodies have a language of their own—unspoken, raw.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me either, Joel,” you breathe, your own hands trembling as they find their way to his chest. His shirt soft against your fingertips, pulls at you like it’s just one more obstacle you need to get past. Nails scraping at the buttons of the flannel. You feel like a caged animal.

“I think I got an idea.” His chuckle is low, dark.

His hand slips between your legs, hand splayed across the material of your jeans with a subtle press. "Can practically feel it."

His lips find yours again, hungry this time, teeth grazing against your bottom lip. His free hand presses against the small of your back and the other your thigh, hesitating to lift you.

His voice drops, barely a whisper against your lips. “You sure you want this, darlin’?” It’s the same question from earlier, but now, it’s not doubt—it’s something softer, something more urgent. A plead. A fucking prayer. Like if you said no, he'd get on his knees and beg.

His eyes lock with yours, his thumb brushing the side of your jaw as he waits for you to answer.

It only takes seconds for you to dive into another kiss, urgency flooding your body like fire. Your fingers tremble as they work at the buttons of his flannel, fumbling slightly with each one.

His lips are on yours again, a hungry, desperate rhythm that matches the frantic pace of your heart. His hands move to your waist, gripping you tight. The flannel falls open, the fabric grazing your hand, and fingertips finding refuge against tanned scarred skin. It's a sin to hide a body this fucking pretty under clothing.

Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, eyes dark with something raw, something dangerous. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The hunger in his gaze says it all. Without a word, he shifts you, his hand firm against the curve of your back, pulling you up just enough to sit you on the edge of the counter. The movement is quick, efficient, and the cool granite meets your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his body, pressed against you.

Your breath hitches as his hands slide under your shirt, rough against your skin, pulling you even closer. His lips hover just above your ear, his voice gravelly, rough. “You kiss like you patrol.”

He's purposeful with each movement. Every drag of his finger causing a fire in it's path. Hands gently coming to the hem of your jeans, and then with a small pop, the button is undone. A slow, and soft shimmying down until all he can stare at is his glistening prize.

"Greedy… Unhinged..." He continues, lowering down to his knees— his hands slipping down your thighs, to your ankles, and then hooking your legs above his shoulders, "Clumsily, maybe…"

Within seconds his mouth is against you. It's hot, wet, animalistic as if the man is starved. Clumsy. Messy. Tongue grazing over every sensitive fold— and your very swollen clit. He flattens his tongue against you,—then as quick as he can extinguish the pleasure, he nibbles against you. Profanities dripping from your mouth, his name followers like a prayer of forgiveness.

"Needy fuckin girl, y'taste so good."

The response to his words. Your free hand shoots out to the top of his head, fingers interlacing with salt and pepper curls. Wanting can't even describe your state of mind right now. It's more like yearning, fucking craving.

Forearm burning from strength it takes to hold yourself up on the countertop, needing to see him on his knees for yourself.

You curl your fingers, a soft tug of his hair earns that deep guttural growl from his throat.

"mmh, easy, girl," His breath fans across your pussy, sending shivers shooting up your spine.

You try to look away—try to break this sight, but you're pretty sure if you blinked hard enough you'd wake up from this dream. He dips lower, his mouth pulling you closer to the edge, grounding you to him like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

His lips release from your cunt with a pop, tongue curling against the spit line that follows. His eyes settle against your own— dark, and frantic.

The release of the sensation causes you to shiver, the overstimulation already coiling in your core. Twitching, a small huff to every breath you release.

"That all it takes to get you shakin' like a leaf?" He chuckles—soft.

The tension in the air thickens as you lean down, close enough to make your heart race, yet he doesn’t rush it. His hand still holds your thighs spread apart, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

"I want you." The words flow easily. Easily because your brain is pathetically melted inside of your skull.

He practically purrs, another deep growl from his throat, "Yeah?"

"Then take it… 'ts all yours," He tilts his head with his words, eyes dancing over every single feature you have. He stares at you like his brain maps out every mole, and scar. You needily grab at the remnants of his unbuttoned flannel, pulling it up towards you. He smiles, smiles. Excitedly standing back up, and leaning into your touch.

You don't hesitate. You pull him back in, mouths clashing, breaths hot and broken. His hands roam your thighs, your hips, possessive like he’s memorizing you, branding you. You feel the scratch of his callouses against your skin, grounding you, making you dizzy all at once.

One hand tilts your chin up, the other slides up your back, holding you steady while his mouth traces a trail from your lips to your jaw, then lower, pressing kisses down your throat, your collarbone.

You tilt your head back to give him more space, a soft, desperate noise escaping your throat. His name slips from your lips without thinking—"Joel."

That sound alone seems to snap something inside him. Saying his name like that. Like you need him. Like you fucking crave him. It practically got him drunk on sin.

He lifts his head, eyes dark and molten. His hands grip your waist firmly, thumbs stroking slow circles against your sides. “Gonna take care of you, darlin’. Gonna give you everything you been needin’… just like you deserve.”

The jingle of his belt catches your attention, as if your brain can process anymore. His fingers softly unthreading the leather from the metal, and with a clank—it's slipping to the floor.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice rough, thumb brushing tender over your hipbone.

You nod, too breathless to speak.

That's all he needs. The pads of his fingers undoing the button of his jeans, a soft slide down and the sight nearly makes you keel over. You've met god. How could someone hide such a perfect cock? The size of him itself steals the air from your lungs.

"Please," You breathe, "Please Joel."

"You look so damn pretty like this," he says, half in awe, half in something darker, heavier.

"Layin' below me, fucked out on your kitchen counter."

Without a delay he inches in, the tip of his cock pressing against your needy, and swollen entrance. The angle is perfect, a slow and greedy intrusion that causes your nails to scrape at the granite of the countertop.

"Fuck—" He exhales, a restrained whine from his throat, "You were made f'r me…"

Joel inhales as he plunges himself fully. Without a second thought, he pulls back out, before sliding back in. It's like a game for him, eyes downward on the motion. Watching the back and forth of his cock as he dives in and out of you.

His pace quickens, the musical rhythmic of the thrusting becoming faster, and faster. He's hitting spots you didn't even know you had. Spots that nobody has ever reached. You can barely hear, ears ringing, vision blurred by inklings of tears.

You don't realize your howling his name until he speaks.

"Gotta… Quiet down there, darlin'…”He chuckles, deep and gravelly as he holds back a strained noise. Hips snapping back and forth, the wet squelches of your pussy like music to his ears, "… don't want the neighbors thinkin' you got coyotes."

Every thrust is a further hit to your core, releasing a sound that vaguely resembles a wheeze rather than a moan. Each muscle in your thighs threatening to give out, as you open your legs wider and wider for his ravaging.

Joel likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip—grinding there for a moment until his own body twitches, and then slamming back in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy.

“Sweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..”

Sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you.

"Gonna paint your fuckin' insides at this rate…" He exhales, shakily. He's fucking into you like a wild animal. At the end of the day, that's what he is. Bloodthirsty, a killer, known for his haunting and inhuman actions.

“Fuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, Joel—" You cry out, hips clumsily and weakly fumbling against your meeting point, trying to bury him deeper inside of yourself.

Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyed staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. "Can feel you squeezn', know how close you are…"

Back and forth— milking cries from your sweet lips. Continually riding the way you clamp down on him desperately, leaning into your orgasm.

"J-Joel— Oh my g.." The words can't even release from your throat, before your head tilts back and a series of gargled profanities and pet-names drool out.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that… take it just like that…" his words are pure fucking filth.

It's not long after you that his hips start to snap messily, losing his train of thought at every deep bury into your overstimulated pussy. Head tipping down—he clamps his eyes shut, riding the high of your squirming.

He cums. It paints your insides with boiling heat, both of you stringing out whines and grunts. The snapping motion continues, as he ruts the cum deeper and deeper inside of you. He's purposefully dragging out his own relief. Doesn't want it to end. Fuck, he never wants it to end.

"Fuckin' hell…" Joel murmurs softly, slipping out with a slow release. The tension eases in your gut, and you feel every muscle in your body screaming at you. You let out a noise between a sigh and a whimper, the feeling sends a shiver up and down your body. Goosebumps in the wake of his hot breath.

“Yeah.. you ain't gettin' away from me again…"