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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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would you ever consider writing a deeper romantic relationship for the lovely couple from Daddy can fix it??💖 it’s sooo good
I hope you didn’t think I forgot about you 💕 I was so pleased to receive your ask. From one hopeless romantic to another, I hope you enjoy!
Daddy Does Drilling
Handyman! Joel x fem!plus size!Reader
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Word count: 1.3K
Summary: what happens when you and Joel blur the line between business and pleasure..
I invite everyone to also read "Daddy Can Fix It" 🩵
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears apron and dress. Reader's age not mentioned so there is as much or as little of an age gap as you want. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped). Oral (f receiving). Sarah and Ellie are mentioned but not named. Divorced Dad!Joel 🤭Slowly falling in love and not realizing it until it's too late. Mention of reader wanting a divorce from her husband. Also catty book club bitches.
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"You're crazy, y'know that?" Joel whispers in your ear, his harsh whisper tickling your skin as he guides you up and down on his cock.
You grab the back of the sofa, nails digging into the soft upholstery as he plunges into your soaking wet pussy. "I had to do it," you giggle through your panting. "I couldn't stand my idiot husband doing all the work that you do better."
That earns you a slap on the ass, Joel's large hand giving it a firm grip after. "You're an insatiable lil' thing," he growls in your ear. "'Bout to wear me out."
You smirk up at the patched-up drywall, perfectly smoothed over by Joel's industrious and talented hands. Hands that are now grabbing your curves and molding your body to his. "Can you blame me? I'll never get enough of this cock!" Your sentence ends on a loud moan as he holds your hips steady and thrusts up into you hard and deep so you feel the steady brush of him up close to your cervix.
"Come on sweet thing, ya came twice already, you ready for a third?" Joel rasps in your ear. "Got my lap all fuckin' wet with this juicy pussy."
The moment he'd finished up with the wall you'd pounced on him, crushed your lips and your hips to his, delighted to find him already hard and ready. In the shortest amount of time ever, you both had shoved off and pulled aside whatever clothes were unnecessary and fucked right there on the sofa.
He's working you to your third orgasm, spoiling you, actually, holding back from his own pleasure because it's too much fun giving you yours, watching the beautiful expression on your face, the way your body shakes and trembles.
"There she is," he whispers as your sugar walls convulse around him, rhythmically squeezing his rigid cock, and that's when he lets himself explode, your pussy milking him for every drop he's got.
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He's at your house every week, then twice a week, three times a week, until he's just there to fuck you and make you scream his name. No fixing of anything required.
Neither of you notices when things take a turn towards the soft, the sweet. He spends hours between your thighs, tasting and teasing you until you come multiple times, not just trying to get you off but trying to know you. Your time together is marked not by the quick, productive thrusts in positions you haven't tried since college, but in the lingering kisses and knowing stares, the confessions that spill from your lips, the honesty that is born of such intimacy as you've shared.
You find out that he's divorced, has two grown daughters, one married and the other away at university. He loves to work with his hands, that he has a natural knack for figuring out a solution to every problem, and persists until said problem is fixed. That's how he started his company.. and one day the ladies just started coming onto him.
Being older and single, he didn't let those chances pass him. The women he helped were lonely like himself, and if he could give them a bit of something to keep them happy even for a moment, he was glad to do it. It became a well-known secret among the housewives of the community of Royal Hill that he would provide good service at a decent price and give you the fucking of a lifetime if you asked politely.
He liked women, found their husbands to be idiots, more often than not. White collar limp dicks who think a G-spot is street slang for money. Some of them he got to know well: Amirah with the flawless umber skin and always smelled of jasmine; Isabelle who tip-tapped around her tiled home in impossibly high heels with ostentatious feathers on the straps and wore hardly anything under her sheer hot pink robe, also bedecked in feathers; Becky who was quite demanding and rude but submissive once she had a dick inside her.
Then came you. And you threw him for a loop.
You were more than you appeared: sweet, shy, pretty. Once he got you in bed you were a goddess, and the amazing thing was you already knew you were. You gave without asking anything in return.. but how could he ever deny you his strong hands, eager mouth, throbbing cock?
No one else had struck this feeling within him, no matter how many lonely housewives he visited, no matter how hard or rough or passionately he'd fucked any of them, they were just fun. Side quests, as his gamer brother would say.
He liked getting to know you, finding out who was the woman underneath the apron and the rosebud-patterned dress. You told him secrets no one else knew, and he found himself doing the same. You would call each other just to talk, to hear each other's voices when you couldn't be close.
What you didn't know was the impact it would have on the other housewives.
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"He doesn't even come over himself anymore. His brother Tommy came by to fix the sink instead."
"Don't get me wrong.. Tommy's cute, but I wanted Joel."
"Daddy Joel."
You ignore the little group that's once again near the dessert table. You grab a couple of cucumber sandwiches and a chocolate-dipped madeleine, oblivious to their prattle.
"I don't know," Becky says pointedly. "His truck has been seen outside a certain someone's house a few days a week." She stops you before you can go back to your seat. "With the amount of time Joel's been at your home, you ought to have the most restored, revamped, upgraded home on the block," she says, brimming over with restrained attitude.
"What's going on?" she asks under her breath.
You can see the others are waiting for you to answer her, but for the first time ever you feel absolutely no need to appease them. You need to win them over like you need a hole in your head. "I don't know what you're talking about," you tell them, lying with ease.
"It's not nice to take up all his time," Becky says with an icy tone, staring you down as if looks could kill.
"Becky, is it just me, or are you jealous over a man you have to pay to fuck you?"
The others are stunned. No one has ever put Bitchy Becky in her place before. Not even she knows what to say.
"I think I'm done with this book club. I can read on my own at my house.. waiting on Daddy to fix whatever I need him to." With an angelic smile you drop the plate of treats back onto the table as you leave.
Walking out into the late afternoon sun you feel more free than you ever have before, as if a whole new chapter has started. The short walk to your house is pleasant, even more so when you see Joel's work truck in your driveway.
"Thought I missed ya," he says, his hands in his pockets as he walks from your front door.
"Fridays are for the book club," you explain, heart racing as you come close to him, and his arms go naturally around your waist. "But I quit. Can't really stand those snobby bitches."
You inhale the clean cotton scent of his red flannel, nuzzling your nose in his shoulder as he kisses the side of your head. "I don't want to do anything ever again that doesn't make me happy."
"So, lil' thing, what's gonna make ya happy right now?" he asks, a small grin playing across his lips.
Looking up at him, you realize Joel is the best choice you could have made. "I think I'm going to leave my husband. No.. I'm definitely going to leave my husband. But there's something else I want right now.."
"Good idea." His arms tighten slightly around you, as if to tether you to him. "And what would that be?"
"I want you to come inside.. you've got some drilling to do," you lead him by the hand and into your home.
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dividers by @saradika 👑
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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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DAMN. 🖤
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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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no cause what are these two drinking?? What air are they breathing?? Bc the Pascal genes go CRAZY 🤯🤯🤯
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favorite-fan-fic · 4 hours ago
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Pedro Pascal at the Gladiator II London Premiere
💜 Please use and enjoy my gifs as you please! Reblogs appreciated💜 Gif requests are open!
G I F N O T I F I C A T I O N S | G I P H Y
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favorite-fan-fic · 18 hours ago
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i’m obsessed
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favorite-fan-fic · 18 hours ago
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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨
Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader
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Series Masterlist
A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕
Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.
Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI
Word Count: 9.7k
Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
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The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 
   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 
   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 
   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 
   Live. 
   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 
   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…
   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 
   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.
   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 
   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.
   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 
   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 
   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 
   And that something is Joel.
   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 
   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 
   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 
   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 
   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…
   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 
   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 
   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 
   It’s too fucking much.
   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 
   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 
   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 
   Holy shit. 
   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 
   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 
   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 
   You could get lost in here.
   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”
   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 
   He’s warm. 
   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 
   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 
   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 
   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 
   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 
   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 
   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”
   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.
   “Really,” he nods with a smile.
   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”
   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 
   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.
   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 
   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.
   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.
   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 
   “I used to. A long time ago.”
   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.
   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.
   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 
   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 
   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 
   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 
   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 
   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”
   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 
   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 
   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”
   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 
   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 
   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.
   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.
   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 
   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 
   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”
   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 
   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”
   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 
   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”
   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 
   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”
   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 
   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.
   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 
   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 
   You can do this. Fight the fear. 
   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”
   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 
   You can do this. 
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   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 
   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 
   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.
   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.
   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 
   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 
   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.
   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”
   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 
   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.
   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”
   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.
   “I’ll take you back.”
   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…
   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 
   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”
   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…
   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.
   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.
   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 
   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”
   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.
   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”
   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”
   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”
   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”
   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”
   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 
   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 
   He thinks you’re important. 
   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 
   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.
   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.
   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”
   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 
   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”
   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”
   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 
   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”
   “Is he still…”
   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”
   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 
   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  
   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”
   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 
   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”
   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 
   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”
   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 
   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 
   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 
   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…
   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 
   The parking lot…
   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…
   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”
   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 
   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.
   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 
   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 
   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 
   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”
   “Joel… I…”
   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 
   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 
   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 
   You’re pathetic.
   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 
   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…
   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 
   Warm. He’s so warm. 
   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”
   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn���t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”
   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”
   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.
   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.
   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”
   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”
   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.
   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 
   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”
   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 
   Warm. He’s so warm.
   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 
   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.
   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.
   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”
   “Mhm,” you hum back.
   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 
   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 
   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 
   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.
   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”
   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.
   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”
   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.
   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.
   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 
   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 
   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 
   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”
   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.
   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.
   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 
   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 
   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 
   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.
   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”
   You’re so brave. He called you brave.
   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 
   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 
   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.
   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”
   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”
   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.
   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.
   “Okay,” you whisper.
   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.
   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.
   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”
   You can do this. 
   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.
   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.
   “Always.”
   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 
   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 
   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 
   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 
   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”
   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 
   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”
   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 
   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.
   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.
   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.
   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.
   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”
   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.
   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.
   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”
   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 
   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 
   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 
   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.
   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 
   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 
   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 
   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.
   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 
   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  
   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.
   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 
   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 
   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”
   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 
   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 
   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 
   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 
   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 
   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 
   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 
   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”
   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”
   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 
   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”
   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 
   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”
   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”
   He’s proud of you.
   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”
   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”
   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 
   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”
   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.
   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 
   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.
   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.
   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 
   It looks better on you. 
   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 
   He gave you his flannel.
   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 
   “Ice cream?”
   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.
   “Whatever for?” you giggle.
   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.
   “Well, yes. But…”
   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”
   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”
   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 
   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 
   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 
   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.
   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”
   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.
   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”
   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”
   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”
   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.
   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.
   “I’d love some ice cream.”
   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 
   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.
   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.
   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”
   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”
   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”
   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.
Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra
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@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie
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@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b
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Sexiest man alive for me ❤️❤️❤️
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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨
Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader
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Series Masterlist
A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕
Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.
Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI
Word Count: 9.7k
Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
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The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 
   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 
   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 
   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 
   Live. 
   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 
   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…
   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 
   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.
   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 
   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.
   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 
   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 
   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 
   And that something is Joel.
   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 
   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 
   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 
   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 
   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…
   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 
   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 
   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 
   It’s too fucking much.
   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 
   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 
   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 
   Holy shit. 
   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 
   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 
   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 
   You could get lost in here.
   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”
   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 
   He’s warm. 
   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 
   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 
   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 
   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 
   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 
   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 
   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”
   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.
   “Really,” he nods with a smile.
   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”
   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 
   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.
   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 
   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.
   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.
   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 
   “I used to. A long time ago.”
   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.
   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.
   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 
   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 
   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 
   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 
   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 
   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”
   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 
   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 
   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”
   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 
   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 
   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.
   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.
   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 
   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 
   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”
   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 
   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”
   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 
   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”
   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 
   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”
   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 
   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.
   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 
   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 
   You can do this. Fight the fear. 
   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”
   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 
   You can do this. 
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   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 
   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 
   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.
   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.
   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 
   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 
   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.
   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”
   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 
   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.
   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”
   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.
   “I’ll take you back.”
   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…
   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 
   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”
   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…
   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.
   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.
   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 
   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”
   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.
   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”
   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”
   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”
   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”
   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”
   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 
   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 
   He thinks you’re important. 
   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 
   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.
   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.
   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”
   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 
   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”
   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”
   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 
   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”
   “Is he still…”
   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”
   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 
   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  
   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”
   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 
   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”
   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 
   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”
   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 
   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 
   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 
   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…
   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 
   The parking lot…
   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…
   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”
   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 
   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.
   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 
   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 
   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 
   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”
   “Joel… I…”
   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 
   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 
   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 
   You’re pathetic.
   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 
   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…
   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 
   Warm. He’s so warm. 
   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”
   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”
   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”
   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.
   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.
   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”
   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”
   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.
   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 
   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”
   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 
   Warm. He’s so warm.
   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 
   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.
   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.
   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”
   “Mhm,” you hum back.
   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 
   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 
   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 
   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.
   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”
   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.
   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”
   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.
   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.
   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 
   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 
   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 
   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”
   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.
   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.
   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 
   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 
   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 
   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.
   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”
   You’re so brave. He called you brave.
   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 
   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 
   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.
   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”
   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”
   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.
   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.
   “Okay,” you whisper.
   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.
   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.
   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”
   You can do this. 
   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.
   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.
   “Always.”
   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 
   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 
   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 
   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 
   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”
   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 
   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”
   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 
   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.
   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.
   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.
   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.
   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”
   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.
   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.
   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”
   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 
   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 
   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 
   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.
   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 
   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 
   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 
   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.
   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 
   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  
   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.
   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 
   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 
   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”
   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 
   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 
   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 
   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 
   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 
   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 
   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 
   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”
   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”
   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 
   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”
   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 
   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”
   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”
   He’s proud of you.
   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”
   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”
   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 
   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”
   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.
   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 
   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.
   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.
   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 
   It looks better on you. 
   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 
   He gave you his flannel.
   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 
   “Ice cream?”
   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.
   “Whatever for?” you giggle.
   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.
   “Well, yes. But…”
   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”
   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”
   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 
   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 
   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 
   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.
   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”
   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.
   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”
   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”
   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”
   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.
   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.
   “I’d love some ice cream.”
   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 
   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.
   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.
   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”
   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”
   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”
   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.
Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra
@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen
@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings
@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn
@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze
@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81
@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae
@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows
@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie
@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk
@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b
@valkyreally @northennlights
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favorite-fan-fic · 1 day ago
Text
Give up
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.
Warnings: big ass unspecified age gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie and he's nervous and he's not so very sure about this bc of how old he is + he's out of practice. smut| oral (m and f receiving) and swallowing you know what. sub!Joel vibez all around
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This wasn't anything new.
The fact that he was coming over wasn't at all surprising to either of you.
You always found a way to be around him, and no matter how he ignored your every attempt at flirting- he never said no.
It had taken all of two minutes.
You'd knocked on his door, your best little skirt and tight little top on, and faked a pout as you told him:
"There's something wrong with the shower again Mr. Miller"
To his defense, Joel really tried not to stare at your ass as you walked right in front of him to guide him to your house, but that fucking skirt seemed more of a joke than anything.
You both knew there was nothing wrong with your shower, the switch that granted the hot water had just mysteriously turned itself off once again.
This had been going on for months now, since he first arrived in Jackson... since you knocked at his door that one chilly morning to introduce yourself to your new neighbor-
All it took was one look, and you were hooked.
He was gonna be yours.
"there- 's hot" he nodded, shutting the water off once he'd made sure it worked properly again, before drying his hands on his pants.
"thank you so much Joel" you smiled wider than necessary "What can I do to thank you?"
And no, you didn't even try to make your words not sound dirty, quite the opposite actually.
He cleared his throat, his eyes breaking from yours in a nervous shift.
You always did that- had this annoying effect on him.
"'s nothing darlin'" he shook his head, "didn't even take five minutes"
"Still- I feel like I owe you," you said, biting down a smirk
Shitshitshit
"How 'bout some cake?" you suggested just as he was about to have a stroke.
"sounds good"
__ __ __
"'s real good darlin'"
"thank you" you smiled happily, watching him clear his plate in under a minute
Yeah... you were a great baker, what can I say
"you want another slice?"
"You spoil me sugar," he laughed, patting his belly "I can't"
"alright" You couldn't help but softly laugh as you placed his plate in the sink.
You caught him looking away just as you turned around, which made you smile to yourself, a smile that only widened when you noticed the chocolate on the corner of his mouth.
"Oh Joel"
"Mh?"
You sat beside him at the table, your legs brushing against one another as you leaned closer.
"You've got something... right here"
You swiped the chocolate off with your pointer finger, making a show of popping it into your mouth to clean it.
His eyes remained transfixed on you as your tongue licked your digit clean until you were finally done with a loud pop.
"Jesus"
"What?" you smirked, knowing exactly what  "that gave you some ideas?"
"babygirl-" he stopped you immediately, shaking his head
"Oh c'mon Joel" you pouted, your hand going to rest on his forearm "What's a girl gotta do to get you to give up?"
He blinked, looking at you intently and nervously altogether.
"Why do ya even care about an old man like me sweetie?"
You couldn't help but laugh "Have you ever looked in a mirror, Joel?"
You swore you saw pink flood his cheeks- the man was blushing.
"Plus you're kind... and funny when you want to.... and you make me feel-" you bit your lip, trying to find the right word "safe... you make me feel safe"
He scratched his beard, but you couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the arm your hand was still on.
"'m sure there's boys here that are funnier and kinder and make you feel even safer babygirl" he spoke gently "Pretty sure most of them are prayin' you give 'em a chance actually"
You hummed, raising a brow
"but what if I don't want them?"
"You want an old man instead?" he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.
You rolled your eyes "How old even are you?"
"old enough to be your father darlin'"
God, maybe there was something wrong with you, but those words only made your need for him burn harder.
"so?"
"so I ain't even supposed to look your way babygirl- it ain't right"
"But why?" you pouted "Shouldn't I get to have a say in what's right and wrong for me?"
He sighed, not really knowing what to answer to that.
"What if I don't care?" you spoke softly, your pointer finger on his chest, circling his pec "What if I like you, Joel? what if I wanted to show you just how much right now?"
"sweetheart" he started, shaking his head
"You'd stop me?"
And there it was, the pause... your way in.
"Joel?" you called for him, your voice sickly sweet "Would you?"
He couldn't do anything but tell the truth when you were looking at him like that.
"I don't think any man in his right mind could or would ever stop you darlin'"
Satisfaction took over your whole body.
"no?" you teased, grinning like a cat "Not even if he's old enough to be my father?"
He sighed, what looked like resignation in his eyes.
"I'm just a man sweetheart"
And that- that got him the biggest smirk ever known to man.
There was no sound, it was like the word got quiet as you stood up, placed your hands on his thighs, and slowly kneeled between his legs.
He didn't know what to do, he was genuinely frozen, torn between guilt and attraction, the need to let go, to finally do this- that his brain was short-circuiting.
You took advantage of his silence, making quick work of his zipper, and pulling down his boxers just enough to free his cock...
All your speculations got proven right there- he was huge.
"oh wow," you bit down a grin as you watched your fingers struggle to wrap around his whole base.
You gave him a tentative squeeze, and the strained groan rumbling from his chest was just about the hottest thing you'd ever heard.
"y-you- f-fuck"
You stopped him before he could start protesting, your tongue sliding slowly on his tip before leaving a little kiss right on top.
"You're so big" you hummed, your tongue licking him up from base to head, feeling every vein and twitch of his member.
He was looking down at you just as you looked at him, and he seemed... mesmerized, like he couldn't believe this was really happening, that this wasn't another one of the dreams he'd get about you at night, and that it was really your lips wrapping around him.
Goddamnit
You had barely a little more than his tip in your mouth and he was already gone- and I mean gone gone.
He couldn't even remember why he'd spent so long ignoring your not-so-subtle hints-
Just a minute ago he wanted to tell you that no, you don't gotta do that, and ask you sure about this? - But now... now all he could do was throw his head back as he realized that his lack of practice these past few years had really gotten to him, and that he already had to grab at the chair beneath him with all his strength as he tried not to come embarrassingly fast.
You hummed around his cock, and he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting upwards, a small choking sound fleeing your throat.
"goddamnit, 'm sorry baby-"
But the moment he looked down at you, he saw everything but anger... you seemed happy- you were begging him to do it again with your eyes.
But he couldn't, and part of you already knew that.
He shook his head slowly, still trying to think as straight as he could given the situation, but while he was busy with that... you settled for the next best thing... you forced his manhood down your throat all on your own.
The groan he let out was damn near feral.
You couldn't actually get all of it down there, it was the biggest dick you'd ever seen in your life after all, but you swore that with a little bit of practice (that he'd hopefully grant you), you'd get there.
Still, he didn't really seem bothered or in any way disappointed by your inability.
It was an indescribable feeling seeing this tough, rugged man shiver with pleasure before you, his eyes shut and knuckles white with the effort of gripping onto something.
"I- fuck"
He didn't even know what he wanted to say, he just... it felt so fucking good
Your head was back on bobbing up and down his length, and what used to be groans had turned to moans coming out of his mouth.
"Y-you've gotta-" he swallowed, his sentence interrupted by the feeling of your fingers playing with his balls.
"Y-you've got t-" to stop
But you were choking on his girth again
"I-'m gonna-" come
You watched him struggle with his words, his breathing, and his self-control with what would have been a huge smirk on your face if your mouth hadn't been so preoccupied.
You knew he was about to come already, it really wasn't hard to understand,
You also knew that if you stopped now there was a chance you'd get to do more later- but really, this was something too perfect to leave halfway done, and besides... you feared that if you went with your initial plan of straddling his lap and riding the man to heaven, you'd leave him traumatized.
So you didn't stop, you kept massaging his balls as you worked his dick in and out your mouth, ever so often forcing him as deep as you could and choking while drool and saliva dripped down your chin.
"J-Jesus, sweetheart- I-"
All his words came out in rugged breaths, barely coherent- his eyes were back on you, shadows of lust and need darkening his iris as his right hand went to your cheek, a gesture almost too sweet considering what you were doing.
"F-fuck"
And that was it.
He groaned so loud you probably could hear him from outside the house as he reached his climax, rope after rope of his come filling your mouth and throat.
Joel Miller had come in your mouth... and it couldn't have been any more perfect.
You didn't take your eyes off him for one second. You greedily swallowed all his spent as he breathed heavily, eyes still closed.
His dick was softening in your hand as you pulled his boxers back on top of it, a little wave of disappointment washing over your gut.
It's ok, I'll see it again soon
Just as you were plotting exactly how you were gonna get in his pants in the future, his voice startled you
"I-I don't know what to say"
A soft smile pulled at your lips
"You don't have to say anything" you reassured him as you sat back on your chair, your eyes inevitably falling back to where his boxers peeked from the unfasted fly.
"now- I won't keep you hostage any longer, 'm sure you have important stuff to do back at your house"
The frowns on his forehead deepened as his eyebrows came together in confusion.
"What?"
Now you were confused.
"I'm just saying- thank you for... this" You bit down a smile "You know how long I've been wanting it- and you can bet your ass we're doing it and more, again and again, and again" his eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount and you had to stifle a laugh "but... I'm letting you free for tonight"
He took his time to say something.
Silence wrapped around you for a good minute before he was able to mumble something.
"sweetheart-" he cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts "I-I dunno how you're used to... bein' treated, but this ain't over"
A spark of excitement ignited in your belly
He couldn't mean...
"unless you want it to be, of course"
Oh my
"I definitely don't want it to be" you hastily spoke, almost breathless "but I would like to know what you... mean"
I mean, not to be prejudiced, but you very much doubted he could get it up again so quickly given his... well, age.
He cleared his throat again and you finally realized it was just a nervous tic and he didn't actually feel the need to.
"You should be on a bed" he avoided your question
You couldn't help but smile as you got up
"Such a gentleman"
"that's the last word that comes to mind right now" was all he grumbled
__ __ __
"sit"
that's all he said, and now there you were, sitting on your bed as he looked at you with a mix of lust and uncertainty.
Until he finally did it- he crouched between your legs.
He cleared his throat again, and you felt on the urge of cumbusting.
he was gonna eat you out
You'd only ever done this once, and even then you had to basically beg the guy, just for him to be god-awful at it.
Somehow you had a feeling Joel wasn't gonna be bad at all.
"You sure about this, yeah?"
You fought the urge to roll your eyes.
He could probably ask you to put it up your ass and you'd say yes.
"Yes Joel, I'm 100% positive"
He gave you a little nod, and his hands- his big, strong hands- went to your thighs.
You watched him as if he'd disappear at any moment as he slowly- oh so very slowly- took your skirt off.
He swallowed tightly as his eyes fell on your clothed cunt.
If you didn't know any better you would have guessed he was holding his breath as he got rid of your panties.
"Jesus Christ"
I shouldn't be doing this- I really shouldn't be fucking doing this.
She's not even half my age- she's a kid for god's sake- I'm fucking disgustin-
Every single thought in his mind turned to dust the moment you spread your legs- the moment your wet, drenched, pussy came fully into view.
"Y-you-"
he didn't even remember what he wanted to say- and he didn't remember when his thumb had decided to find your folds, but it had.
He heard a whimper leave your mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening again.
It usually took him a whole fucking hour to get hard again
He looked up at you, and you looked hotter than ever before.
Your cheeks were flushed, your bottom lip was between your teeth, and you looked so... perfect.
"I haven't done this in a- while"
As he spoke those words he hoped you'd think he only meant this... as if you'd actually care about how he hadn't gotten laid in years.
"'s ok Joel" you nodded, smiling encouragingly.
He swallowed again, his gaze slowly lowering.
He couldn't believe you were this wet for him- a pretty thing like you.
His thumb moved, gently sliding up and up and up, until he found your clit, earning another little moan.
Fuck
He circled the little bud, and your cries got a little higher and he swore- he swore going to hell was worth it, worth this.
He had to taste you- fuck, he'd been dreaming about the taste of you since he first saw you- So with all the carefulness in the word, he bent down, his lips finding your soft thighs.
He could see your belly inflate and deflate with your exited breaths as he kissed his way closer and closer to your heat, until he was right there, and he couldn't help but leave a kiss on your mound, on the hair covering it so very nicely.
"Joel-" your voice was strangled "please"
If it had been twenty years ago he would have said something cocky like "'s ok baby, it's coming", his whole demeanor would have been very different too. He used to be in charge in the bedroom, always- he used to feel smug and sure of himself, but now... now he was old and out of practice, and he was... he was nervous.
But all it took was to look up at you, at those beautiful pleading eyes, to find the courage.
You wanted this. You wanted him.
And you tasted better than he could have ever fucking imagined.
A deep, feral groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue passed between your folds, as he gathered all your slickness on his taste buds, all that sweet sweet juice that felt like fucking heaven.
Yeah, now I remember why I used to love this so much
You were moaning like a desperate little thing above him, your thighs squeezing his face as your feet clung to his torso.
And he was gripping the outside of your legs, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible, his face as deep in your core as it would go.
His nose was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you see stars, and he was still lapping, not focusing on anywhere in particular, just aimlessly and desperately feeding off of you.
"Oh my god Joel-" you gasped as two of his fingers found their way inside of you.
His movements were slow, he didn't wanna hurt you, and he wanted to find what made you feel good, which is why he kept exploring until his digits curled up into that sweet cushy part of you, and he felt you squeeze him as you threw your head back.
"f-fuck!"
Your left hand had traveled to his locks, gripping them tightly as your hips frantically moved against his face to try and seek more.
His mouth was focusing only on your clit now, thoroughly sucking on it- and just when you thought this couldn't get any better, that this was the most pleasure you'd ever experienced and there was no way he would be able to top this- another one of his big, thick fingers pushed into you.
The cry you let out was something Joel would be thinking of until he was six feet under.
Three of his fingers were so much more than what you were used to.
"J-Joel" you whimpered actual tears staining your vision as you looked down at him "Oh my fucking g-god Joel"
Your gut had been right. He was really fucking good at this
He was watching you, studying every little face you made as the squelching of his fingers moving inside of you filled the room together with your moans.
"I-I'm coming"
You could barely finish the sentence that the world went bright, and the purest pleasure you'd ever felt erupted in your body with a million different blasts.
For a whole minute, you were in another universe- and Joel eagerly enjoyed the show, not stopping his movements for even a fraction of a second.
You feared the moment you opened your eyes you'd wake up in your bed after yet another dream about this man- and yet he was still here, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.
He couldn't help but steal another little kiss on your core before he leaned away.
"well... wow" you smiled like an idiot, your breathing still a little labored "You know what you're doing Mr. Miller"
He didn't say anything, but you saw pink flush his cheeks again as he let your legs go, robbing you of his touch.
You would have been disappointed if it wasn't for the fact he was very clearly having trouble not having his gaze fall down to your heat.
You smiled to yourself as you accepted the skirt he quietly handed you.
Seeing you standing before him with it on when he knew you were bare and wet underneath made Joel's brain freeze for a moment, but that was of course, until you stood on your tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his cheek.
"thank you for this Joel"
Your voice was so sweet it sounded angelic to his ears- but the sweetness was replaced by something very different very quickly.
As you stood back down to your normal height, your body, being flushed against Joel's, came in contact with something that very much piqued your interest.
he was hard- very fucking hard
"no babygirl"
he was already shaking his head, crushing all your dreams
"but-"
"I can't" his tone was firm, although you could still hear restraint behind his words, like it was costing him a lot to say no.
"It feels to me like you very much can" you rebutted, smirking softly.
"I- it ain't right"
Oh my god
It took a lot not to roll your eyes "I thought we were past that whole thing" you said, cocking an eyebrow "Do I need to remind you what you were doing just a minute ago?"
"that's different"
"How?"
"it just is"
"what if I beg you Joel?" you purred, your best doe eyes looking up at him "What if I told you about how much I'd like to feel your cock inside of me? How desperate I am for it, Joel- how much I need it"
He was gonna go home and punch himself in the face for what he was about to say.
But it was true, he couldn't. It wasn't right- he needed... to think about it at least
"darlin'" he spoke softly "I can't... not right now"
there it is
The smirk that pulled at your lips was the most mischievous thing in the world.
"right now" you repeated his words, biting your lip as you played with the hem of his flannel "I can live with that- but Joel...don't even think this is over"
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favorite-fan-fic · 1 day ago
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Sexiest man alive for me ❤️❤️❤️
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favorite-fan-fic · 3 days ago
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okay but jackson!joel with just a towel round his waist, fresh out the shower. his longer hair slicked back over his head and curling at the nape of his neck, water dripping down his broad, freckled shoulders. he’s trimming the greying scruff along his jaw in the mirror, dragging the razor across his skin, brow furrowed with concentration, thick forearms flexing. you watch from the bed: he’d just fucked you into the mattress, left you too sleepy and sated to even try to join him. don’t get rid of it all, you warn him. he chuckles, turning to face you: i won’t, baby. i know how you like it.
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blame @ovaryacted as per fucking usual
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favorite-fan-fic · 3 days ago
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Hello sweet toxic! May I pretty please have an age gap fic or drabble with game version of Jackson Joel ( my favorite long and grey haired man )!
Maybe something where in the beginning Joel comes off as shy and nervous and sweet but once he and reader get together he’s got the nastiest fucking mouth she’s ever heard once he’s confident that she likes him as a love interest
parts
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JOEL x f!READER | 1.8k
NOTES: Hi sweet nonnie ❤️ I watched some tlou 2 gameplay for this, so I hope it helped. idk if I met the "love" interest part but she makes her interest known. Joel is quiet, then dom / dirty
WARNINGS: 18+ Age gap (Joel 60s/reader 20s-40s), objectification of reader, slutty descriptions of men as usual. Joel calls her "honey" and one time, "little girl." she's not super naive but eager to please. Turns into beginnings of D/s dynamics, no arrangement, no consummation. Joel holds out, a little grumpy/mean. talk of being owned. degradation, praise, body/pussy inspection. kind of stream of consciousness FIWB.
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He stood like a man who no one could bother. Stone cold and solid, with a face that always meant business. His clothes were rugged and worn-in like a cowboy, and the obscenity of his tight jeans left nothing to the imagination, from the back or the front.
The first time you became aware of him, it was from behind, and you did a double take. He ran a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his shoulder-length mane with his other hands on his hip. He was talking to Tommy, and when you heard his voice, the twang put you at ease. He sounded like a nice guy, nicer than he looked.
Your first time at the mess hall, he was kind enough to show you around. You took that as a go-ahead to follow him around anywhere. You began to watch him around Jackson. Not exactly stalking him, but you didn't have anyone else to latch onto. You learned where he went, and you happened to go there too. You were full of questions about how things worked. He always took it seriously. He was a good teacher and didn’t seem interested in anything but helping you when you wanted help.
He taught you how to ride a horse—he must not have noticed you arrived on one. Your loins buzzed as he demonstrated how to sit. His big hands on the reins and the horn were enough to make you wet, but the bulge of his jeans and the way it shifted as he started off at a slow walk. “Now look close, okay? See how I hold it?” You were looking very close.
He taught you how to shoot. Stood behind you and you never felt more safe than holding a pistol with his arms around yours, his chest against your back.
“Attagirl,” he said when you shot the glass bottle target. “Look at that,” he marveled.
To be fair, you weren’t (just) trying to get him in bed. You had lost your traveling party and you joined another one but you felt like the odd one out. You never felt like you had someone to look out for you, specifically you. You hadn’t felt the affection or encouragement of a big, capable man in a long time. Sexual or not.
But there was no denying you had a crush on him. It felt like a shock that he didn’t have women following him around in droves, until you got to know him and found out he was pretty shy. He didnt't seem to have much interest in anything but practicalities and survival. He was sweet, but never crossed a line.
Even when you started crossing some yourself. He took you on an errand one day, and he was buckling in your seatbelt, and you stopped is hand. You put his hand on your thigh, and watched his face. He kept the same, composed expression, but he couldn’t hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. He left his hand there on your thigh for a moment, then pulled away without acknowledging your move. The time it took him to move his hand made you think he liked it there. It was as though he didn’t want to take it the wrong way, was t sure your intentions. He cleared his throat, finished buckling you in, and ran his hand over his smooth, gray hair again. It was always so well-kept. You had to wonder what it’d look like first thing in the morning,
One night, at the tipsy bison, you came in by yourself in a short dress. He looked you up and down and gave you a curious look, but didn’t acknowledge you. He was talking to Tommy. Tommy craned his neck to get a look, raised his eyebrows, and gave you a nod before grinning at his brother and resuming their conversation. Tommy was hot, too, but he was taken. Otherwise you’d love to see him in nothing but that ponytail. You sat at the other end of the bar and he tried not to look at you, but Tommy gave you a wink.
Another night, you showed up to the mess hall too late for dinner, and he was on his way out. He lived close enough and offered to make you something at his place, no problem. When you came inside, you took off your boots, he took your coat, and when he finished hanging it up, he looked back to see you in a thin, low cut shirt and no bra. His mouth hung open and you gave him a flirtatious smile, as though to say, what?
“Ya’ain’t cold, are ya?” He asked with a pink hue creeping up his neck. He rubbed his beard.
“No, are you?” You asked.
“No,” he muttered, then composed himself and went to the kitchen alone.
When he came to serve dinner, your eyes were on his jeans. The heft of his manhood was always apparent, but there seemed to have been some growth in the time since you’d been at his house. You leaned over the table as you ate your meal, and he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. It was a small, round table, and there wasn’t much of anywhere else to look. He looked at his meal as he ate. You looked at his forearms.
After he finished eating, he dabbed each corner of his mouth with his napkin, folded it, dabbed his beard, and cleared his throat. Meanwhile, your foot nudged his ankle. His face darkened. Your foot moved up his pants, and reached the seat of his chair. He didn’t bat your foot away, but he didn’t look at you until your foot slid right up his thigh and gently nudged the hard bulge in his jeans.
His strong chest heaved, and he didn’t make a move, but his face was reddening as he cleaned his hands with the same napkin.
He looked up as he finished wiping his hands. “Think I’m your plaything, little girl?” He harshly smacked the cloth napkin down on the table and his strong hand wrapped around your entire foot in his lap. His eyes darkened with a forward tilt of his head, and his voice took on an edge. “Or you tryin’ to be mine?”
You rubbed your lips together and looked at you fondly. He raised his eyebrow to prod for a response.
“I wanna be yours,” you answered matter-of-factly.
“You dunno what you want, girl.” He pushed your foot away, then adjusted himself. When he stood up to take the dirty dishes, the silhouette in his jeans made you throb. He did the dishes, and when he was finished, he opened a beer.
He walked through the dining area on his way to the living room. “Still here,” he muttered, but didn’t stop to talk. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio, not inviting you to join him.
You joined him anyway.
You sat on the sofa, not too close, with your hands folded in your lap.
“You wanna know what it means to be mine?” Joel asked.
“Yes, please,” you answered.
“It means I own you,” he said.
“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m yours.”
He looked at you skeptically. "I’ain’t agreed to own ya yet,” he clarified. "Ain't just something ya do. Takes work from both'a us."
"of course," you acknowledged.
“Gotta know it’s somethin’ ya really want, and if it is, we’ll agree on some rules, safe words and shit.”
“Okay,” you agreed excitedly.
He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. “Tonight, ya can leave at any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say, okay?”
You nodded.
“But later on if ya *are* mine, you do what I say, when I say it.”
He was so serious and official about this, it sounded like he was briefing his men for some kind of operation.
“Okay” you agreed.
"so what's it mean to be mine?" He asked.
you shrugged. "You do what you want with me."
He nodded hesitantly.
“It means I take care'a ya, I protect ya, and I own your body, it ain’t yours anymore,” he looked you up and down. “It’s mine,” he stated emphatically. “*if* I decide I want it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” You asked.
He blew out air through puffed cheeks as if there was a long list.
“Ain’t got patience for brats.”
”I can be good,” you promised.
”Ain’t got patience for tears either. Too distracting out here, still gotta focus on survivin'.'
You tried not to show your worry.
”Ain’t sure ya can handle it,” he admitted
"Ain’t lookin to break in some tight little pussy while she cries and bleeds, either.” he cocked an eyebrow at you, and grabbed the massive protrusion in his jeans. “This ain’t no joke, honey. I don’t wanna hurt ya.”
“I’m not a virgin,” you insisted.
“Yeah? Well ya better fit four fingers 'fore ya 'spect me to try it."
“And I promise I’ll do what you say.”
Joel sighed. “Alright, take your clothes off.." He held up his hands to acknowledge your freedom "OR leave, and we’ll forget this ever happened”
You obediently stripped.
He took sips of his beer as he watched your body emerge from your clothes. “Alright,” he nodded. “Good girl.”
Once you were bare naked, he instructed you to turn around. You did just as he asked.
“God damn,” he whispered. “Now, c’mere.”
With him manspreading on the sofa, he made you stand between his knees and bend over.
“Spread your pussy for me,” he demanded.
You hesitated.
“Don’t have to,” he reminded you.
You reached back and tried to do it with one hand, one finger on each side of the lips. “Like this?”
”Both hands, darlin’. “
You spread your pussy lips for him with both hands.
”Good girl,” he said. “Wide as ya can. Wanna see your parts if they’re gonna be mine.”
You pulled wider
He let out a low whistle. “Juicy little thing. Sure would like to use it...But I’m thinkin’ it might not fit, honey.”
“Why don’t you try it?” You asked.
You turned around and tried to straddle him. He visibly tensed. You reached for the bulge in his jeans.
He snatched your wrist to stop you. “You don’t get to touch me without askin’,” he admonished you. “Notice I didn’t touch you that whole time?”
Your face heated in shame.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it? ‘
“I’ll think about it.”
Your eyes were tearing up.
“Ya did good, honey, it’s okay,” he promised. He picked up your clothes and helped dress you. “Just ain’t the kinda choice ya make on the fly. You gotta think about it too, okay?”
You finished getting dressed and nodded.
“I’ll think about it too,” you agreed.
“Good girl,” he answered, rose to his feet, and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then he got your coat and opened the door. As you began to leave, he stopped you, “Hey,” he lowered his voice. “You got a beautiful body. Anyone’d be lucky to own it.”
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Thank you for reading 🖤🖤
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favorite-fan-fic · 3 days ago
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it ain’t weakness, baby - joel miller x female reader
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Summary: Joel survived Abby’s brutal encounter, but has left him with major mental and physical disabilities.
Word Count: 2k
Content Warning: mentions of reader having ptsd, blood, amputation, scars, disabilities, murder. blowjob, Joel whining and begging????? cumming in mouth. female masterbation/orgasm. Joel praising reader. insecurity. Joel treating reader like shit. implied age gap.
Note: yeah.. I kinda ruined my own heart with this one.. anyway, enjoy!
Things weren’t the same. They’ll never be the same. That’s what Joel said, over and over. Saying anything he could in order to push you away, to try and build back the wall between you that you’d seamlessly picked away at.. brick by brick all them years ago.
His old age wasn’t his hinderance. His physical disability wasn’t his hindrance. Though, these were his painful claims, that he couldn’t bare to see your youth wasted on someone like him. A no good—worthless old cripple. That’s what he called himself..
“You’re wasting the best years of your life on me! There are plenty of healthy and capable men that could take care of you here! Just.. just go and find someone else!” He’d spat through gritted teeth, his insecurity gnawing at his insides after he saw a younger man offering your hand at the Christmas dance.
Joel Miller had sunken into the dark and ever falling abyss of self destruction and isolation, daring to say cruel things to you, to push you away.
He’ll never admit it’s the last thing he truly wanted, in fact he was terrified of the thought of you leaving.
One day he found out what you did.
“Tell me you’re not that stupid.” He insults, glaring at you from the recliner he’d come so attached to.
“I did. Tommy and Ellie and I, we fucking did it Joel. They’re dead, all of them, we made them suffer. I made her suffer before I buried her sorry ass for ever touching you!” The argument was bound to get heated, after all, they were talking about the girl that mutilated Joel and left him disabled.
“Do you realise what she could’ve done to you? Look at what she did to me!” He snarled. “Goddamn fools the lot of you!”
He didn’t want you to leave, to stop fighting for him. But he convinced himself he was worthless. He saw it; the looks people gave him, sympathy strewn on their faces. Sympathy he didn’t need. He was fine.
It was the irony of it all. He told himself he was fine, he didn’t need help, he could somehow maintain some semblance of control and independence. No matter the wheelchair, or the crutches. Yet, he would snarl and snap at you, unwilling to keep you close. He would angrily claim he was worthless, useless.
“I can do it!” He growls, shrugging off your hand from the metal crutches, his first time using them as a result of his amputated leg. Refusing any help, as he had done every single day for the past few months.
Perhaps at one point, you did grow tired of it. Of his inability to try. After months of trying and limited resources, you’d tried to teach Joel how to write again, how to play guitar, how to sculpt, how to fix.
“Baby come on, please! Just try again for me. Five more minutes then I promise we can stop.” You pleaded, and were met with a dismissive snarl.
“I ain’t no damn kid so stop treating me like one. I’m done with this!” The pen was sent flying, ink splattering all over his favourite journal, which you’d spent a few hours delicately cleaning to save the important book.
You were trying to get him to live. To have the independence he so desperately craved, but he was stubborn, always had been. He was his own worst enemy.
You were even kind enough to take the only spare time you had, to build him a wheelchair accessible ramp, it was weeks worth of labour, and trading a tonne of sentimental personal items to trade for the wood and nails. Yet, it remains unused, even now, as it rains and the snow coats the wood, they begin to rot and wither. All your hard work and dedication to your husband had gone completely unnoticed.
Yet, for some reason, you never quit on him.
“Stop scowlin at me like that and just try, would you?”
He grunted, his hand trembled, the majority of his soup fell off the spoon. With whatever strength he had, he tossed the spoon onto the floor, as it clattered along the wood, it sends soup flying all up the wall. The bowl soon clatters to the ground before you can catch it.
The bowl was heavy, and the sound of it on the hardwood floors sent your movements to a halt—frozen. Your ears ringing as if it were that forsaken shotgun again, tearing a hole through Joel’s leg, flesh and blood splattering against the carpet rug and the floor. Stumbling, you take a moment to yourself, rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen.
The noise over and over replaying in your mind, the golf club coming down on Joel’s head, sure you would witness the love of her life being brutally murdered in front of your eyes. What Joel didn’t know, as far as he assumed, that you had these triggers as a result of ptsd.
The ticking of the clock in the kitchen becomes unbearable and you find yourself back in the living room.
Waiting for you, is another mess of his you’d have to clean.
“It feels like you’re not even trying anymore Joel. It’s been months—why can’t you see I’m trying to help you!” You insist.
“I don’t need your help!” He growled bitterly.
“So you’re just going to sit in that stupid fucking chair till you die huh? Is that it?” Finally reaching the breaking point after your recent trigger, tears cascade down your red cheeks.
His scowl softened, into a look she hadn’t seen since the incident happened. He battles his ego and his stubbornness to finally reach a hand out to you, his shaking fingers just graze your own.
“Baby—you know I don’t mean it.” He murmurs hopelessly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I appreciate you tryin’.”
The atmosphere changes in the air, the winter suddenly doesn’t feel so harsh, and the breeze that slides through the crack in the window frame can’t be felt over the warmth of the heater that Joel nests by.
You kneels down onto the floor, taking his trembling hand. “I’m not giving up on you. When we took our marriage vows I fucking meant them. Just let me be here for you. It’s killing me that you’re trying to push us apart. Please.”
For some reason, your plea pierced his old heart with such reverence that he doesn’t argue, he relaxes his tense shoulders and murmurs, “okay.”
Finally, acceptance, peace. The white flag was being waved. Seventy two days of fighting was finally over.
“Shouldn’t be.. on your knees like that baby. You—you’ll get sick.” The worry in his voice had another kind of anxiety behind it.
One that you soon found the reasoning of.. his cock.. stiffer in his pants than you’d seen it in months. “Don’t tell me you’ve been suffering all this time.” You gasp in disbelief.
His aimless gaze and silence was enough to confirm the accusation. He’d been so sexually frustrated.. that he hadn’t been able to cum.
“This is why you’ve been so upset.” You murmurs. “Isn’t it?”
He answers with a simple and shameful nod, you press a kiss to his hand, ready to offer him a solution. “Can.. Can I help you?”
The question takes him off guard, his thick and greying eyebrows meet together in a low frown.
“Why would you want to touch me? I’m .. I’m a goddamn freak—“
“You shut up and let me decide what I see you as Joel Miller.” You scold. “I see someone strong, brave, handsome.”
He scoffs, but it doesn’t deter you. Instead it only motivates you more. Leaning up against the recliner, your chest on the left side meets the fabric, where his leg had to be amputated from the thigh downward, due to the inflicted shotgun wound.
“I see a man so incredibly capable, of living, thriving. Needing help doesn’t make you weak, baby. Let me take care of you.”
His trembling hands struggle to unclasp the stubborn button on his jeans. “Hey, just let me look after you baby. Relax.” You insist softly.
Making quick work of his button and zipper, your cool and small hands make his cock look enormous as it springs out of his jeans, rock hard. Has it always been this big? Perhaps the illusion of deprivation has her mind as desperate as her dripping cunt. Even your mouth begins to salivate, gulping as you come eye level with the small clear bead of precum.
Without warning, you lurch forward, pressing a small kiss to the red and aching tip, before swirling your tongue around the bulbous head.
“Ah, ah fuck baby,” he whines, sharply inhaling a breath, his good hand moves to grip the back of your head, begging for you to swallow him.
His desperate pleas only serve the purpose of rilling you up, with the gentle touch of his fingertips in your hair, desperately clutching at a fistful of your hair..
Opening your mouth wider to fit his enormous girth, halfway down and you’re already gagging. He whimpers, sounding the most vulnerable she’s heard since their last intimate encounter. Sneakily, you slide a hand down to your entrance, sliding your fingers inside to collect some of the slick before, sliding them upwards towards your enlarged and throbbing clit. whine is muffled by his cock.
You push on, feeling the mushroom tip sliding down your throat as you gag, covering his cock in your warm and sticky saliva. His untamed coarse public hairs tickle your nose.
The noises were absolutely despicable and lewd, the way you took the whole length of him, gagging at every descend, it was a sensation that had him trembling underneath you. His trembling hand attempts to clutch the arm of the recliner.
“Baby, baby stop.” He begged. “Not.. I’m not gonna last.” His breath quickens and as he tensed up, you take his length out of your mouth, but he quickly thrusts back into it, craving the warmth and the pleasure of the hole.
“Don’t stop, hmph please don’t stop.” He pleaded in a whine, Joel Miller, begging you.
You felt your stomach tightening, the pleasure of your fingers on your soaking clit, swirling at the perfect pace and Joel’s soft voice begging. You moan around his cock as your legs tremble underneath you.
Joel finally catches on and it’s the last straw for him before he throws his head back onto the recliner and grunts, the growl that leaves his lips is primal and comes from his throat. “Fuck—such a good girl.” He stutters and thrusts his hips upward, filling your mouth and throat with him, sending his ropes of warm cum straight down your throat, you drink, like it’s the last source of energy you’ll ever receive.
His hand unclenches from your hair as he feels himself shrinking inside of your mouth, encouraging you to look up at him, and you do. You’re met with Joel, looking at you with all the love and adoration and affection you deserve.
“Come here baby.” He murmurs, his thumb caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Climbing up onto his lap, you rest your head on his shoulder.
“Could.. could you please pull the recliner back?” His voice escapes timidly. Here he was, asking for your help; finally.
With a swift movement, you pull on the latch on the side of the recliner and the bottom end swings upward, now you’re both laying, your hand reaches for a warm blanket on the nearby couch, and toss it over the two of you.
“Thanks for not giving up on me.” The world circle in her ears, and she runs her thumb over the large scar on his forehead that spans to his temple and eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”
“I love you, Mrs Miller.” Is the last thing your happy heart hears before your eyes flutter, peace and pleasure lulling you into a dream.
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It’s over for me.
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PEDRO PASCAL being his usual goofy self during LAD Bible interview [pt.2]
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