littledes1re

[littledes1re]

LMFAO IM SORRY😭

@/coffeeguitar pt. 7 

Summary: Joel’s grief starts getting in the way of your relationship. You’re heartbroken, the tension builds. And a miscommunication may be the end of it all.

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, crying, grief, age gap (50s and 20s), lot’s of feelings, hint of depression

A/N: yall, i’m sorry for the last chapter…I live for the angst tho, it’s getting even messier. Buckle up. Idea originally by @glitterspark <33

For a moment, Joel’s world tilted.

When he heard Tess’s voice, a wave of nostalgia crashed over him—sharp, sudden, and intensely suffocating. It punched him into the guts, so much so, he felt himself getting dizzy.

He didn’t see the hallway. He didn’t see the present. He saw Sarah. Her laugh. Her messy ponytail. Her tiny hand gripping his thumb. He saw himself, back then, when things were simpler. When grief hadn’t carved him hollow.

“Tess?” he asked.

She smiled. “Oh my god, it’s been so long, Joel.”

Without thinking, Joel stepped forward and hugged her.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t brief. It was instinct. He pulled her in like she was a lifeline, as if she carried pieces of Sarah in her skin. Tess hugged him back, firm and steady, and for a moment, Joel felt like he was standing in the past. For a moment he felt like everything was a bad dream and he still had Sarah by his side.

So, they went inside.

They talked.

About everything and nothing. About old friends. About the truck that used to break down every winter. About the time Sarah tried to make pancakes and nearly burned the kitchen down.

Joel laughed. Tess laughed. And Joel laughed again.

But it wasn’t really joy. It wasn’t meeting an old friend.

It was pressure.

The past was pressing down on his throat, and the laughter was just a way to breathe through it. Every story felt like a ghost. Every memory felt like a wound reopening. If he had stopped talking once, Joel would crumble down with tears.

He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping his coffee mug. Or the way his eyes kept drifting to the photo frame turned face down on the shelf.

Then Tess asked, casually, “Oh, by the way—and you are?”

Joel blinked.

He said quickly. “My girlfriend.”

The words came out flat. Automatic. Like he was checking a box.

He couldn’t notice the way Tess tilted her head slightly. He also didn’t notice the absence of warmth in his own voice. His mind was still with Sarah. Still in the hospital room. Still in the silence after she was gone.

But thankfully, Tess didn’t press.

She just nodded.

They talked a little more. Then she left.

Joel stood at the door after she was gone, staring into the empty hallway—just like he had in the hospital after Sarah passed. Frozen. Unable to grasp that she was really gone.

And he didn’t understand why you acted so distant after that—why you sat there, mug in hand, staring at nothing, with cold disappointment lingering in your eyes.

He didn’t see it.

He couldn’t.

Because once again, grief had wrapped itself around his mind like fog, and you—present, real—were somewhere outside of it.

Joel jolts awake, breath ragged, chest heaving like he just came up from deep water. His heart throbs in his ears, loud enough to drown out the silence around him. Sweat clings to his skin, soaking through his shirt.

His mouth is dry. His throat aches. The air in the room feels impossibly thick, like it hasn’t been breathed in for hours.

The light is low, bleeding through the curtains in soft lines of orange and gray. Evening. He must’ve slept the whole day away. Or maybe he never really slept at all.

He blinks, disoriented, eyes burning. His limbs feel heavy, like they’ve been weighed down by something invisible. His head is foggy, pounding with a dull ache that pulses behind his temples.

His hand clenches tight against his chest.

He looks down.

The necklace.

Sarah’s necklace.

Across from him, Tess fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket, her fingers twitching like she’s holding something back.

She reaches into her pocket.

Then, without a word, she presses something into his hand.

Joel looks down.

A necklace.

The silver guitar charm is small, worn, familiar. His breath catches.

“Before Sarah died” Tess says softly, “she wanted me to give you this. She couldn’t do it herself.”

Joel doesn’t speak. He just stares at the charm resting in his palm, heart aching like it’s been cracked open.

“I’m sorry I’ve waited so long…” Tess adds, voice trembling.

Joel shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No, it’s—it’s okay.”

“I couldn’t…” she starts, but her voice breaks. Tears spill down her cheeks before she can stop them. She pulls out a tissue, turns slightly away, mumbling, “Sorry.”

Joel watches her, the lump in his throat growing heavier. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to comfort her when he can barely hold himself together.

They sit in silence for a moment, the necklace glinting faintly in his hand. Then Tess speaks again, voice quieter now.

“She seems like a sweet girl.”

Joel looks up, confused for a second—then realizes she means you. He nods slowly, the thought of you softening something inside him.

“Yeah… she is. The sweetest. Saved me.”

Tess nods too, eyes still red, but understanding. She knows what that means. What it costs to be saved.

Joel stands, the necklace still in his hand. Tess rises with him.

They hug.

It’s long. Familiar. Not romantic—just two people who’ve survived too much, clinging to something that used to be.

When they pull apart, Joel gives a small nod.

Tess smiles faintly.

And they leave the cafe without another word.

The tiny silver guotar charm digs into his palm, leaving a faint imprint.

The space feels… wrong. It feels empty.

The mug you used this morning still sits on the table, half full. A blanket is thrown over the couch, but not the way you usually fold it. And then he sees it.

Your shirt. Lying on the floor.

Joel stops in his tracks, his stomach immediately twisting.

“Fuck” he mutters, voice hoarse and cracked.

It all floods back—the fight, the shouting, the way your voice broke when you asked why and how. The way he couldn’t answer. The way he didn’t even try. He sees your face in his mind—eyes glassy, lips trembling, cheek stained with tears, desperate for something he couldn’t give you.

An explanation. And a reason.

He grabs his phone from the counter, hands shaking dialling your number. It feels agonising—waiting for the part where you pick up the phone and calm him down with your voice.

But there is no answer.

So, he tries again.

Still nothing.

He opens his messages, fingers fumbling.

@/coffeeguitar: angel please pick up the phone

@/coffeeguitar: i’m so sorry for what happened. Please baby. Pick up.

@/coffeeguitar: I can explain. Please baby. Please pick up.

He stares at the screen, waiting for the “read” notification that never comes. His breath catches. Tears well up again, hot and relentless.

He looks around the room—at the silence, the stillness, the absence.

And then, it hits him.

He might’ve destroyed the only good thing left in his life.

You’re his light. His warmth. The one person who sees through the walls he’s built around his grief. And he pushed you away. Not because you did anything wrong—but because he couldn’t hold himself together.

He clutches the phone in one hand, the necklace in the other.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Joel hadn’t meant to pull away. Not really. It just… happened.

Tess had looked at him with eyes that knew too much. Eyes that reminded him of the past he’d buried beneath years of silence and whiskey.

And then, the dreams came back.

Sarah’s laugh. Her tiny hands. The way she used to tug at his sleeve when she wanted him to look at her drawings. He’d wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, reaching for a voice that wasn’t there.

You would stir beside him, sometimes whisper his name. But he’d pretend to be asleep. Because how could he explain that he feels immense pain and grief just so suddenly?

He didn’t want to scare you.

Didn’t want you to see the cracks in him—the ones that never healed, just got quieter.

So he started pulling away. Not in big ways. Just… less eye contact. Shorter answers. A kiss that landed on your forehead instead of your lips.

But Joel couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t say, “I saw Tess and it reminded me of the night Sarah died.” Couldn’t say, “I’m terrified that loving you means losing you.”

Instead, he buried it.

-

Joel didn’t call in for work. Didn’t text you. Didn’t answer Tommy’s countless messages on where the hell he is. And he hasn’t moved from the couch in hours.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. Uncomfortable.

He sits hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. His shirt is wrinkled, his face unshaven, and his eyes—red, swollen, hollow. He can’t remember if he ate, he can’t remember when the last time he cried. And he doesn’t know what time it is.

He feels like a ghost.

The knock on the door startles him.

He doesn’t move at first. Then another knock—firmer this time. Tommy.

Joel drags himself up, feet heavy, and opens the door.

Tommy stands there, holding a steaming bowl of soup in a covered container, eyebrows raised.

“Jesus,” Tommy mutters. “You do really look like shit.”

Joel doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink. He just steps aside and lets him in.

Tommy walks in, sets the soup down on the counter. “What do you have? Maria made some chicken soup. Gonna be on top health in no—”

He stops mid-sentence, taking in at what state Joel is in.

Joel’s already sitting again, head bowed, shoulders hunched. His eyes are glassy, hands trembling slightly. Tommy furrows his brow, lowers himself into the chair across from him.

“I ain’t sick,” Joel mumbles.

Tommy blinks. “Then what the hell happened?” He stops, only to realise that you are nowhere to be seen. “Wait—did she break up with you?”

Joel looks up, eyes rimmed with red, voice barely audible. “I don’t know.”

He crumbles.

“I—I don’t know what happened. Tess came back and something washed over me. Like… like I remembered Sarah every single day. My mind wouldn’t shut up.”

Tommy leans in, listening carefully.

“Tellin’ me I moved on too fast. That I’m not grieving anymore. That I’m having the time of my life while she’s—” Joel stops, jaw clenched, eyes darting away.

Tommy lays a hand on his shoulder. “Hey… easy. It’s okay.”

Joel swallows hard. “She gave me a necklace. Sarah gave it to her before she died. And—and well, Angel thought I had something with Tess.”

Tommy sits up straighter. “What did she think?”

Joel shakes his head. “That I slept with her or whatnot. I—I was overrun by those emotions when Tess showed up. Didn’t properly introduce them to each other.”

He pauses, voice cracking. “She already told me she felt a bit left out, which I understood. I apologized.”

Tommy nods slowly.

“Then after Tess was gone, I was spiraling. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. I stopped having energy. So I ignored Angel. And I was cold.”

Joel’s voice drops to a whisper. “She’s already so fragile. And I know damn well that small things break her—”

“Okay, deep breaths now,” Tommy interrupts gently.

Joel looks at him, chest rising and falling, and takes a shaky breath.

Tommy nods. “Tess came back. Something in you got awake. You were cold to her.”

Joel nods. “And then we had a big fight.”

He got home late.

The sky was already dark. His boots felt heavier than usual, like they were dragging the weight of the past behind him. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and paused.

Quiet. You weren’t home yet.

Joel exhaled slowly, the silence pressing against his ears. He dropped his keys on the counter and turned towards the living room, where Furball was curled up on the couch, ears twitching at the sound of him.

He scratched behind her ears, voice soft, slipping into that baby talk tone he only ever used with her.

“Angel’s not home yet, huh? Are you hungry, little girl?”

Furball meowed, stretching, and Joel smiled faintly. But his heart was pounding. His head was too.

Because in his palm, clenched tight, was the necklace. And he could still feel Tess’s hand giving it to him, smell her perfume.

Joel stared at it. His throat tightened. His chest ached. And before he could stop it, the tears came—slow, silent, one by one, spilling down his cheeks as he opened the cabinet and poured Furball’s food.

He fed her with shaking hands.

Then he walked to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red. His jaw clenched. His shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact.

He tried to breathe.

But the grief was rising again, thick and hot and merciless.

He rinsed his face. Once. Twice. Again. Cold water dripping down his neck, soaking his shirt. He gripped the sink, knuckles white, and whispered to himself:

“I let her die.”

His voice cracked.

“I moved on.”

He hated himself for it.

He hated that he was here, in a warm house, with someone who loved him, while Sarah was gone. He hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That Tess had brought it all back. That you—his Angel—was slipping through his fingers and he didn’t know how to hold on.

He walked back to the kitchen, heart heavy, head pounding.

And then he heard it.

The door opened softly. Footsteps. A bag dropping to the floor.

You were home.

Joel turned, ready to greet you, maybe even tell you about the necklace—about Sarah. But before he could speak, he felt your arms wrap around him from behind.

Your voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“I can smell her perfume.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

You didn’t move.

“That’s Tess’s perfume. I know it.”

He turned around slowly, confusion etched into his face. “How do you—”

“I could smell that cheap perfume from anywhere!” You snapped, voice trembling.

Joel’s eyes widened. He raised his hands, palms open, trying to calm you down.

“Wow. Okay. Hey, let’s calm down a bit.”

He didn’t understand. Didn’t know where this was coming from. Why you were acting like this.

“No, don’t tell me to calm down,” you said, stepping back, your voice wounded.

“You met with her?” You asked.

Joel nodded, shrugging. “Yes. I don’t know how that’s a problem?”

“Without telling me?” Your voice cracked.

Joel’s jaw tightened. His headache pulsed harder. He felt the anger rising, even though he didn’t want it to.

“I didn’t know I had to get permission from you,” he said, voice sharper than he meant.

The air thickened instantly.

Your eyes filled with hurt. “We just caught up. What friends do—” he tried.

“That is your ex!” You snapped, loud now.

Joel flinched. His eyebrows furrowed. Were you… jealous?

“You should’ve at least told me that you met with her!” You said.

Joel shook his head, exhausted. Hungry. Irritated. He just wanted to go to bed.

“Okey, I don’t know where this is coming from but you’re overreacting.”

The moment he said it, something thudded in his chest. A warning. A regret.

You scoffed. “Overreacting?” Your voice was sharp now. Cutting.

“So you’d be okay if I went and met up with my ex and had his perfume all over my body?”

Joel snapped.

“You’re fucking talking like we did something,” he said, voice rising. “We hugged after and that’s all. We had a coffee, maybe two, and talked about things we’ve missed.”

He was angry now. Defensive. Confused.

Your voice dropped to a whisper, trembling. “If it was so innocent… then why didn’t you tell me?”

Joel groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Listen, I ain’t got the nerve to discuss with you whether or not I can meet up with my friends. I have a fucking headache and I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

He turned away and walked down the hall. Left you standing there.

And his heart broke with every step.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to shut you out. But the grief, the guilt, the pressure—it had built up for weeks. And now it was spilling out in all the wrong ways.

He closed the bedroom door behind him.

And sat on the edge of the bed, necklace still in his hand.

“And then you two had a big fight,” Tommy echoes.

He leans back, arms crossed. “Look, I ain’t the one to tell you how to act when grieving. But you were an asshole to her. That’s the truth.”

“Grief doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt people, Joel. I get it—you lost Sarah. That pain doesn’t go away. But she ain’t the one who put it there. She’s the one who’s been tryin’ to pull you out of it.” Tommy sighs, standing up.

Joel doesn’t argue. He just stares at the floor.

“You shut her out. You snapped at her. You made her feel like she was second place to a ghost. And I know you didn’t mean it. But meaning don’t matter when someone’s already bleeding.” He looked at Joel, raising his eyebrows.

Joel caught up, nodding his head quickly.

“You think you’re protecting her by keeping all that pain locked up? You’re not. You’re just making her feel like she’s not allowed in.”

Something in Joel’s stomach twists. And Tommy’s words hit harder than anything else right now.

“You’re grieving. I get that. But you’re also living. And if you keep treating the people who love you like they’re temporary, you’re gonna end up alone. Again.”

“But,” Tommy continues, “you still got time to apologize. To do things right. You love her?”

Joel nods, eyes wet again. “More than anything.”

“Then go show her. Not with words. With actions. With truth.”

Joel wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt, nodding slowly.

Tommy grabs the soup, and places it in Joel’s hands. “Eat something. Then go find her.”

Joel looks down at the bowl, steam rising gently, and for the first time in days, something stirs in his chest.

Hope.

-

Joel stands outside the building, staring up at your apartment window like it might give him a sign. His heart thuds in his chest, heavy and uneven, and his stomach twists so hard he feels like he might throw up.

He’s rehearsed what he’s going to say a hundred times.

“I’m sorry.”

“I was grieving and I didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I love you.”

The words loop in his head, over and over, but none of them feel big enough. None of them feel like they’ll fix what he broke.

There’s a lump in his throat—tight, aching. He knows he’s going to cry. He accepts it. He’s past pride. Past pretending. All he wants is to see you. To tell you the truth. To beg, if he has to.

He climbs the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. His palms are sweaty. His breath shallow. He rounds the corner to your hallway—

And stops.

You’re there.

Standing in front of your door.

With someone else.

A guy. Young. Smiling. His posture is relaxed, casual. He’s talking to you like he’s known you for years. You’re laughing softly, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly.

Joel’s heart stumbles.

He ducks back behind the wall, pressing his back to the cold surface, breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s hiding. Maybe because he’s scared. Maybe because he already feels like he’s lost you.

He listens.

You talk casually at first. The guy says something about your work. You respond with a joke. Joel stares at the floor, fists clenched, trying to breathe through the panic rising in his chest.

Then the guy asks:

“So… do you have a boyfriend?”

Joel’s breath hitches.

His entire body goes still.

He listens—closely. Desperately.

And then he hears it.

“No.”

That one word.

It echoes in his ears, louder than anything else. The rest of the world goes silent. His heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape his chest. His breathing quickens, sharp and shallow.

He feels dizzy.

If he didn’t feel so miserable, he might walk up there and punch the guy. But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, frozen, as the word “No” settles deep into his bones.

You don’t see him as your boyfriend anymore. You don’t carry that label.

You’ve let go.

Joel turns, stumbling down the hallway, feet moving faster than his thoughts. He doesn’t look back. He can’t.

Tears spill down his cheeks, hot and relentless. He wipes at them with the sleeve of his jacket, but they keep coming. He walks out of the building, into the cold evening air, and feels the weight of everything he didn’t say.

He should’ve come to you the day you fought.

Should’ve told you about Sarah. About the necklace. About the grief that swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t.

And now it’s too late.

You don’t want him anymore.

Joel walks until his legs ache, until the city blurs around him, until the only thing he can hear is the sound of his own regret.

Ooo🫣 I hope the switch between past and present wasn’t so complicated and I did a good Job on showing both and what they mean…

@/coffeguitar Masterlist!

Taglist: @akah565 @sunofnebulah @psclcain @rwbyssx @pedrofan @wildthyng @notyourlovemonkey @brittmb115 @amyispxnk @pinkcabinet @cuteanimalmama @umnitsa @armandispunk @wow-life-love4 @glitterfartz08 @fertilise-me @silksepia @maria3755 @untamedheart81 @xojdmasf @mytearsricochetm @praisethekook @chrrypascal @he-is-the-destined @aleck-cross @amoooeba @pedritosgfreal @angel2baby22 @iloved1lfs0 @magicxmiller @pleurspetal @mxkhxx

[littledes1re]

@/coffeeguitar | Masterlist

Pairing: Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After the loss of your father—your best friend—you create an account on the Message Heaven: Lonely Hearts Group forum, hoping to find someone to talk to. Joel Miller, a middle-aged man who lost his daughter and happens to be obsessed with coffee, writes to you. From the very first message, it feels like something just clicks between you.

Warnings: Very fluffy, kissing, Angst, Smut, Grief, Jealousy, No outbreak, Age Gap! (50s and 20s)

Chapters → Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six

More coming soon! If you have Ideas for this series, they are welcome in my Inbox! <3

If you want to be tagged, please let me know!

Idea originally by @glitterspark <3

[littledes1re]

@/coffeeguitar pt. 7 

Summary: Joel’s grief starts getting in the way of your relationship. You’re heartbroken, the tension builds. And a miscommunication may be the end of it all.

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, crying, grief, age gap (50s and 20s), lot’s of feelings, hint of depression

A/N: yall, i’m sorry for the last chapter…I live for the angst tho, it’s getting even messier. Buckle up. Idea originally by @glitterspark <33

For a moment, Joel’s world tilted.

When he heard Tess’s voice, a wave of nostalgia crashed over him—sharp, sudden, and intensely suffocating. It punched him into the guts, so much so, he felt himself getting dizzy.

He didn’t see the hallway. He didn’t see the present. He saw Sarah. Her laugh. Her messy ponytail. Her tiny hand gripping his thumb. He saw himself, back then, when things were simpler. When grief hadn’t carved him hollow.

“Tess?” he asked.

She smiled. “Oh my god, it’s been so long, Joel.”

Without thinking, Joel stepped forward and hugged her.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t brief. It was instinct. He pulled her in like she was a lifeline, as if she carried pieces of Sarah in her skin. Tess hugged him back, firm and steady, and for a moment, Joel felt like he was standing in the past. For a moment he felt like everything was a bad dream and he still had Sarah by his side.

So, they went inside.

They talked.

About everything and nothing. About old friends. About the truck that used to break down every winter. About the time Sarah tried to make pancakes and nearly burned the kitchen down.

Joel laughed. Tess laughed. And Joel laughed again.

But it wasn’t really joy. It wasn’t meeting an old friend.

It was pressure.

The past was pressing down on his throat, and the laughter was just a way to breathe through it. Every story felt like a ghost. Every memory felt like a wound reopening. If he had stopped talking once, Joel would crumble down with tears.

He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping his coffee mug. Or the way his eyes kept drifting to the photo frame turned face down on the shelf.

Then Tess asked, casually, “Oh, by the way—and you are?”

Joel blinked.

He said quickly. “My girlfriend.”

The words came out flat. Automatic. Like he was checking a box.

He couldn’t notice the way Tess tilted her head slightly. He also didn’t notice the absence of warmth in his own voice. His mind was still with Sarah. Still in the hospital room. Still in the silence after she was gone.

But thankfully, Tess didn’t press.

She just nodded.

They talked a little more. Then she left.

Joel stood at the door after she was gone, staring into the empty hallway—just like he had in the hospital after Sarah passed. Frozen. Unable to grasp that she was really gone.

And he didn’t understand why you acted so distant after that—why you sat there, mug in hand, staring at nothing, with cold disappointment lingering in your eyes.

He didn’t see it.

He couldn’t.

Because once again, grief had wrapped itself around his mind like fog, and you—present, real—were somewhere outside of it.

Joel jolts awake, breath ragged, chest heaving like he just came up from deep water. His heart throbs in his ears, loud enough to drown out the silence around him. Sweat clings to his skin, soaking through his shirt.

His mouth is dry. His throat aches. The air in the room feels impossibly thick, like it hasn’t been breathed in for hours.

The light is low, bleeding through the curtains in soft lines of orange and gray. Evening. He must’ve slept the whole day away. Or maybe he never really slept at all.

He blinks, disoriented, eyes burning. His limbs feel heavy, like they’ve been weighed down by something invisible. His head is foggy, pounding with a dull ache that pulses behind his temples.

His hand clenches tight against his chest.

He looks down.

The necklace.

Sarah’s necklace.

Across from him, Tess fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket, her fingers twitching like she’s holding something back.

She reaches into her pocket.

Then, without a word, she presses something into his hand.

Joel looks down.

A necklace.

The silver guitar charm is small, worn, familiar. His breath catches.

“Before Sarah died” Tess says softly, “she wanted me to give you this. She couldn’t do it herself.”

Joel doesn’t speak. He just stares at the charm resting in his palm, heart aching like it’s been cracked open.

“I’m sorry I’ve waited so long…” Tess adds, voice trembling.

Joel shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No, it’s—it’s okay.”

“I couldn’t…” she starts, but her voice breaks. Tears spill down her cheeks before she can stop them. She pulls out a tissue, turns slightly away, mumbling, “Sorry.”

Joel watches her, the lump in his throat growing heavier. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to comfort her when he can barely hold himself together.

They sit in silence for a moment, the necklace glinting faintly in his hand. Then Tess speaks again, voice quieter now.

“She seems like a sweet girl.”

Joel looks up, confused for a second—then realizes she means you. He nods slowly, the thought of you softening something inside him.

“Yeah… she is. The sweetest. Saved me.”

Tess nods too, eyes still red, but understanding. She knows what that means. What it costs to be saved.

Joel stands, the necklace still in his hand. Tess rises with him.

They hug.

It’s long. Familiar. Not romantic—just two people who’ve survived too much, clinging to something that used to be.

When they pull apart, Joel gives a small nod.

Tess smiles faintly.

And they leave the cafe without another word.

The tiny silver guotar charm digs into his palm, leaving a faint imprint.

The space feels… wrong. It feels empty.

The mug you used this morning still sits on the table, half full. A blanket is thrown over the couch, but not the way you usually fold it. And then he sees it.

Your shirt. Lying on the floor.

Joel stops in his tracks, his stomach immediately twisting.

“Fuck” he mutters, voice hoarse and cracked.

It all floods back—the fight, the shouting, the way your voice broke when you asked why and how. The way he couldn’t answer. The way he didn’t even try. He sees your face in his mind—eyes glassy, lips trembling, cheek stained with tears, desperate for something he couldn’t give you.

An explanation. And a reason.

He grabs his phone from the counter, hands shaking dialling your number. It feels agonising—waiting for the part where you pick up the phone and calm him down with your voice.

But there is no answer.

So, he tries again.

Still nothing.

He opens his messages, fingers fumbling.

@/coffeeguitar: angel please pick up the phone

@/coffeeguitar: i’m so sorry for what happened. Please baby. Pick up.

@/coffeeguitar: I can explain. Please baby. Please pick up.

He stares at the screen, waiting for the “read” notification that never comes. His breath catches. Tears well up again, hot and relentless.

He looks around the room—at the silence, the stillness, the absence.

And then, it hits him.

He might’ve destroyed the only good thing left in his life.

You’re his light. His warmth. The one person who sees through the walls he’s built around his grief. And he pushed you away. Not because you did anything wrong—but because he couldn’t hold himself together.

He clutches the phone in one hand, the necklace in the other.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Joel hadn’t meant to pull away. Not really. It just… happened.

Tess had looked at him with eyes that knew too much. Eyes that reminded him of the past he’d buried beneath years of silence and whiskey.

And then, the dreams came back.

Sarah’s laugh. Her tiny hands. The way she used to tug at his sleeve when she wanted him to look at her drawings. He’d wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, reaching for a voice that wasn’t there.

You would stir beside him, sometimes whisper his name. But he’d pretend to be asleep. Because how could he explain that he feels immense pain and grief just so suddenly?

He didn’t want to scare you.

Didn’t want you to see the cracks in him—the ones that never healed, just got quieter.

So he started pulling away. Not in big ways. Just… less eye contact. Shorter answers. A kiss that landed on your forehead instead of your lips.

But Joel couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t say, “I saw Tess and it reminded me of the night Sarah died.” Couldn’t say, “I’m terrified that loving you means losing you.”

Instead, he buried it.

-

Joel didn’t call in for work. Didn’t text you. Didn’t answer Tommy’s countless messages on where the hell he is. And he hasn’t moved from the couch in hours.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. Uncomfortable.

He sits hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. His shirt is wrinkled, his face unshaven, and his eyes—red, swollen, hollow. He can’t remember if he ate, he can’t remember when the last time he cried. And he doesn’t know what time it is.

He feels like a ghost.

The knock on the door startles him.

He doesn’t move at first. Then another knock—firmer this time. Tommy.

Joel drags himself up, feet heavy, and opens the door.

Tommy stands there, holding a steaming bowl of soup in a covered container, eyebrows raised.

“Jesus,” Tommy mutters. “You do really look like shit.”

Joel doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink. He just steps aside and lets him in.

Tommy walks in, sets the soup down on the counter. “What do you have? Maria made some chicken soup. Gonna be on top health in no—”

He stops mid-sentence, taking in at what state Joel is in.

Joel’s already sitting again, head bowed, shoulders hunched. His eyes are glassy, hands trembling slightly. Tommy furrows his brow, lowers himself into the chair across from him.

“I ain’t sick,” Joel mumbles.

Tommy blinks. “Then what the hell happened?” He stops, only to realise that you are nowhere to be seen. “Wait—did she break up with you?”

Joel looks up, eyes rimmed with red, voice barely audible. “I don’t know.”

He crumbles.

“I—I don’t know what happened. Tess came back and something washed over me. Like… like I remembered Sarah every single day. My mind wouldn’t shut up.”

Tommy leans in, listening carefully.

“Tellin’ me I moved on too fast. That I’m not grieving anymore. That I’m having the time of my life while she’s—” Joel stops, jaw clenched, eyes darting away.

Tommy lays a hand on his shoulder. “Hey… easy. It’s okay.”

Joel swallows hard. “She gave me a necklace. Sarah gave it to her before she died. And—and well, Angel thought I had something with Tess.”

Tommy sits up straighter. “What did she think?”

Joel shakes his head. “That I slept with her or whatnot. I—I was overrun by those emotions when Tess showed up. Didn’t properly introduce them to each other.”

He pauses, voice cracking. “She already told me she felt a bit left out, which I understood. I apologized.”

Tommy nods slowly.

“Then after Tess was gone, I was spiraling. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. I stopped having energy. So I ignored Angel. And I was cold.”

Joel’s voice drops to a whisper. “She’s already so fragile. And I know damn well that small things break her—”

“Okay, deep breaths now,” Tommy interrupts gently.

Joel looks at him, chest rising and falling, and takes a shaky breath.

Tommy nods. “Tess came back. Something in you got awake. You were cold to her.”

Joel nods. “And then we had a big fight.”

He got home late.

The sky was already dark. His boots felt heavier than usual, like they were dragging the weight of the past behind him. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and paused.

Quiet. You weren’t home yet.

Joel exhaled slowly, the silence pressing against his ears. He dropped his keys on the counter and turned towards the living room, where Furball was curled up on the couch, ears twitching at the sound of him.

He scratched behind her ears, voice soft, slipping into that baby talk tone he only ever used with her.

“Angel’s not home yet, huh? Are you hungry, little girl?”

Furball meowed, stretching, and Joel smiled faintly. But his heart was pounding. His head was too.

Because in his palm, clenched tight, was the necklace. And he could still feel Tess’s hand giving it to him, smell her perfume.

Joel stared at it. His throat tightened. His chest ached. And before he could stop it, the tears came—slow, silent, one by one, spilling down his cheeks as he opened the cabinet and poured Furball’s food.

He fed her with shaking hands.

Then he walked to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red. His jaw clenched. His shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact.

He tried to breathe.

But the grief was rising again, thick and hot and merciless.

He rinsed his face. Once. Twice. Again. Cold water dripping down his neck, soaking his shirt. He gripped the sink, knuckles white, and whispered to himself:

“I let her die.”

His voice cracked.

“I moved on.”

He hated himself for it.

He hated that he was here, in a warm house, with someone who loved him, while Sarah was gone. He hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That Tess had brought it all back. That you—his Angel—was slipping through his fingers and he didn’t know how to hold on.

He walked back to the kitchen, heart heavy, head pounding.

And then he heard it.

The door opened softly. Footsteps. A bag dropping to the floor.

You were home.

Joel turned, ready to greet you, maybe even tell you about the necklace—about Sarah. But before he could speak, he felt your arms wrap around him from behind.

Your voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“I can smell her perfume.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

You didn’t move.

“That’s Tess’s perfume. I know it.”

He turned around slowly, confusion etched into his face. “How do you—”

“I could smell that cheap perfume from anywhere!” You snapped, voice trembling.

Joel’s eyes widened. He raised his hands, palms open, trying to calm you down.

“Wow. Okay. Hey, let’s calm down a bit.”

He didn’t understand. Didn’t know where this was coming from. Why you were acting like this.

“No, don’t tell me to calm down,” you said, stepping back, your voice wounded.

“You met with her?” You asked.

Joel nodded, shrugging. “Yes. I don’t know how that’s a problem?”

“Without telling me?” Your voice cracked.

Joel’s jaw tightened. His headache pulsed harder. He felt the anger rising, even though he didn’t want it to.

“I didn’t know I had to get permission from you,” he said, voice sharper than he meant.

The air thickened instantly.

Your eyes filled with hurt. “We just caught up. What friends do—” he tried.

“That is your ex!” You snapped, loud now.

Joel flinched. His eyebrows furrowed. Were you… jealous?

“You should’ve at least told me that you met with her!” You said.

Joel shook his head, exhausted. Hungry. Irritated. He just wanted to go to bed.

“Okey, I don’t know where this is coming from but you’re overreacting.”

The moment he said it, something thudded in his chest. A warning. A regret.

You scoffed. “Overreacting?” Your voice was sharp now. Cutting.

“So you’d be okay if I went and met up with my ex and had his perfume all over my body?”

Joel snapped.

“You’re fucking talking like we did something,” he said, voice rising. “We hugged after and that’s all. We had a coffee, maybe two, and talked about things we’ve missed.”

He was angry now. Defensive. Confused.

Your voice dropped to a whisper, trembling. “If it was so innocent… then why didn’t you tell me?”

Joel groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Listen, I ain’t got the nerve to discuss with you whether or not I can meet up with my friends. I have a fucking headache and I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

He turned away and walked down the hall. Left you standing there.

And his heart broke with every step.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to shut you out. But the grief, the guilt, the pressure—it had built up for weeks. And now it was spilling out in all the wrong ways.

He closed the bedroom door behind him.

And sat on the edge of the bed, necklace still in his hand.

“And then you two had a big fight,” Tommy echoes.

He leans back, arms crossed. “Look, I ain’t the one to tell you how to act when grieving. But you were an asshole to her. That’s the truth.”

“Grief doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt people, Joel. I get it—you lost Sarah. That pain doesn’t go away. But she ain’t the one who put it there. She’s the one who’s been tryin’ to pull you out of it.” Tommy sighs, standing up.

Joel doesn’t argue. He just stares at the floor.

“You shut her out. You snapped at her. You made her feel like she was second place to a ghost. And I know you didn’t mean it. But meaning don’t matter when someone’s already bleeding.” He looked at Joel, raising his eyebrows.

Joel caught up, nodding his head quickly.

“You think you’re protecting her by keeping all that pain locked up? You’re not. You’re just making her feel like she’s not allowed in.”

Something in Joel’s stomach twists. And Tommy’s words hit harder than anything else right now.

“You’re grieving. I get that. But you’re also living. And if you keep treating the people who love you like they’re temporary, you’re gonna end up alone. Again.”

“But,” Tommy continues, “you still got time to apologize. To do things right. You love her?”

Joel nods, eyes wet again. “More than anything.”

“Then go show her. Not with words. With actions. With truth.”

Joel wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt, nodding slowly.

Tommy grabs the soup, and places it in Joel’s hands. “Eat something. Then go find her.”

Joel looks down at the bowl, steam rising gently, and for the first time in days, something stirs in his chest.

Hope.

-

Joel stands outside the building, staring up at your apartment window like it might give him a sign. His heart thuds in his chest, heavy and uneven, and his stomach twists so hard he feels like he might throw up.

He’s rehearsed what he’s going to say a hundred times.

“I’m sorry.”

“I was grieving and I didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I love you.”

The words loop in his head, over and over, but none of them feel big enough. None of them feel like they’ll fix what he broke.

There’s a lump in his throat—tight, aching. He knows he’s going to cry. He accepts it. He’s past pride. Past pretending. All he wants is to see you. To tell you the truth. To beg, if he has to.

He climbs the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. His palms are sweaty. His breath shallow. He rounds the corner to your hallway—

And stops.

You’re there.

Standing in front of your door.

With someone else.

A guy. Young. Smiling. His posture is relaxed, casual. He’s talking to you like he’s known you for years. You’re laughing softly, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly.

Joel’s heart stumbles.

He ducks back behind the wall, pressing his back to the cold surface, breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s hiding. Maybe because he’s scared. Maybe because he already feels like he’s lost you.

He listens.

You talk casually at first. The guy says something about your work. You respond with a joke. Joel stares at the floor, fists clenched, trying to breathe through the panic rising in his chest.

Then the guy asks:

“So… do you have a boyfriend?”

Joel’s breath hitches.

His entire body goes still.

He listens—closely. Desperately.

And then he hears it.

“No.”

That one word.

It echoes in his ears, louder than anything else. The rest of the world goes silent. His heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape his chest. His breathing quickens, sharp and shallow.

He feels dizzy.

If he didn’t feel so miserable, he might walk up there and punch the guy. But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, frozen, as the word “No” settles deep into his bones.

You don’t see him as your boyfriend anymore. You don’t carry that label.

You’ve let go.

Joel turns, stumbling down the hallway, feet moving faster than his thoughts. He doesn’t look back. He can’t.

Tears spill down his cheeks, hot and relentless. He wipes at them with the sleeve of his jacket, but they keep coming. He walks out of the building, into the cold evening air, and feels the weight of everything he didn’t say.

He should’ve come to you the day you fought.

Should’ve told you about Sarah. About the necklace. About the grief that swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t.

And now it’s too late.

You don’t want him anymore.

Joel walks until his legs ache, until the city blurs around him, until the only thing he can hear is the sound of his own regret.

Ooo🫣 I hope the switch between past and present wasn’t so complicated and I did a good Job on showing both and what they mean…

@/coffeguitar Masterlist!

Taglist: @akah565 @sunofnebulah @psclcain @rwbyssx @pedrofan @wildthyng @notyourlovemonkey @brittmb115 @amyispxnk @pinkcabinet @cuteanimalmama @umnitsa @armandispunk @wow-life-love4 @glitterfartz08 @fertilise-me @silksepia @maria3755 @untamedheart81 @xojdmasf @mytearsricochetm @praisethekook @chrrypascal @he-is-the-destined @aleck-cross @amoooeba @pedritosgfreal @angel2baby22 @iloved1lfs0 @magicxmiller @pleurspetal @mxkhxx

[littledes1re]

THANK YOUUUU🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

@/coffeeguitar pt. 6 

Summary: Someone from Joel’s past knocks on the door. Someone who Joel was very close with. And suddenly, you aren’t sure if you fit anymore.

Warnings: Angst, slight fluff, fighting, crying, age gap (50 and 23), Joel is being kind of an Asshole, jealousy

A/N: ooo things are getting messy😵‍💫 as usual, this Idea was by @glitterspark <33

You wake up in his arms, the world still silent in the golden spill of morning light. The blinds cast soft lines across the bed, painting Joel’s bare shoulder in pale gold. His breath is slow, steady, and warm against your collarbone.

You kiss him—just once, sweetly—your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t stir. You let him sleep.

Furball is curled on top of him, a small furry lump rising and falling with Joel’s chest. You smile.

Carefully, you slide out from under the covers, your legs bare against the cool wood floor. You stretch, arms reaching high, spine arching, the ache of sleep melting from your limbs.

The house is quiet. Peaceful.

You walk into the kitchen, the scent of yesterday’s pasta that you and Joel made, still lingering faintly in the air. You rinse the coffee pot, fill it fresh, and set it to brew. The machine hums to life, a low comforting sound.

Opening the fridge, you pull out eggs, a few slices of bread, the last of the tomatoes Joel brought home from the market. You hum as you work, slicing, whisking, moving with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

Outside, the porch is bathed in sunlight. You step out barefoot, and let the sun kiss your skin. The air smells like dew and pine. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out. You close your eyes and breathe it in.

You don’t know yet that today will be different.

The coffee’s just finished brewing when the knock comes.

Who knocks at this hour? It’s barely past eight. Maybe it’s Tommy, you think. He’s the only one who ever shows up unannounced.

The door creaks slightly as you open it.

A woman in her forties, tall, poised, wrapped in a long coat that looks expensive but lived in. Her hair is loose, lying softly around her shoulders, and her expression is one of polite confusion. She looks at you like she’s trying to place you—but you do the same.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice cautious.

She blinks, then smiles faintly. “Oh… he probably moved houses.” She hesitates, glancing past you toward the porch. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Wrong house.”

She starts to turn, but then—

“Tess?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, rough with sleep. You turn to see him standing in the hallway, barefoot, wearing joggers and a wrinkled shirt. His hair is messy, sticking up in soft tufts. His eyes are wide.

Tess spins around, her face lighting up.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long, Joel.”

She opens her arms, and Joel steps into them without hesitation. They hug—longer than you expect.

Familiar. Comfortable.

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, watching them hold each other like no time has passed. Maybe she’s his sister, you think. Even though he’s never mentioned one.

Joel doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain.

“C’mon,” he says to Tess. “Come in. I’ll make us coffee.”

You step aside as they walk past you, still wrapped in each other’s warmth. You trail behind them, unsure where you fit in this picture.

You sit at the edge of the kitchen table, hands wrapped around your mug, watching Joel and Tess talk like they never stopped. Their voices overlap, laughter spilling out in bursts.

Names you don’t recognize. Places you’ve never been. Stories from a life you weren’t part of.

Joel doesn’t even glance at you. He just refills your coffee silently and returns to his seat beside Tess.

You sigh quietly, trying not to show it.

Tess turns to you suddenly, smiling politely.

“Oh, by the way—and you are?”

You open your mouth, but Joel cuts in.

“My girlfriend.”

The words land heavy. Not proud. Not warm. Just… stated. Like something he needed to get out of the way.

Joel looks down at his mug. Tess raises an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

You press your lips into a thin line, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you,” you say softly.

But Tess is already turning back to Joel, launching into another story about something that happened when they were young.

You sit there, nodding when appropriate, sipping coffee that’s gone lukewarm, wondering how you became a background character in your own morning.

After a while Tess leaves with a hug and a smile, her perfume lingering faintly in the air long after the door clicks shut. You stay seated at the kitchen table, fingers tapping absently against your mug, eyes unfocused. The coffee’s gone cold, but you don’t move.

Joel walks back in, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps slower now. He pauses in the doorway, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“She’s an old friend,” he says, voice quiet, like he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

You look up at him, expression unreadable. You just nod.

Joel moves toward the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, but stops halfway. His hand hovers over the empty mug, then drops to his side. He turns to face you fully.

“What’s the matter with you?”

You blink once, then speak, voice calm but edged.

“Oh, nothing. Just acting like I’m not existing while someone’s here hurt my feelings. But that could just be a me problem.”

Joel sighs. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I don’t know where that comes from.”

He shrugs, trying to sound casual, but there’s tension in his shoulders.

“I just got excited, you know? We were really good friends back then.”

You tilt your head, gaze steady.

“Only friends?”

Joel looks down, jaw tight, fingers flexing against his arm.

“Not only,” he admits. “But it was something short. Didn’t last long.”

You don’t flinch. You nod, because that’s what you do when you’re trying not to seem like you care too much. But inside, something folds in on itself.

Of course she was.

You picture her: older, steadier, the kind of woman who doesn’t stumble over her own feelings. The kind of woman Joel would have trusted with his silences.

You swallow hard, pretending your throat isn’t tight.

It’s fine. It’s not like he lied. It’s not like he owes you anything.

But the truth is, you feel like a shadow in someone else’s story. Like you showed up too late, and the best parts of him were already given away.

You wonder what Tess knew—what parts of Joel she got to see that you haven’t yet. Did she know his laugh when he’s tired? Did she hear the way his voice softens when he talks about coffee?

You nod again, eyes drifting toward the window, watching the light shift across the floorboards.

Joel watches you for a moment longer, then steps forward, kneeling beside your chair. His eyes search yours, soft and apologetic.

“Hey… I’m sorry. It was a rush of adrenaline. I missed her. And I should’ve introduced you first. Should’ve made sure you felt seen.”

You want to say it. You want to mention the way he said “my girlfriend” like it was something to get over with. Like it embarrassed him. But you don’t. You swallow it down, tuck it behind your smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quietly. “It’s fine.”

Joel tilts his head.

“Yeah?”

You nod, lips pressed together.

He smiles, tentative, brushing his hand against your arm.

“Okay, baby. How about we do some grocery shopping, hm?”

-

The days pass in quiet rhythm.

Joel works. You work. The house hums with routine—coffee brewing, boots by the door, Furball curled up in the sun. Tess lingers in the back of your mind, like a name you’re not supposed to say out loud. Joel never mentions her again. You don’t ask. But the curiosity doesn’t fade.

One afternoon, Tommy swings by—his usual quick visit, dropping off something Joel asked for. A tool, as usual. He’s always in and out, never staying long.

Joel’s in the bathroom, the door shut, the sound of running water muffled behind it.

You don’t mean to ask. Not really.

It’s just that Tess hasn’t left your mind since the day she showed up—wrapped in that perfect coat, smiling like she belonged. Joel never brought her up again, and you didn’t want to seem jealous. You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it does.

You keep wondering: Who was she to him?

Not just the label—ex—but the weight of it. The history. The intimacy. The things they shared that you haven’t even touched yet.

You lean against the counter, trying to sound casual.

“Hey… do you know who Tess is?”

Your heart thuds the moment the words leave your mouth. You try to sound casual, like it’s just curiosity. Like you’re not trying to measure yourself against someone who came before.

But you are.

Tommy pauses mid-step, brows raised. A short laugh escapes him.

“Yeah, I know Tess. Why?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Joel mentioned her once. Just wondered.”

Tommy’s grin turns knowing, a little smug.

“Tess and Joel were tight. Like, real tight. Back in the day, you didn’t see one without the other.”

You nod, lips pressed together. You don’t say anything else.

But your heart doesn’t settle. It flutters restlessly, like it’s trying to make sense of something it doesn’t want to understand.

Tommy doesn’t push. He just hands you the wrench, gives Furball a scratch behind the ears, and heads out.

The silence Joel returns to feels heavier than before.

-

The days pass like soft rain—quiet, steady, and a little too cold.

Joel is there. Physically. His arms still wrap around you at night, his lips still press gently to your forehead before he heads out. He still calls you “Angel,” still chuckles when Furball does her ridiculous sideways hop. But something’s missing. Something you can’t name, but you feel it like a bruise under the skin.

He zones out more often now. You’ll be talking about your day, about the weird guy you saw, who tried to pay for coffee with Monopoly money, and Joel will nod—but his eyes are somewhere else. Far away.

You catch him staring at nothing, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s holding back words. Or memories.

You text him one afternoon, trying to be light, trying to be you:

@/angelwings: The coffee machine broke down at work today and I repaired it!! Using the powers you gave me ☕⚡ I am now the Coffee Queen hehe

You wait. Normally he’d reply in seconds. Something dumb and sweet like:

“My queen. I kneel before your espresso empire.”

But this time… nothing. Not for hours.

When he finally replies, it’s just:

@/coffeeguitar: Nice work, Angel.

You stare at the screen. Three words. No emoji. No warmth. You feel something inside you fold in on itself.

You start noticing everything. The way he turns his phone face-down when he sets it on the table. The way he doesn’t ask about your day anymore. The way he says “I’m just tired” when you ask if he’s okay. You try not to spiral, but your mind is cruel. It whispers things you don’t want to hear:

He’s thinking about Tess.

He’s already gone, just hasn’t told you yet.

You don’t fit anymore.

You try to be strong. You smile. You make his favorite dinner. You wear the hoodie he loves on you. You laugh at his jokes even when they don’t land. But every time he pulls away just a little more, it feels like you’re being erased.

One night, when the silence is too loud and Joel’s breathing is steady beside you, you slip out of bed. Furball follows, blinking sleepily, and curls up on your stomach as you lie on the couch. You stroke her fur with trembling fingers, and the tears come quietly.

You cry because you love him so much it hurts. Because you don’t know how to fix what’s breaking. Because you feel like you’re watching the end of something beautiful and you’re powerless to stop it.

“I love him,” you whisper into the dark, voice cracking.

“I love him so much. And I can’t do anything while he drifts away.”

Furball lifts her head, nudges your chin with her nose. You smile through the tears, clutching her close. The ache in your chest is unbearable, but you let it wash over you. You let yourself feel it. Because pretending it’s fine would be worse.

You lie there for hours, heart heavy, eyes swollen, wondering if Joel will notice you’re gone from the bed. Wondering if he’ll come find you. Wondering if he’s already too far gone.

-

You come home like you always do—keys jangling, boots heavy, the weight of the day pressing into your shoulders.

The house is quiet, warm, familiar. Joel’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pot. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and press your cheek to his back. He smells like soap and coffee and home.

But then it hits you.

That scent.

Your stomach drops. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Sweet, synthetic, cloying. The perfume that haunted your senses for days after Tess left. The one that clung to your clothes, your pillow, your skin.

You freeze.

“I can smell her perfume,” you whisper, your voice cracking before you even realize it.

Joel turns, brow furrowed, rubbing his forehead like he’s trying to erase the moment.

“What?”

“That’s Tess’s perfume. I know it.” Your throat tightens, and the tears are already threatening to spill. You blink hard, trying to hold them back.

“How do you—”

“I could smell that cheap perfume from anywhere.” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s been festering inside you for days. Weeks. And now it’s boiling over.

Joel steps back, waving his hands like he’s trying to calm a storm. “Wow, okay. Hey, let’s calm down a bit.”

“No, don’t tell me to calm down.” Your voice rises, sharp and wounded.

“You met with her?”

“Yes?” He shrugs, confused. “I don’t know how that’s a problem?”

“Without telling me?” Your voice trembles, disbelief laced with fury.

Joel’s jaw tightens. “I didn’t know I had to get permission from you.”

You stare at him, stunned. The air between you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid.

“We just caught up. What friends do—”

“That is your ex!” you shout, cutting him off. Joel flinches, just slightly, like he didn’t expect you to break like this. “And you should’ve at least told me that you met up with her.”

He shakes his head, irritated. “Okay, I don’t know where this is coming from, but you’re overreacting.”

Those words hit harder than anything else. Overreacting. Like your pain is a performance. Like your heart doesn’t matter.

“Overreacting?” You scoff, voice trembling. “So you’d be okay if I went and met up with my ex and had his perfume all over my body?”

Joel’s eyes flash. “You’re fucking talking like we did something. We hugged after and that’s all. We had a coffee, maybe two, and talked about things we’ve missed.”

He’s angry now. Defensive. His voice is louder, sharper. You feel like you’re drowning in the space between you.

You look around the room, searching for something to hold onto, but everything feels foreign. Your tears fall freely now, hot and silent.

“If it was so innocent,” you whisper, “then why didn’t you tell me?”

Joel groans, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Listen, I ain’t got the nerve to discuss with you whether or not I can meet up with my friends. I have a fucking headache and I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

And just like that, he walks away.

Leaves you standing in the kitchen, arms limp at your sides, heart shattered, tears streaking down your cheeks. The scent of Tess still lingers in the air, cruel and unforgiving.

You’re angry. You’re confused. You’re alone.

And the silence hurts more than anything he said.

I’m SORRY OKEY???!!?!

@/coffeeguitar masterlist!

Taglist: @akah565 @sunofnebulah @psclcain @rwbyssx @pedrofan @wildthyng @notyourlovemonkey @brittmb115 @amyispxnk @pinkcabinet @cuteanimalmama @umnitsa @armandispunk @wow-life-love4 @glitterfartz08 @fertilise-me

[littledes1re]

babes your fics are 100% ai and it’s so obvious you don’t even bother to change the bare minimum to make it look human written it’s copy paste from that gpt maybe you should take some time to write your own fics instead i’m sure you have the talent and they’ll be even better if you do it yourself . i’m not trying to expose you or anything cause i don’t like the drama but there’s people who have exposed others in the past so maybe try and make it look more credible at least

[littledes1re]

UH HUH NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT🗣️🗣️

Another one couldn’t hurt… right? Pt. 4 (1/2)

daddy joel, but not in that way… has planned an anniversary trip for just the two (technically 3) of you.

(split into 2 parts)

pt.1 / pt. 2 / pt.3 | pt. 4 (2/2)

main masterlist

WC 11.6k – no outbreak!au, domestic fluff, established relationship (Joel and reader are married), husband!joel x wife!reader, some physical descriptions, mentions of pregnancy, smut, pwp, unprotected p-in-v sex, breeding kink/ pregnancy kink/ impregnation kink, soft dom!joel, size kink, praise kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, overstimulation, edging/ orgasm denial, use of a vibrator, after care, age gap relationship (met at 19 and 33).

You’re feral for each other, that’s the general gist of it all.

୨୧ ⏔⏔���♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Pt. 4 (1/2)

The house is a whirlwind.

Shoes are everywhere. You’re standing in the living room, one sneaker in your hand and the diaper bag slung across your shoulder, hair slightly frizzed from the sheer kinetic energy in the house. The clock is ticking, you were supposed to be out of the door ten minutes ago.

Sarah is walking in slow, dramatic circles practicing her “hello, Miss Maria” speech for the seventh time since you told your kids you’d be meeting someone very special to Tommy tonight. She and Artie were saying it back and forth in a fit of giggles as you try to ask them where their other shoes are or if they had everything they needed for a sleepover at Grandpa’s house.

Joel is in the hallway, trying to convince Ellie to wear shoes at all.

“I know ya love the boots, baby,” he says, crouched in front of her with his hands on her squirming ankles. “But you gotta wear two of ‘em. Same color, too.”

She frowns at him like he’s ruined her life.

“You can wear the pink ones tomorrow,” he offers, already looking like he’s losing this battle.

“I want sparkles.”

Joel sighs, dragging a hand down his face, and looks up at you, “Are we takin’ a vote on footwear now?”

You shrug helplessly.

Meanwhile, Sarah wanders into the kitchen for the third time to double-check that the banana muffins she made for Grandpa are still in the Tupperware container and haven't disappeared mysteriously or suspiciously around Artie or Joel. She knows how much the boys of the family love banana bread.

Artie finally reappears, pants on but backward, dragging his stuffed dinosaur by one arm and mumbling to himself about needing his blanket, and the pillow with the dinosaur pillow case, not the rocket one tonight.

A proper little nerd in the making, that one.

His favorite dinosaur was the Spinosaurus, and he liked to remind anyone who would listen that it could “fight anything and win, ‘cause it has teeth like a crocodile and was five times the size of one.”

He was already talking to himself as he made his way across the room with his stuffed triceratops bouncing at his side, Joel raises a brow as Artie climbed up on the bench near the front door and started loading his favorite plastic ankylosaurus into his overnight bag. “He gets this from your side,” Joel says, tone deadpan, as he hauls Artie up and put his pants back on correctly.

You smirk, brushing crumbs off Artie’s dino pajama shirt he decided he wanted to keep on, “You argued with him last week about how many teeth a T. rex had.”

“Only ‘cause he said infinity,” Joel replies, “Had to set the record straight.”

“I married a nerd,” you say, half-sighing, half-smiling, only to catch that flash of mischief in his eyes.

“A nerd? Y’callin’ your old man a nerd?”

You nod, tsking your tongue at him, already knowing you were in trouble for it.

“Yep, you’re a nerd,” you repeat, sweet as can be, snagging Sarah’s backpack from the couch to take to the car.

Joel huffs like he’s offended, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Y’know, back in my day, callin’ a man a nerd was fightin’ words.”

“Back in your day, dinosaurs still roamed the earth,” you shoot back, shoving the diaper bag at him as you herd Artie and Sarah toward the door.

Joel narrows his eyes at you, but the smirk is already there as he picks Ellie up with his free arm. “Keep talkin’, mama. See where it gets ya later.”

You just shake your head, steering Artie toward the porch steps while he clutches his stuffed triceratops under one arm and his pillow under the other. “Come on, buddy, out we go.”

You follow with the kids’ bags and the Tupperware of muffins, setting them carefully on the floor of the back seat before buckling Sarah into her booster seat.

Joel settles Ellie into her car seat with practiced ease, her blankie still in her grasp, thumb already tucked into her mouth. She watches him intently as he tightens the straps, and tucks her stuffed bunny beside her.

Artie clambers into his seat with Joel’s help, immediately stuffing his triceratops next to him and facing out of the window, “so he can see out, too”.

Joel shuts the door, gives you a look that’s equal parts tired dad and plotting husband, then rounds the truck.

The drive is short, barely ten minutes, but it’s enough for the world to shrink down to the soft hum of the tires on pavement, the muffled chatter of the kids in the back, and Joel’s hand resting warm and steady on your thigh.

You glance over at him, the light of the early evening sun bouncing off the dash and cutting across his face, catching the curve of his mouth. He’s watching the road, but his thumb is tracing slow, absentminded arcs on your thigh.

Ellie’s humming to herself in the back, clutching her blanket, and Sarah’s trying to teach Artie the chorus of a song he keeps butchering on purpose just to make her squeal.

“You’re startin’ trouble back there,” Joel calls over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I’m not!” Artie shouts, which earns him a pointed look in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, y’are,” Joel says, voice easy, but his hand slides higher on your leg.

The driveway comes into view before you can reply. His dad’s porch light glows warm against the dusk, and Joel’s hand squeezes your thigh once before leaving you to shift into park. “Alright, kiddos,” he says, turning toward the back seat, “now remember what I said ‘bout manners, got it?”

“Yes, daddy!” Sarah and Artie reply in unison, resulting in a fit of giggles as Sarah unbuckles her own seatbelt and helps Artie out of his.

The front door opens before the engine’s even off, his dad’s silhouette filling the frame, Tommy right behind him with a woman you assume must be Maria.

You’re halfway around to unbuckle Ellie when Joel’s dad booms a greeting from the porch, his voice carrying easily over the gravel crunch of your steps. Tommy waves, grinning, and Maria’s smile is warm, open in a way that makes you instantly like her before you’ve even shaken hands.

By the time you make it up the steps, Joel’s already got Ellie on his hip and Sarah glued to his side, Artie hovering just behind you.

Joel’s dad claps him on the back, and then Maria steps forward, offering her hand to you.

“You must be Joel’s wife,” she says, eyes kind and a little amused. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

You can feel Joel’s gaze flick toward you at that, the edge of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

It’s easy from the start.

Maria’s got the kind of presence that feels like you’ve known her longer than five minutes, slipping you into conversation while Joel and Tommy catch up with their dad. The kitchen smells like roast chicken and something buttery, and the kids’ chatter bounces between the dining room and the living room, busy enough to be noisy without being wild.

Sarah’s helping set the table, humming under her breath. Artie is telling Grandpa in great detail about whatever’s on his mind, while Ellie bouncing between Joel’s lap and the chair next to him,

Maria leans toward you, “I gotta say… I think your husband’s got it bad for you.”

You glance over your shoulder and sure enough, Joel’s sitting at the table, but not even pretending to follow whatever conversation Tommy’s trying to have. His elbow’s on the back of the chair next to him, his gaze fixed on you with a small, quiet smile like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

You shake your head and turn back to Maria, laughing softly, “he’s just not great at hiding it.”

Maria smirks knowingly but lets the comment settle. The talk shifts naturally from the brothers’ habits to growing up in Texas, to favorite dinners and the way the two men bicker over the grill like it’s a competitive sport. You find yourself easing into the rhythm, matching Maria’s banter without a second thought. She’s sharp but kind, someone who could keep up with you without making it a contest.

In the back of your mind, it settles in quiet and certain… this could be good. She seems to be good for Tommy. For the whole family. She fits well. The thought makes something warm stretch out in your chest, the kind of ease you don’t find often.

You try to keep your focus on her, but there’s a weight to Joel’s stare you can feel even when you’re not looking at him.

When Tommy finally claps him on the shoulder and stands, Joel pushes up from his chair, stretching his back with a quiet groan. His hand goes to his belt, tugging it just enough to settle it right, shirt untucking slightly at one side. You watch his thumb hook beneath the denim, then smooth the hem of his shirt back into place before he follows Tommy toward you and Maria, “It’s ‘bout time I properly introduced you to Maria.” Tommy beams as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

Joel’s close to you now, his height shadowing you a little, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other brushing over the front of his shirt where the collar still sits slightly off. You don’t think, you just reach up, catching the fabric between your fingers and fixing it, smoothing your hands down the broad plane of his chest.

His chest rises under your touch, slow and deliberate, and when his eyes meet yours for that half-second, there’s a weight there you feel all the way down your spine.

Then he turns that low, polite drawl toward Maria, “Yeah,” he says, warmly, “heard lots ‘bout ya. S’good to finally meet you.”

Maria smiles, answering warmly, something about how much she’d heard about the family, but you catch only half of it as Joel’s knuckles brush the small of your back in a casual, deliberate pass before his hand settles on your opposite hip. He shifts his stance, weight on one leg, the roll of his shoulders pulling his shirt tight across the broad span of his back, denim creasing low on his hips in a way that makes it too easy to imagine him without it.

He shifts his weight as he holds you in his gravity, your hand roaming up his back to feel the slow roll of his shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt across the broad lines of his back, the easy spread of his stance like he was built to take up space.

Maria’s laughter pulls you back to the conversation, and you catch the end of her story about Tommy’s disastrous first attempt at cooking for her. Joel’s low chuckle rumbles beside you.

And then—

“Hi Miss Maria!”

Sarah barrels in first, all bright eyes and bouncing curls, voice pitched sweet and clear like she’s been rehearsing. “I’m Sarah, and that’s my brother Artie and that’s my sister Ellie.”

Maria grins, crouching down to Sarah’s level. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Artie pushes his way to the front, holding his stuffed triceratops up as if he’s introducing it to her, “And this is my dinosaur. His name is Horny but mommy and daddy said we can’t call him that in public.”

Joel clears his throat, fighting a smirk as he crouches to pick up Ellie who had been tugging at his leg. “Bud, we talked about maybe callin’ him somethin’ else when there’s company.”

Artie shrugs, completely unfazed. “Fine. This is… Steve, like the monkey from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.”

Ellie presses into Joel’s chest as he stands, thumb in her mouth, her other hand tangled in his shirt. He bounces her gently, one big palm steady on her back, and she nestles in like she belongs there more than anywhere else.

You watch the way he smooths her hair back, listening to Sarah and Artie chatter away at Maria like she’s their best friend now. Joel catches your eye over Ellie’s head and shoots you a wink, the group of you gravitating towards the dining room as Joel’s dad announces the food being ready.

Joel’s dad is already at the head of the table, dishing mashed potatoes and pork loin onto plates for the kids.

Joel shifts Ellie higher on his hip before settling her into the high-backed booster seat that’s been in his dad’s dining room since Sarah was born.

Ellie kicks her legs happily, already eyeing the bread basket like it’s the crown jewel of the table. Sarah’s across from her, sitting perfectly straight, the picture of manners, at least for now, while Artie bounces in his chair, his triceratops parked proudly beside his plate.

“Bet that thing’s gonna eat more than you tonight,” Joel says, nodding toward the toy.

“Steve only eats leaves,” Artie corrects him.

Joel’s dad snorts. “Well, we got salad. He’ll be fine.”

Maria leans toward you as the plates start making their rounds. “So, Artie sure seems to know a lot about dinosaurs,” she says, smiling at him as he launches into a detailed breakdown of which dinosaurs had teeth for plants and which had teeth for meat.

“Yep, he sure knows his stuff,” you say, shaking your head in that way parents do when they’re secretly proud, “slightly obsessive, but…”

“Gets it from his mama,” Joel teases again, cutting in, one big arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His hand brushes your shoulder as he leans in to reach the butter, the stretch pulling his shirt tight across his chest and shoulders, the motion casual but heavy with that unconscious strength of his.

“Mm, don’t know about that,” Tommy says around a mouthful of potatoes. “I seem to recall a certain big brother of mine bein’ a little… single-minded.”

Joel shoots him a look over the rim of his glass, “what’re you tryna say, Tommy?”

Tommy grins. “Just sayin’, you were the one who used to spend Saturday nights readin’ up on carburetors like it was the Holy Word. Could name every part in a truck before you could drive one.”

You smirk into your napkin and clear your throat gently, “sounds exactly like a nerd to me,” you say, only loud enough for Joel to hear.

Joel’s eyes slide to you, narrowing in that way that promises retaliation.

You lean an elbow on the table, chin in your hand, savoring the way Joel’s jaw tightens. “Guess it runs in the family then, means Artie never stood a chance.”

Joel exhales through his nose, that faint grin betraying him before his hand snakes to your side under the table. One quick, sharp poke and you jolt in your chair, biting back a laugh.

“Hey!” you hiss, swatting at his arm.

The rest of the meal rolls easy after that, conversation drifts from the farmer’s market that was in town for the week, to Tommy’s latest side project, their dad telling an old story about Joel and Tommy getting caught sneaking out as teenagers, to Sarah politely but firmly negotiating for a third roll which she smuggled half of to Ellie. Joel keeps one big arm draped casually along the back of your chair, his thumb tracing idle circles into your shoulder whenever he leans in to add to the conversation.

When the plates are cleared and coffee’s poured, the group spreads out, Joel’s dad settling into his armchair with Ellie on one knee and Artie on the other, reading them one of the storybooks he keeps for the kids. Sarah’s showing Maria and Tommy the beaded bracelet she made at school.

Joel’s on the couch beside you, coffee mug in hand, steam curling past his jaw. He sits with his broad frame taking up more than his share of the cushion, one boot braced on the floor, the other stretched long. His free hand rests against your knee, warm and absent-minded, rubbing little arcs into the fabric of your jeans.

“So,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair with that knowing grin, “I tell ya how me and Maria met?”

You had, Tommy hadn’t been able to shut up about her for months now, but you loved when couples were finally able to tell the story together. Who knows what details you missed from only hearing one side of the story.

Maria rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, “We are not telling the full version.”

“Oh, we’re tellin’ enough,” Tommy counters, nodding toward you. “We met on a blind date, our friends set it up. It was a double blind date, but we liked each other more than the one we were meant to be matched with. But I think they hit it off too, so who knows! Strange, huh?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really stick around for too long, we decided to hit another bar after where we could talk just us," Maria adds, laughing.

Joel smirks into his coffee, “Sounds about right.”

“And what about you two?” Maria asks, tipping her chin toward you.

You glance at Joel, who raises his brows like you tell it.

You shake your head and place your hand over his where it still stayed on your thigh, “We met at the coffee shop next to my office, downtown. Came in one day as I usually do, and Joel was there since he had a project he was finishing nearby. Bumped into each other in line, then spent the next few weeks showing up at the same time as each other, and eventually he asked me out on a proper date.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, “I spent so much damned money at that place. Wasn’t makin’ much yet ‘til that job wrapped. Worth every penny, though.”

Maria’s grinning now, “Guess it worked for both of you. That’s what matters.”

Joel shifts his coffee cup to his other hand, his thumb brushing against your knee again. “Yeah, sure did. Tomorrow marks eleven years of marriage ‘n about fifteen years of us.”

“That’s right! Tommy mentioned it was your anniversary weekend,” Maria says, glancing between you and Joel, “what’re your plans? Just relaxing? Time without the kids?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, the rim of his mug hiding most of it. “Got somethin’ lined up,” he says, low and casual, but his eyes flick toward you in that way that gives him away, “wish we could take the kids with us, but we figured they’d enjoy a week with y’all more than what I’ve got planned.”

Tommy leans back in his chair, “Oh yeah? Gonna let us in on it?”

Joel shrugs, setting his mug down on the side table, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, “Just a little trip. Somethin’ she’s been talkin’ about wantin’ to do for a while now.”

You tilt your head toward him, “yeah, and you haven’t told me a single detail.”

He just smirks, squeezing your arm, “you’ll know soon enough, darlin’.”

The hour’s gotten fairly late for the kids by the time the conversation winds down, coffee cups emptied and laughter mellowed into that cozy hum of a house settling in for the evening.

Joel’s dad wanders back in from the den with Ellie balanced against his shoulder, her little head tucked under his jaw. Artie’s trailing behind him, triceratops dangling from one hand, the other rubbing at his eyes. Sarah pads in right after, with her hair mussed like she’d just tired herself out.

She’s the first to cross the room, launching herself straight into Joel’s arms. He bends to meet her halfway, catching her with practiced ease as she wraps her arms tight around his neck. You scoop Artie and Ellie up, one on each hip, and step in so you’re all pressed together in a tangle of little arms and warm cheeks.

“Love you, Daddy,” Sarah says into Joel’s shoulder, her curls tickling his jaw.

“Love you too, baby girl.” Joel presses a kiss to the top of her head, giving her that little squeeze that always makes her grin before she slips back down.

Artie wedges himself between you both, triceratops trapped between his chest and Joel’s shirt. Joel ruffles his hair, then presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

“G’night, Daddy. Love you more than Steve loves leaves.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, the sound deep and warm. “That’s a whole lotta love right there. Love you too, bud.”

Then it’s Ellie’s turn. You pass her into Joel’s arms, where she melts against him like she’s been waiting for it all night. Sleepy and soft, thumb in her mouth, she leans in to rest her cheek against his beard.

“Night-night, Daddy.”

“Night-night, baby girl,” he murmurs, kissing the soft crown of her head.

Joel passes Ellie back into your arms, and she curls against you instantly, her little fists gripping the fabric of your sweater. You sway her gently, pressing your cheek to her hair.

“Night-night, my sweet girl. Mommy loves you.” You pepper her temple with quick kisses until she giggles softly, then hand her over to Joel’s dad.

Artie’s right there next, tugging at your shirt for his turn. You crouch so you’re eye level with him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“Goodnight, buddy. Love you more than the number of teeth on a spino.”

He grins, showing that missing front tooth. “More than infinity?!”

“Even more than infinity,” you promise, kissing his cheek until he squirms away with a laugh.

Sarah steps in last, and you cup her face in both hands, taking a moment just to look at her. She’s already growing into that in-between age, but she still leans in for a hug that nearly knocks you backward.

“Goodnight, baby. I’m so proud of you, and I love you more than all the stars.”

“Love you more than all the stars,” she repeats, smiling big before letting go.

You stand, glancing at Joel, and together you watch as the three of them are shepherded toward the den by their grandpa, already talking about which story they want to hear next.

The goodbyes are quick after that, a last round of hugs, and promises to call if anyone needs anything. Then you’re stepping out into the cool night, the door clicking shut behind you.

Joel’s hand finds the small of your back as you walk to the truck, bags already loaded, the air between you humming with that mixture of trepidation for leaving your kids behind for a full two days, and anticipation for a much needed get-away for just the two of you.

Joel opens your door first, one palm braced on the frame, the other sliding briefly to your waist before he helps you in. You catch that smirk, the one he gets when he’s got something to say but is letting it hang in the air.

“What?” you ask, buckling in.

“Just thinkin’ how nice it’s gonna be,” he says, circling around to the driver’s side, “two whole nights just you ‘n me, like old times.”

You grin. “You know you already miss them.”

He slides in beside you, starts the engine, and glances over. “Well, yeah, darlin’. But I think I’ll survive.” His eyes dip for just a second, tracing over you in that deliberate way that makes heat curl low in your belly. “Might even have a little fun.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile gives you away, “Only a little?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he says, leaning over the console, his hand cupping the back of your neck. The kiss starts soft, familiar, but lingers… drawn-out enough that you can taste the warmth of his coffee, feel the rasp of his jaw when he tilts just a little closer.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek, “don’t think I forgot the stunts y’tried to pull back there either.”

You tip your head, feigning innocence, “Stunts? I was perfectly well-behaved.”

Joel snorts, easing the truck into gear. “Mm-hm. Callin’ me a nerd in front of my own family? Teamin’ up with Tommy? You’re lucky I didn’t drag y’outta there earlier.”

You grin, lightly biting your bottom lip and tucking your legs up a little toward him. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

His hand finds your thigh as he pulls onto the highway, warm and heavy even through your jeans. “Oh, you will,” he says, voice dropping just enough to promise he’s already got ideas.

You settle more into the seat, tugging your cardigan a little closer around you. The soft knit hides the barely-there swell of your belly, but Joel’s gaze still drops there, just for a second before he focuses back on the road. He doesn’t need to see it to know, it’s in the way you shift your hand there without thinking.

His palm reaches over and rests warm and steady over your hand on your lower belly, thumb stroking absent circles.

“Y’know,” he says after a beat, eyes fixed on the road, “you sit there all sweet, actin’ like you weren’t tryin’ to wind me up all night. Like I couldn’t feel your foot nudgin’ mine under the table. Like I didn’t feel you runnin’ your hand over my thigh when nobody was lookin’.”

You drag your fingers lazily along the inside seam of his jeans now, grinning when his grip tightens on the wheel, “Maybe I just like touching you. Ever think of that?”

“That’s the problem,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “You touch me like that in front of everybody, and I gotta pretend my mind’s not three steps ahead.”

“Three whole steps ahead?” you tease, shifting so your arm brushes his where it rested on the console.

His gaze cuts from the road to you and your pulse skips, “my mind’s never too far off from gettin’ you beneath me again.”

Your breath catches, and you turn your face toward the dark blur of highway so he can’t see the smile tugging at your lips, “what a dangerous thing to say to a woman you’re trapped in a car with for an hour.”

He smirks, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Ain’t trapped. You could tell me to pull over right now and I’d…” His hand slides higher up your thigh, teasing the heat building beneath your denim before settling again, “…happily oblige.”

You shake your head, fighting the heat crawling up your neck.

He glances down, his hand briefly brushing the spot where your cardigan falls over your barely-there bump, “Two nights just us,” he says, quieter now, almost reverent. “Before the whole damn world knows I knocked ya up again.”

You laugh softly, unable to help it. “You can’t wait, can you? You love it.”

Joel’s mouth curves slow, his eyes still on the road, “Damn right I do. Love knowin’ it’s ours to celebrate before we get to share it.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against the seat, watching the glow of passing headlights wash over his face, “You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?”

“Since before dinner,” he admits without shame. “Could barely focus on what anyone was sayin’. Just sittin’ there thinkin’ ‘bout you pregnant with my baby again, ‘bout my own damn seed deep inside ya, and it stickin’.” His gaze flicks to yours, quick and heated, before turning back to the stretch of dark highway. “Pregnant with my goddamn baby again. Fuck, These damn miles can’t go fast enough.”

Your hand finds his thigh again, muscles taut beneath your palm. You let your fingers drift higher, slow and deliberate, until you feel him tense, jaw tightening as he exhales through his nose.

“Careful,” he mutters, eyes still locked on the road, though his grip on the wheel has gone white-knuckled.

You hum like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing, brushing your fingertips just inside the seam of his jeans. His leg shifts slightly, spreading just enough to let you in, and you feel the heat of him there, thick and hard against the denim.

By the time the lights of the inn come into view, you’re both antsy as hell. Joel parks close, kills the engine, and turns toward you like he might just pull you across the console.

He’s out of the driver’s seat before you can reach for the handle, coming around fast. When he opens your door, his palm is already sliding to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. You stand, and he doesn’t give you a second to breathe, his mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat, his body crowding yours back against the open door.

“God,” he growls against your lips, the words breaking between breaths, “I need you, baby.”

His other hand grips your hip, tugging you flush to him, the hard line of his body leaving no question about just how much. You can feel his breath quicken as you fist the front of his shirt, kissing him like you could finish what you started right here in the parking lot.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to press his forehead to yours, his voice rough and low, “Let’s get to our room before I do somethin’ stupid and publicly indecent.”

You manage a laugh, though your heart’s pounding in anticipation.

The inn rises two stories from a slope of autumn-gold grass and twisted live oaks, their leaves starting to rustle with copper and deep red. Warm string lights glow along the wraparound porch, the air carrying the sharp, clean scent of cedar from the posts and beams. Somewhere down the hill, crickets trill over the slow hush of water from a nearby creek.

Joel swings open the tailgate and grabs both bags in one smooth motion, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. One strap over each shoulder, weight balanced like it’s nothing. You trail behind, your eyes lingering shamelessly on the easy strength in his frame.

Inside, the lobby smells faintly of coffee and polished wood, the walls lined with framed sketches of wildflowers and riverbeds. Joel handles the check-in while you stand beside him, the heat of his presence soaking through you. His voice is steady and polite, but you catch the faint tick of his jaw when the clerk takes just a few moments too long to hand over the key.

The moment the key slides across the counter, Joel’s already reaching for it. “Appreciate it,” he says, clipped but civil.

He turns to you with that look that says god, I can’t wait to get you alone, and you follow him down the wide hallway, your fingers brushing the back of his arm and looping your arm around his. The hall opens to a side wing where the lighting dips warmer, sconces casting honeyed pools over the cedar-plank walls.

You pass a wall of paned windows revealing a sloping view toward the water, the glass reflecting the last streaks of the October sunset– burnished gold, deep rose, and the dark silhouettes of oak branches tangled against the horizon. You’d made it just in time to catch the end of it. Everything smells faintly of woodsmoke, and it makes the whole place feel tucked away from the rest of the world.

“Joel…” you murmur, your voice hushed but full of awe. “This place is like…”

“Worth the drive?” he asks without looking over, his mouth twitching with the start of a grin.

“Worth more than the drive,” you say, and he finally glances at you, that quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

The hallway ends at your door, an antique bronze number plate catching the light. Joel fits the key in the lock, holding the door for you to step inside first.

It’s warm, dimly lit by the glow of string lights along the ceiling beams. A wide bed draped in thick quilts faces a pair of French doors leading to a private deck. You catch a glimpse of the candlelit tub outside, steam curling into the night air, the soft rush of water and a faint shimmer of bubbles catching the glow. Beyond, the dark treeline frames a hammock swaying gently in the autumn breeze.

You turn back to him, grinning despite the pulse already pounding low in your belly, “this is quite the honeymoon suite.”

He drops the bags at the foot of the bed, stepping in close, “Booked us somethin’ quiet and private. Saw the pictures online and immediately dreamed of fucking you on the deck overlookin’ the lake.”

You glance toward the deck again, the glow of the candles catching on the ripples of water beyond. The night air drifts in faintly when you step closer to the glass, cool enough to raise goosebumps along your arms.

Joel stays a step behind you, watching like he’s memorizing every move. You hear the soft rustle of him taking off his jacket, and then the creak of the floorboards as he comes up behind you. His hand skims your hip, not pulling you back, just resting there.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he murmurs, the words low enough to buzz against your ear.

You smile, glancing at him over your shoulder, “This is one hell of a gift.”

His mouth curves slow and deliberate, “Ain’t even given it to you yet.”

You huff a quiet laugh, though your heart’s thudding, your gaze drifting back to the dark shimmer of the lake. “What do you call all this, then?”

“Foreplay,” he says simply, his thumb brushing just inside your hipbone.

You’re about to tease him back, but then his hand slides further, fingers splaying over your stomach, just enough pressure that you feel his palm cupping the subtle swell there. His other hand comes up, fingertips skimming from your shoulder down your arm until they find your wrist, lightly gripping your wrist in his much larger hand, and turning you toward him.

Joel’s eyes are heavy, warm, intent as they take you in. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then that spot just beneath your ear that makes your breath stutter. “Been thinkin’ about this all damn week,” he murmurs against your skin.

His mouth trails lower, grazing your neck, teeth scraping lightly before his lips soothe over the same spot. His hands are slow but sure, one sliding up beneath your cardigan, the other drifting down to hook in your belt loop and pull you a fraction closer.

“Joel…” you breathe, not as a protest but as a surrender.

He hums like he already knows, pushing your cardigan off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without breaking the kiss he plants at the hollow of your throat. His palms roam down your sides until they find the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t pull it off right away, just gathers it slowly, knuckles brushing your skin, deliberately dragging the moment out.

“Want to take my time with you,” he says, voice rough. “Every inch, baby.”

He finally peels the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze sweeps over you, reverent but hungry, and then his mouth is back on you… your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder, the soft edge of your breast above the lace.

“Joel, get up here,” your hands cradle his face, pulling him up from where he’d latched somewhere on your neck.

He groans as you press your lips to his, you can taste his relief as he pries your mouth open with his, tongues sliding along each other as his hands refuse to still.

He groans into your mouth, the sound low and raw, like you’ve just given him water after days in the desert. His hands are everywhere, palming your waist, spanning your back, dragging down to grip the curve of your ass and haul you flush against him until you can feel just how hard he is, thick and unyielding against your stomach.

“Christ,” he mutters between kisses, the word breaking against your lips, “you feel so fuckin’ good against me, mama.”

You barely get a breath before his mouth is on you again, deeper and hungrier, like he can’t stand the inches between you. His stubble rasps your skin as he kisses down your throat, his hands sliding under your bra to cup you fully, thumbs sweeping over your lace covered nipples until your knees threaten to give.

Your hands are lost in his soft, grey curls as you hold him against you, you’re so lost in the sensation of his mouth on you that you don’t register his knee nudging your legs further apart as he slowly backs you up, until the back of your thigh hits the mattress.

His body follows you down, crowding into your space until you’re forced to tip your head back, chest brushing his with every sharp breath. The heat of him radiates through his clothes, his broad chest pressing into yours, the solid weight of his thigh pressing between your legs, right where you need him most.

You curl your fingers tighter in his hair, tugging just enough to draw that low, guttural sound from his chest. It vibrates through you, and your grip shifts, sliding down to the thick line of muscle along the back of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as you pull him back up for another kiss. His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and teeth and breath, until you feel dizzy from the lack of air.

Your other hand can’t seem to settle, roaming over the hard plane of his chest, feeling the give of muscle beneath the fabric, down his ribs, to his stomach where the hem of his shirt has become untucked. Your fingers slip underneath, splaying wide over the warmth of his skin, dragging your nails lightly up until you feel him shiver.

He shifts his weight just enough to grind his thigh higher between yours, the friction stealing your breath. His hips follow, the thick ridge of his cock pressing hard into your hip through his jeans, every movement making you more aware of how much he’s holding back.

“Joel,” you gasp against his mouth, your palm sliding from his stomach down to the heavy heat straining against his zipper. He groans, his forehead dropping to yours as his hips jerk into your hand.

“Fuck, darlin’ you get me so worked up,” he says, pushing himself up so he’s hovering above you. His chest heaving and his incessant need pressing against your thigh, “We get to take our time, will you let me?”

You nod, your brain too blissed out to really care, all you know is you’re finally alone with your husband for the weekend, and you were at his mercy.

His mouth curves in that way that tells you he’s got something planned, something he’s been thinking about long before this weekend. Joel straightens just enough to reach for the duffel at the foot of the bed, unzipping it with one hand while the other stays planted beside your hip, caging you in.

“Been savin’ this for tonight,” he says, voice low and edged with hunger. You watch his hand disappear inside the bag, rifling through until he pulls out a small velvet pouch and a slim black case. The sight alone sends a rush of heat between your legs.

Your eyes flick from his hands back to his face. “Joel… what…” you murmur, breath hitching.

“Mm?” His gaze is steady, dark, and unyielding. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod without hesitation, though your pulse is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.

He sets the case and pouch on the nightstand like they’re as precious as gold, his touch lingering there for a beat before returning to you. “Good girl,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you slowly and coaxing, as if to soothe the thrum of anticipation he’s building.

When his mouth breaks from yours, it drags along your jaw, down your throat, hands already finding the clasp of your bra. He frees you from it in one practiced motion, tossing it aside before cupping you in both palms. “Gonna take my time,” he rasps against your skin, “use every damn thing I brought to make you fall apart f’me.”

His thumbs brush your nipples in lazy circles, warming you until you arch into him. Then he pulls back just enough to hook his fingers in your waistband, tugging your pants and panties down in one slow, maddening drag. His gaze drinks you in, spread out for him on the quilt, bare and already trembling.

“Perfect,” he says simply, reverent but hungry. His hand trails up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you need him most.

Joel stays there for a moment, hovering over you like he can’t decide where he wants to start. His palm slides over your hip, down the outside of your thigh, then back up the inside until his knuckles brush where you’re already warm and slick for him.

“Mm,” he hums, his lips ghosting over your ear. “Always so ready f’me.”

Your hips twitch toward his hand, but instead of giving you what you want, he pulls back and reaches for the velvet pouch. The soft scrape of the drawstring loosening makes your stomach flip, and then he’s holding up a length of smooth, dark ribbon.

“Not tight,” he says, his voice a promise and a warning all at once. “Just so I can take my time without you rushin’ me.”

You let him guide your wrists gently above your head, his body leaning over yours as he loops the ribbon around them into a knot around the bed frame, loose enough you could slip free in a second, but snug enough you can pull against it as needed. His thumb strokes over your knuckles once, a deep guttural groan emitting from his chest as his eyes rove over your bare body.

“Such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs again, and leans down to kiss you, slow and deep this time, taking his time tasting you. When his mouth moves lower, he drags the tip of his nose over your collarbone, then his teeth over the swell of your breast. His hand cups you while his mouth works over one nipple, sucking just enough to make you whine.

You wriggle against the restraint, your knee brushing the side of his thigh, and you feel the hard, hot press of him through his jeans. He groans into your skin, hips jerking once, and his hand leaves your breast to push your bound wrists against the headboard.

He pulls back just far enough for you to see the way his chest rises and falls, “You’ll get to touch, mama. But not yet.”

His free hand skims down your stomach again, pausing to splay over the slight curve of your bump, then sliding lower until his fingers just barely part you, teasing the slick there. He doesn’t push in, doesn’t circle where you’re aching for him, just slides his fingers through the heat and pulls away, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean.

“Sweet,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Always so fuckin’ sweet.”

When he finally reaches for the slim black case, your breath catches. The click of it opening sounds loud in the quiet room, and you catch a glimpse of something small, smooth, and curved in his hand before he sets it on the quilt beside your hip. His knuckles brush the inside of your thigh again, spreading you just a little wider.

Joel’s knuckles graze the soft skin of your inner thigh, and your breath catches like it’s been hooked. Even the lightest drag of his fingers feels sharper, like every nerve is lit up and waiting.

“Mm,” he murmurs, watching your thighs part further under his touch, “needy little thing, ain’t ya.”

Your wrists shift instinctively against the ribbon, the faint give of it just making your chest rise faster. His fingers glide through your folds again, wet and obscene, making heat curl low in your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, the sound almost guttural.

He doesn’t push in, just slides two fingers up and down, the pad of one barely brushing your clit each time he passes over it. It’s maddening, the lightest tease, but your hips can’t stop chasing him. The faintest contact sends a pulse through you, your toes curling where your feet press into the quilt.

“Joel,” you breathe, your voice already tremoring. You swear you can feel your heartbeat between your legs.

“Shh,” he soothes, leaning down to kiss the center of your chest. His stubble drags over your skin as he trails lower, planting open-mouthed kisses across your ribs, over the curve of your belly. When his lips brush that slight swell, he lightly traces over it with a thick digit, murmuring something intelligible to himself, the tenderness in the touch has your eyes stinging.

Then his mouth moves lower still, and you gasp when his breath ghosts over you, the heat of it mingling with the cooler air of the room. He kisses the inside of your thigh, teeth scraping lightly, then flicks his tongue against you once, just once, and you jolt, wrists pulling hard enough against the ribbon to make it bite lightly into your skin.

“Oh, I know,” he mutters against you, like he’s both apologizing and relishing it. “Everything’s stronger now, ain’t it?”

You can’t even answer, your hips roll up without permission, thighs trembling as his tongue makes another lazy pass, barely pressing in. Every brush feels like it’s too much and not enough all at once, your skin prickling, your stomach tightening like you’re already on the edge.

Joel lifts his head just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his mouth as he pulls away.

“Is this a punishment, Mr. Miller?” You ask, breathlessly. As if you’re trying to regain any semblance of control in this situation.

The use of that particular formal name causes him to groan and shut his eyes tight for a moment, you see the tension in his pants twitch, and you lick your lips at the sight.

“Goddamn, baby. One of those nights, huh? Two birds with one stone, yeah, I can swing it,” you see his eyes open slowly, you can see them darken even more as he schemes in his head.

Then he tsks his tongue at you and reaches towards the bed next to you, fingers closing over the small, smooth toy. The sight of it in his hand makes your pulse spike, especially when he turns it on, the low hum vibrating through the air.

“You have been rather naughty lately haven’t ya, darlin’?” Joel’s thumb strokes lazily along your inner thigh, the vibration in his other hand a steady, dangerous promise.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, but you try to muster something coy. “Maybe,” you breathe, though your voice betrays you, thin and wavering.

His lips twitch. “Maybe,” he repeats slowly, mockingly, “that sounds like a yes to me.”

The toy skims your inner thigh first, just enough to let you feel the faintest edge of the hum without any real relief. The sensation makes your muscles jump, the ribbon around your wrists shifting as you instinctively try to pull free, only to remember you’re right where he wants you.

Joel’s gaze never leaves your face, watching the way your chest rises faster, how your lips part when he drags the tip of the toy up, until it hovers just shy of your clit.

“You think I don’t notice?” His voice drops to a low, gravelly murmur. “The little digs… those looks in public… always actin’ so innocent when y’know exactly what you’re doin’ to me.”

You bite back a smile, but your body gives you away, hips tilting up just enough that the toy grazes you. The hum sends a sharp bolt of ple.sure through you, your breath stuttering.

Joel’s hand on your thigh tightens,

It’s almost unbearable, the way he keeps the toy barely there, one moment brushing you, the next pulling it back, the absence making you whimper.

“Y’know the thing about punishments, mama?” he says, eyes fixed on you, “Sometimes they’re meant to teach a lesson. And sometimes…” His smirk deepens as he finally presses the toy to you, slow circles around your clit, “…they’re just for my own damn enjoyment.”

The contact rips a gasp from you, your legs tensing, the pressure building so fast you can’t hold still. Joel watches every reaction, thumb brushing over the ribbon at your wrists before sliding down to cup your hip, holding you steady under him.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Let me see you take it.”

The steady hum builds and builds, every pass over your clit making your stomach coil tighter, your thighs quiver against his hold. You can already feel the crest rushing toward you, that sharp, unbearable sweetness you’ve been craving since he’d had his hands on you.

Joel sees it. He always sees it, your breathing gone ragged, your hips starting to chase the toy without you realizing. His smirk is pure sin.

“You’re close already,” he says like it’s a fact, not a question.

You nod helplessly, a sound slipping from your throat you’d deny later. “Joel, please…”

“Mmh,” he cuts you off with a quiet growl, pulling the toy away entirely. The sudden loss makes you gasp, your hips arching into nothing. “Not yet.”

The ache throbs through you, almost painful in its absence. You look at him, wide-eyed, your wrists flexing against the ribbon. “You…”

“I said this was punishment, sweetheart,” he interrupts, dragging the tip of the toy along your inner thigh, nowhere near where you need him. “Means you cum when I tell you, not when your pretty little body decides it’s ready.”

Your breath shudders. “That’s, cruel.”

His mouth curves. “Uh-huh. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

He leans down, bracing one hand by your head, his mouth ghosting over your ear as the toy’s hum rises again. “We’re gonna see just how desperate you can get…”

The low promise in his voice settles deep in your belly, twining with the restless need he’s been stoking all night. The moment the toy brushes you again, your whole body jerks, hyper-aware, every nerve lit up.

And just when the pleasure starts to crest, when you think maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you have it, Joel pulls back again, watching in awe as you fall apart in frustration.

You groan and pant as your body, now slick with sweat and trembling beneath his ministrations, “Could I… at least get to see you? Please?” It’s desperate and it’s pathetic, but it’s all you can muster.

His brows lift, just barely, like he’s weighing the request. Then he gives a slow shake of his head, a ghost of a grin pulling at his mouth.

You whimper, hips shifting restlessly, the ache between your legs a throbbing pulse that matches your heartbeat.

Joel exhales through his nose, that patient, dangerous calm that makes you squirm even harder. “You think I’m gonna let you have everythin’ you want all at once? No, ma’am. You’re gonna earn it. I’m gonna make you so strung out you won’t know which way’s up.”

The toy returns, maddeningly light, tracing lazy circles that never stay where you need them long enough. Every time your breath hitches, he shifts, keeps you hovering on that edge until your thighs are trembling and your voice is raw from pleading.

“Joel, please, I—”

“You what?” His tone drops lower, the toy dipping just enough to make your hips jerk. “Tell me exactly what you need, mama.”

Your head falls back, eyes squeezed shut. “I need you to let me cum. Please, Joel. I can’t—”

He hushes you with a kiss, deep and slow, his free hand cradling your jaw. “Not yet,” he murmurs against your lips.

When he pulls back, you’re panting into the space between you, and that’s when you feel it, his knuckles brushing your cheek briefly before he finally reaches for the hem of his shirt. He peels it over his head in one smooth motion, the sight of him bare from the waist up making your mouth go dry.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, voice like gravel, “you can have a little somethin’ to look at while I finish wearin’ you down.”

Your gaze drags over his chest, the thick muscles in his arms flexing as he grips your thigh, pushing it open wider so he can slot himself closer. The heat radiating off him just makes it worse, the smell of him, the weight of him, all of it closing in until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

He dips the toy lower again, this time holding it steady, and your cry is instant. Your fingers curl against the ribbon restraint, toes curling as you bite back another plea.

“Hold it f’me, baby, not til I say,” Joel growls, watching every twitch and gasp like he’s memorizing them.

It’s too much, far too much, your body is a livewire, sensitive and raw, you’re already not sure which way is up and which way is down.

“Joel, please, please, it hurts, baby… please… I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you a… a nerd and I… I promise I-“

You’re babbling now, words tumbling over each other, half-apology, half-beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how wound tight he’s got you. Joel’s mouth curves, slow and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of watching you come undone.

“Baby…” His voice is a low rasp, the kind that vibrates all the way through your bones. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet when you beg. Might be the only reason I’m feelin’ generous right now.”

The toy stays right where it is, that steady hum burrowing into every nerve, but then, God, his other hand is at his belt. You hear the low clink of the buckle, the zip of his fly, the rustle of denim as you assume he discards his jeans completely. It sends a fresh rush of heat straight through you. Your eyes were shut tight, despite you wanting to see how worked up he’d gotten, the anticipation was too much with how sensitive he’d made you at this point.

“Joel…” Your voice breaks when the head of his cock brushes your slick entrance, thick and hot, just barely nudging inside.

“Mmh,” he hums like he’s testing your limits, sinking in just enough for you to feel the stretch before pulling back. “Wanna feel it. Every squeeze ‘n every twitch, when I finally let you fall apart.”

The toy presses harder against your clit as he pushes in slow, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping like you can’t get air. The sensation is almost too much, every pass of vibration amplified by the fullness, the drag of him inside you making your thighs shake violently against his hips.

“Goddamn,” Joel grits, head dropping forward, breath hot against your ear. “You’re pulsin’ around me. You tryin’ to finish without permission, baby?”

You shake your head frantically, though your body’s betraying you, clenching around him like you can’t help it. “I—n-no, I’m trying, I—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “That’s my good girl.” He starts to move, slow but deep, grinding the toy against you at the same time so that every thrust feels like it’s going to tip you over the edge, “You’re gonna hold it ‘til I say.”

Your nails bite into your palms where your hands are bound, the heat coiling tighter and tighter until you’re sure you’re going to snap. Joel watches it build with greedy eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching at the sight of you trembling for him.

Joel’s breathing is rough now, uneven, the same way yours is, only his is threaded through with a low, guttural need he’s been strangling down all night and only now letting himself feel.

His hips stutter, just once, like he’s fighting himself, and then he’s muttering, voice breaking against your ear, “Gonna make me cum the way you’re desperate for it, baby… tell me, how bad do ya want it? Hm?”

“Please… please, need to… need to cum on your cock, please, fuck me…”

“Please, what darlin’, you’re so close…” he grinds into you, the thick head of him nudging right against your cervix. The stretch of him rips a high, choked whimper from your throat, and you can barely string the words together through the white-hot haze.

“Please, Mr. Miller,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the title.

The sound of it sends something snapping in him. He groans, loud and rough, almost pained, and his hips slam forward, burying himself to the hilt. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he growls, the name like gasoline on a fire. “Let go f’me now baby, let me feel y’cum on my cock.”

Your body had been waiting on those exact words. The second they’re out of his mouth, everything snaps. Your thighs lock tight around his hips, your back arches, and you’re gone. A sob rips out of you as the orgasm crashes hard, wave after wave, every pulse of it squeezing around him while the toy’s relentless hum keeps you writhing in his hands.

“Fuck—” Joel groans, deep and wrecked, his grip on your thigh tightening almost painfully. “That’s it, soak me, mama. Just like that, just like that— Christ.”

You can feel the shiver go through him when your release gushes around him, wet and messy and everything he’s been craving. He presses deeper, holding himself there to feel every twitch, his own release hitting so close behind yours it’s almost simultaneous.

The sound he makes, low and drawn out, almost a growl, vibrates through you as he spills into you, hips rocking shallowly to ride it out. His free hand finally drops the toy, trading it for your face, tilting it up so his mouth can crash over yours. The kiss is hot and hungry, but there’s a heavy sense of relief in it too, like this is exactly where he needed to end up.

Joel’s weight settles over you for a long, heady moment, both of you breathing hard, skin damp and sticky with the aftershocks. His forehead rests against yours, and you feel the deep rumble of his voice before you hear it.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, softer now, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, “Took it so damn good for me.”

Your wrists are freed next, he slips the ribbon loose with gentle fingers, rubbing small circles into the tender skin there. You let out a shaky breath as you slide your arms around his neck, holding him close. The way he kisses you now is slower now, lingering, like he’s tasting the last remnants of your high.

He eases out of you with a quiet hiss, both hands smoothing down your sides as if he’s checking you over. “Stay right there,” he says, voice low but warm. You hear the faucet run in the bathroom, the muffled rustle of a towel, before he’s back, kneeling beside you to clean you up with unhurried care. His touch is deliberate and reverent, like he’s cataloging every inch of you he’d just devoured.

When he’s done, Joel leans over you again, that small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “how are ya feelin’?”

You hum, still hazy, “Like I can’t move my legs.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple before pulling the quilt up over your bare skin, “Good.” He tucks the edge around you like he can keep all the warmth in. “Want water?”

You nod, and a minute later he’s setting a glass in your hand, watching until you drink. His palm rests over your shin, thumb rubbing slow arcs into your skin while you finish.

Once the glass is empty, he sets it aside, stretching out beside you, “You remember those nights we’d talk about all the shit we never got around to tryin’?”

Your brows lift, pulse giving another little kick. “Yeah…?”

He nods toward the nightstand, where he’s already set out the first toy. Then you notice it… two more, still in their boxes, gleaming faintly in the lamplight. “Figured… this pregnancy’s as good a time as any to make good on those promises.”

You bite your lip, glancing from the toys back to him. “You’ve been planning this?”

His grin deepens. “Since you told me you were pregnant, baby.” He leans down, kissing your temple, his hand smoothing over your stomach in a slow, protective pass. “We’ll go slow. Try what we want. Stop if you need to. But I figured if this is the last time I get you like this, might as well make the most of your sensitivity. Yeah?”

He leans over you again, bracing his weight on one arm, the other hand trailing up your stomach until his thumb rests just beneath your breast. “But only if you want to, baby. Every bit of this, only if you want it.”

Your voice is a whisper, but it doesn’t shake, “I want it.”

Joel’s grin is slow and satisfied, the kind that promises he’s going to make good on every single one of those ideas before the weekend’s over.

“I do have other things planned too, by the way, I swear…”

You arch a brow, a smile tugging at your lips, “Other things?”

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing another kiss to your temple before rolling off the bed. “Ones that don’t involve me tying you up. Ones that involve me bein’ a proper gentleman.” He tosses you a playful look over his shoulder as he heads toward the French doors to the deck, “C’mon. Let’s take a soak before I tempt you into another hour in this bed.”

The cool night air drifts in when he opens the doors, carrying the faint scent of pine and lake water. You follow, shivering as you step onto the deck. The hot tub glows softly under the string lights, steam curling into the crisp autumn darkness.

Joel’s already setting towels within reach, the responsible one even when he’s still riding the aftershocks of what you just did together. He steps into the water with a low, satisfied groan.

“Goddamn, that’s perfect,” he says, leaning back against the smooth edge, his eyes closing briefly. “Get in here ‘fore I drag y’in.”

His gaze shifts immediately as it falls on your naked body against the moonlight, his eyes still full of that quiet possession, but softer now. You slip in across from him, the water swallowing you up in heat that seeps right into your bones.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the soft rush of water jets and the faint creak of the hammock swaying somewhere in the dark. Joel’s foot brushes yours under the surface, and you feel his foot hook lightly around your ankle, pulling you closer.

His touch stays unhurried, tracing the curve of your leg, the slope of your hip under the water. You sink forward into his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you there while the heat and the quiet wrap around you both.

“I love you, mama. Y’were so goddamn good f’me, and so fuckin’ pretty when you were beggin’. I’m so lucky to have such a good girl all to myself.”

Your lips curve against his chest, but the words hit deep, blooming warm in your belly in a way the hot water alone can’t account for. You tip your head back to look at him, the string lights catching in the drops of water sliding down his jaw, “I love you too.”

Joel’s gaze is steady on you, his thumb stroking lazily along your spine under the water. “C’mere,” he murmurs, and you let him guide you until you’re straddling his lap, the waterline lapping against your ribs.

The thick, hard press of him beneath you draws a quiet gasp from your throat, even in the warmth of the water. His hands spread across your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles, grounding you.

“Go slow,” he says, his voice low and velvety, almost coaxing, “Ain’t in a hurry.”

You sink down inch by inch, the heat of him stark even against the enveloping warmth of the tub. The stretch pulls a shaky sigh from your lips, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. Joel’s head tips back, his breath catching, a quiet groan spilling into the night air.

“That’s it… take all of me, darlin’,” he murmurs, his fingers flexing against your hips, “There you go.”

The water rocks gently with your movement as you start to roll your hips, slow and deliberate, the kind of pace that’s meant to savor, not rush. Joel’s hands guide you, but he lets you set the rhythm, his eyes half-lidded but fixed on your face like you’re the only thing worth seeing.

Every subtle grind makes your clit brush against the coarse hair at the base of him, pleasure curling low and deep. It’s so easy to lose yourself here, wrapped around him, cradled in his hands, the world narrowed to heat, water, and the slow drag of his cock inside you.

“Just like that,” he breathes, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you down into a kiss that’s unhurried but molten, the kind that lingers long after you break for air.

Every movement is lazy at first, your hips rocking in time with the gentle churn of the water. Joel’s hands are steady at your waist, thumbs grazing the underswell of your breasts when you lean forward. His lips find the curve of your jaw, pressing slow, lingering kisses that melt into your skin.

“Feelin’ so good, baby,” he murmurs against your throat, his voice almost reverent. “Could stay like this all night.”

But you can feel it, the shift in him. The way his fingers start to grip you harder, the way his hips push up just a little firmer against yours. That low sound in his chest grows darker, needier, until it’s no longer enough for him to let you set the pace.

Before you know it, his hands are bracketing your hips, lifting you and shifting until your back meets the warm curve of the hot tub wall. The jets spray against your sides, the cool night air kissing your wet shoulders while Joel crowds into you, his mouth crashing into yours with a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger.

His hips roll harder, the water sloshing around you both, his hands keeping you pinned in place like he’s afraid you might drift away.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his slick skin, urging him closer even when there’s nowhere left to go. His pace turns frantic, the slow burn abandoned for something rougher, until you’re breaking apart against him with a cry that’s swallowed up by his kiss.

Joel groans low in his chest, following you over the edge, hips jerking in short, desperate thrusts until he’s spilling deep inside you. He stays pressed to you as the last waves pass, breathing hard against your temple.

For a moment, all you hear is the water and the thud of your heart. Joel’s hand smooths down your spine before he presses a softer kiss to your cheek, guiding the both of you back down into the warmth of the water.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, still catching your breath, the steam curling up around you both. “Joel…” you start, your voice low, almost sheepish.

“Mhm?” he hums, fingertips drawing lazy circles along your lower back.

“I’m… sorry I called you a nerd earlier,” you admit, lips twitching at the memory.

That earns you a laugh, deep and warm in his chest, “Darlin’, if that’s what you think’s gonna hurt my feelin’s, you got another thing comin’.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes crinkled with amusement. “Besides, you say it like you didn’t just beg that nerd to fuck you senseless.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, too. “Yeah… guess I did.”

His grin softens, that post-high haze settling over both of you. His hand slides lower, palm flattening gently over your stomach. The shift in his expression is subtle but unmistakable, something protective, almost reverent. “Baby’s probably wonderin’ what the hell we’re doin’ in here,” he murmurs.

Your chest aches in the best way, heat prickling behind your eyes. “Gonna be spoiled rotten, you know.”

“Damn right.” He kisses your temple, lingering there a moment before he sighs, pulling himself back. “And speakin’ of, if I don’t get my ass in bed right now, I’m gonna start somethin’ all over again, and you need your rest.”

You smirk, “You need your rest, Mr. Miller.”

He groans like you’ve just kicked the air out of him, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “Woman, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

A quick rinse later, you’re sinking into the soft, warm blankets, the scent of him already clinging to the sheets. He slides in behind you, fitting his body to yours like it’s second nature, one arm tucked under the pillow beneath your head, the other snug around your waist, his palm splayed over your lower belly, drawn there like a magnet finding its match.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Had to split this part into 2 because it would’ve been like 30k 😅 I got a little carried away here.

Also my ability to focus on anything has been so nonexistent with uni starting soon, so please let me know if there’s any mistakes or things I need to fix, thank you! I really do write purely for my own enjoyment so I’m thrilled anyone is also enjoying my little stories. Thanks for being here! 💖

Tag list as requested: @white-wolf-buckaroo

[littledes1re]

@/coffeeguitar pt. 6 

Summary: Someone from Joel’s past knocks on the door. Someone who Joel was very close with. And suddenly, you aren’t sure if you fit anymore.

Warnings: Angst, slight fluff, fighting, crying, age gap (50 and 23), Joel is being kind of an Asshole, jealousy

A/N: ooo things are getting messy😵‍💫 as usual, this Idea was by @glitterspark <33

You wake up in his arms, the world still silent in the golden spill of morning light. The blinds cast soft lines across the bed, painting Joel’s bare shoulder in pale gold. His breath is slow, steady, and warm against your collarbone.

You kiss him—just once, sweetly—your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t stir. You let him sleep.

Furball is curled on top of him, a small furry lump rising and falling with Joel’s chest. You smile.

Carefully, you slide out from under the covers, your legs bare against the cool wood floor. You stretch, arms reaching high, spine arching, the ache of sleep melting from your limbs.

The house is quiet. Peaceful.

You walk into the kitchen, the scent of yesterday’s pasta that you and Joel made, still lingering faintly in the air. You rinse the coffee pot, fill it fresh, and set it to brew. The machine hums to life, a low comforting sound.

Opening the fridge, you pull out eggs, a few slices of bread, the last of the tomatoes Joel brought home from the market. You hum as you work, slicing, whisking, moving with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

Outside, the porch is bathed in sunlight. You step out barefoot, and let the sun kiss your skin. The air smells like dew and pine. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out. You close your eyes and breathe it in.

You don’t know yet that today will be different.

The coffee’s just finished brewing when the knock comes.

Who knocks at this hour? It’s barely past eight. Maybe it’s Tommy, you think. He’s the only one who ever shows up unannounced.

The door creaks slightly as you open it.

A woman in her forties, tall, poised, wrapped in a long coat that looks expensive but lived in. Her hair is loose, lying softly around her shoulders, and her expression is one of polite confusion. She looks at you like she’s trying to place you—but you do the same.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice cautious.

She blinks, then smiles faintly. “Oh… he probably moved houses.” She hesitates, glancing past you toward the porch. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Wrong house.”

She starts to turn, but then—

“Tess?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, rough with sleep. You turn to see him standing in the hallway, barefoot, wearing joggers and a wrinkled shirt. His hair is messy, sticking up in soft tufts. His eyes are wide.

Tess spins around, her face lighting up.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long, Joel.”

She opens her arms, and Joel steps into them without hesitation. They hug—longer than you expect.

Familiar. Comfortable.

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, watching them hold each other like no time has passed. Maybe she’s his sister, you think. Even though he’s never mentioned one.

Joel doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain.

“C’mon,” he says to Tess. “Come in. I’ll make us coffee.”

You step aside as they walk past you, still wrapped in each other’s warmth. You trail behind them, unsure where you fit in this picture.

You sit at the edge of the kitchen table, hands wrapped around your mug, watching Joel and Tess talk like they never stopped. Their voices overlap, laughter spilling out in bursts.

Names you don’t recognize. Places you’ve never been. Stories from a life you weren’t part of.

Joel doesn’t even glance at you. He just refills your coffee silently and returns to his seat beside Tess.

You sigh quietly, trying not to show it.

Tess turns to you suddenly, smiling politely.

“Oh, by the way—and you are?”

You open your mouth, but Joel cuts in.

“My girlfriend.”

The words land heavy. Not proud. Not warm. Just… stated. Like something he needed to get out of the way.

Joel looks down at his mug. Tess raises an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

You press your lips into a thin line, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you,” you say softly.

But Tess is already turning back to Joel, launching into another story about something that happened when they were young.

You sit there, nodding when appropriate, sipping coffee that’s gone lukewarm, wondering how you became a background character in your own morning.

After a while Tess leaves with a hug and a smile, her perfume lingering faintly in the air long after the door clicks shut. You stay seated at the kitchen table, fingers tapping absently against your mug, eyes unfocused. The coffee’s gone cold, but you don’t move.

Joel walks back in, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps slower now. He pauses in the doorway, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“She’s an old friend,” he says, voice quiet, like he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

You look up at him, expression unreadable. You just nod.

Joel moves toward the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, but stops halfway. His hand hovers over the empty mug, then drops to his side. He turns to face you fully.

“What’s the matter with you?”

You blink once, then speak, voice calm but edged.

“Oh, nothing. Just acting like I’m not existing while someone’s here hurt my feelings. But that could just be a me problem.”

Joel sighs. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I don’t know where that comes from.”

He shrugs, trying to sound casual, but there’s tension in his shoulders.

“I just got excited, you know? We were really good friends back then.”

You tilt your head, gaze steady.

“Only friends?”

Joel looks down, jaw tight, fingers flexing against his arm.

“Not only,” he admits. “But it was something short. Didn’t last long.”

You don’t flinch. You nod, because that’s what you do when you’re trying not to seem like you care too much. But inside, something folds in on itself.

Of course she was.

You picture her: older, steadier, the kind of woman who doesn’t stumble over her own feelings. The kind of woman Joel would have trusted with his silences.

You swallow hard, pretending your throat isn’t tight.

It’s fine. It’s not like he lied. It’s not like he owes you anything.

But the truth is, you feel like a shadow in someone else’s story. Like you showed up too late, and the best parts of him were already given away.

You wonder what Tess knew—what parts of Joel she got to see that you haven’t yet. Did she know his laugh when he’s tired? Did she hear the way his voice softens when he talks about coffee?

You nod again, eyes drifting toward the window, watching the light shift across the floorboards.

Joel watches you for a moment longer, then steps forward, kneeling beside your chair. His eyes search yours, soft and apologetic.

“Hey… I’m sorry. It was a rush of adrenaline. I missed her. And I should’ve introduced you first. Should’ve made sure you felt seen.”

You want to say it. You want to mention the way he said “my girlfriend” like it was something to get over with. Like it embarrassed him. But you don’t. You swallow it down, tuck it behind your smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quietly. “It’s fine.”

Joel tilts his head.

“Yeah?”

You nod, lips pressed together.

He smiles, tentative, brushing his hand against your arm.

“Okay, baby. How about we do some grocery shopping, hm?”

-

The days pass in quiet rhythm.

Joel works. You work. The house hums with routine—coffee brewing, boots by the door, Furball curled up in the sun. Tess lingers in the back of your mind, like a name you’re not supposed to say out loud. Joel never mentions her again. You don’t ask. But the curiosity doesn’t fade.

One afternoon, Tommy swings by—his usual quick visit, dropping off something Joel asked for. A tool, as usual. He’s always in and out, never staying long.

Joel’s in the bathroom, the door shut, the sound of running water muffled behind it.

You don’t mean to ask. Not really.

It’s just that Tess hasn’t left your mind since the day she showed up—wrapped in that perfect coat, smiling like she belonged. Joel never brought her up again, and you didn’t want to seem jealous. You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it does.

You keep wondering: Who was she to him?

Not just the label—ex—but the weight of it. The history. The intimacy. The things they shared that you haven’t even touched yet.

You lean against the counter, trying to sound casual.

“Hey… do you know who Tess is?”

Your heart thuds the moment the words leave your mouth. You try to sound casual, like it’s just curiosity. Like you’re not trying to measure yourself against someone who came before.

But you are.

Tommy pauses mid-step, brows raised. A short laugh escapes him.

“Yeah, I know Tess. Why?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Joel mentioned her once. Just wondered.”

Tommy’s grin turns knowing, a little smug.

“Tess and Joel were tight. Like, real tight. Back in the day, you didn’t see one without the other.”

You nod, lips pressed together. You don’t say anything else.

But your heart doesn’t settle. It flutters restlessly, like it’s trying to make sense of something it doesn’t want to understand.

Tommy doesn’t push. He just hands you the wrench, gives Furball a scratch behind the ears, and heads out.

The silence Joel returns to feels heavier than before.

-

The days pass like soft rain—quiet, steady, and a little too cold.

Joel is there. Physically. His arms still wrap around you at night, his lips still press gently to your forehead before he heads out. He still calls you “Angel,” still chuckles when Furball does her ridiculous sideways hop. But something’s missing. Something you can’t name, but you feel it like a bruise under the skin.

He zones out more often now. You’ll be talking about your day, about the weird guy you saw, who tried to pay for coffee with Monopoly money, and Joel will nod—but his eyes are somewhere else. Far away.

You catch him staring at nothing, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s holding back words. Or memories.

You text him one afternoon, trying to be light, trying to be you:

@/angelwings: The coffee machine broke down at work today and I repaired it!! Using the powers you gave me ☕⚡ I am now the Coffee Queen hehe

You wait. Normally he’d reply in seconds. Something dumb and sweet like:

“My queen. I kneel before your espresso empire.”

But this time… nothing. Not for hours.

When he finally replies, it’s just:

@/coffeeguitar: Nice work, Angel.

You stare at the screen. Three words. No emoji. No warmth. You feel something inside you fold in on itself.

You start noticing everything. The way he turns his phone face-down when he sets it on the table. The way he doesn’t ask about your day anymore. The way he says “I’m just tired” when you ask if he’s okay. You try not to spiral, but your mind is cruel. It whispers things you don’t want to hear:

He’s thinking about Tess.

He’s already gone, just hasn’t told you yet.

You don’t fit anymore.

You try to be strong. You smile. You make his favorite dinner. You wear the hoodie he loves on you. You laugh at his jokes even when they don’t land. But every time he pulls away just a little more, it feels like you’re being erased.

One night, when the silence is too loud and Joel’s breathing is steady beside you, you slip out of bed. Furball follows, blinking sleepily, and curls up on your stomach as you lie on the couch. You stroke her fur with trembling fingers, and the tears come quietly.

You cry because you love him so much it hurts. Because you don’t know how to fix what’s breaking. Because you feel like you’re watching the end of something beautiful and you’re powerless to stop it.

“I love him,” you whisper into the dark, voice cracking.

“I love him so much. And I can’t do anything while he drifts away.”

Furball lifts her head, nudges your chin with her nose. You smile through the tears, clutching her close. The ache in your chest is unbearable, but you let it wash over you. You let yourself feel it. Because pretending it’s fine would be worse.

You lie there for hours, heart heavy, eyes swollen, wondering if Joel will notice you’re gone from the bed. Wondering if he’ll come find you. Wondering if he’s already too far gone.

-

You come home like you always do—keys jangling, boots heavy, the weight of the day pressing into your shoulders.

The house is quiet, warm, familiar. Joel’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pot. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and press your cheek to his back. He smells like soap and coffee and home.

But then it hits you.

That scent.

Your stomach drops. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Sweet, synthetic, cloying. The perfume that haunted your senses for days after Tess left. The one that clung to your clothes, your pillow, your skin.

You freeze.

“I can smell her perfume,” you whisper, your voice cracking before you even realize it.

Joel turns, brow furrowed, rubbing his forehead like he’s trying to erase the moment.

“What?”

“That’s Tess’s perfume. I know it.” Your throat tightens, and the tears are already threatening to spill. You blink hard, trying to hold them back.

“How do you—”

“I could smell that cheap perfume from anywhere.” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s been festering inside you for days. Weeks. And now it’s boiling over.

Joel steps back, waving his hands like he’s trying to calm a storm. “Wow, okay. Hey, let’s calm down a bit.”

“No, don’t tell me to calm down.” Your voice rises, sharp and wounded.

“You met with her?”

“Yes?” He shrugs, confused. “I don’t know how that’s a problem?”

“Without telling me?” Your voice trembles, disbelief laced with fury.

Joel’s jaw tightens. “I didn’t know I had to get permission from you.”

You stare at him, stunned. The air between you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid.

“We just caught up. What friends do—”

“That is your ex!” you shout, cutting him off. Joel flinches, just slightly, like he didn’t expect you to break like this. “And you should’ve at least told me that you met up with her.”

He shakes his head, irritated. “Okay, I don’t know where this is coming from, but you’re overreacting.”

Those words hit harder than anything else. Overreacting. Like your pain is a performance. Like your heart doesn’t matter.

“Overreacting?” You scoff, voice trembling. “So you’d be okay if I went and met up with my ex and had his perfume all over my body?”

Joel’s eyes flash. “You’re fucking talking like we did something. We hugged after and that’s all. We had a coffee, maybe two, and talked about things we’ve missed.”

He’s angry now. Defensive. His voice is louder, sharper. You feel like you’re drowning in the space between you.

You look around the room, searching for something to hold onto, but everything feels foreign. Your tears fall freely now, hot and silent.

“If it was so innocent,” you whisper, “then why didn’t you tell me?”

Joel groans, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Listen, I ain’t got the nerve to discuss with you whether or not I can meet up with my friends. I have a fucking headache and I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

And just like that, he walks away.

Leaves you standing in the kitchen, arms limp at your sides, heart shattered, tears streaking down your cheeks. The scent of Tess still lingers in the air, cruel and unforgiving.

You’re angry. You’re confused. You’re alone.

And the silence hurts more than anything he said.

PART 7

@/coffeeguitar masterlist!

Taglist: @akah565 @sunofnebulah @psclcain @rwbyssx @pedrofan @wildthyng @notyourlovemonkey @brittmb115 @amyispxnk @pinkcabinet @cuteanimalmama @umnitsa @armandispunk @wow-life-love4 @glitterfartz08 @fertilise-me

[littledes1re]

About me! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

I figured it‘s about damn time that I introduce myself lol

╰┈➤ Hi! I‘m Mel, 21 yo old and I‘m from germany. I love birds, coffee and painting/drawing. Favourite artist is Lana del Rey (ofc) and i‘m in love with all kinds of Horror movies ༉‧₊˚.

I‘ve been reading/writing fan-fics forever but now I had the courage to post them! ♥︎

And I‘m currently writing for only Joel Miller, will (maybe) someday also write for Tommy Miller, Reed Richards or any other Pedro Pascal Characters.

I don‘t write for Pedro Pascal tho!

Please DNI…

→ If you‘re a minor.

→ If you‘re a kinkshamer.

→ If you‘re homophobic, Transphobic or carry any other hatred inside of you.

This is a safe space for everyone, and I like to keep it drama-free and as enjoyable as possible! ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

[littledes1re]

HEY HOPE YOURE DOING WELL!!

Dont wanna be that annoying person but i wanted to ask if theres going to be more of coffeguitar... I JUST LOVE THAT FIC SO MUCH! If not then thats still totally fine and you can just ignore this if you wanna!! Im obsessed with everything you write youre honestly so talented

HIII, yes! The 6th pt is already in the works, comes maybe in like 2-3 days!!😌 and thank you so so much🫶🏻🫶🏻🥹

[littledes1re]

U WRITE PERFECT FIXS, what about more joel spanking reader but this time, he kinda takes it too far and he didn’t realize that she’s actually hurting, so it’s just angstyy but ofcourse comfort right after :>>

Safe word

Warnings: 18+, Angst, spanking, crying, mean!Joel only in the beginning, soft!joel, safeword use, fluff, aftercare, praise

A/N: Yk what…I knew after writing so many mean!joel spanking fics that this was coming but ain’t mad about it…this is actually very cute and thank you to anon!🫶🏻

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing—shaky, uneven, with sobs and gasps. Joel’s palm lands again, firm and painful, stinging across your skin. You flinch and squirm, not just from the pain, but also from the words he’s been growling low in your ear all night long.

“This what you wanted, huh? Actin’ like a brat just to get my attention. You like bein’ put in your place, don’t you?”

His voice is rough, biting. The degradation cuts deeper than his spanks. You thought you could take it. You wanted to. But now, your chest tightens, your throat closes, and the tears spill faster than you can hold them back.

You choke out the word, just soft—above a whisper.

“Red.“

And everything stops.

Joel’s hand freezes. The silence is immediate, thick.

You feel the shift in him before you even look up.

He’s already pulling you up, arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that’s welcoming after the intensity.

“I got you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You collapse into him, burying your face in his chest. The sobs come harder now, unfiltered, and he lets you cry. One hand strokes your hair slowly, the other cradles your back, softly.

He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t speak again until your breathing starts to settle.

Joel’s heart breaks. He is worried, scared that he might have gone too hard, that he exaggerated and hurt his sweet girl.

“What happened, baby?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple. “Too hard?”

You nod against him.

“It was just… too much.” And even though you can’t explain where this feeling was coming from, you know that Joel will understand you.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Good job for usin’ that, angel. That’s why it’s there for. You’re safe with me. Always.”

He means that. Joel, even when he gets mean sometimes, always looks out for you. No matter how hard you disobeyed him, no matter how angry he is with you.

His words wrap around you like a blanket, grounding you. You feel the tension in your body begin to ease, the storm inside slowly quieting.

Joel shifts, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You cling to him, legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and he carries you to the bathroom without letting go.

He sets you down gently on the counter, turns on the tap, and starts running a warm bath. You watch him through swollen eyes as he adds lavender oil, the scent calming, familiar.

He helps you undress slowly, carefully, checking your expression with every movement. Then he guides you into the water, easing you down until you’re one with tge warmth.

Joel kneels beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, hand still stroking your hair.

“You did perfect,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

You reach for him, and he leans in, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. The water laps gently around you, and the silence now feels safe. Sacred.

Joel stays with you the whole time. No rush. No pressure. Just him, holding space for you, reminding you with every touch and every word that you’re his—and that you’re safe.

[littledes1re]

THANKNYOU POOKIEEEE🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk

[littledes1re]

Same😌 Thank you so much for reading🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk

[littledes1re]

THANK YOUUUU!!🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk

[littledes1re]

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk

[littledes1re]

Do you support pro ships if yes let me know so I can unfollow you.

Someone explain to me what pro ships are then I can tell you😀

[littledes1re]

someone tell me this isn’t the most rideable man you’ve ever seen like pls I’ll be ur stress source AND relief

[littledes1re]

- Heartbreak and Nostalgia -

Summary: Its your birthday and even though you and Joel are broken up, he gives you a gift. No warnings

a/n: So it’s random, I had a dream of being at this consolecon where I got to play all my fav games as a kid and thought, it was such a sweet dream, amma write a fic. Including Mr Miller of course, I’d love to see him play street fighter of something 😂

The first snowfall of the season always made Jackson feel quieter than usual. But today, the silence clawed at Joel’s insides worse than a blizzard ever could.

He sat hunched over in his shed, elbows on his knees, the worn Nintendo console resting on the table in front of him. It was an old SNES, buttons dulled, the plastic yellowed but it worked now. He’d made damn sure of that.

Jesse had found it on patrol a month back,“Figured it’d be junk,” he said. Joel had taken one look at it and told him to hand it over.

Because you had loved these old things. You once told him about playing Super Mario with your cousins when you were a kid. About the weird joy of blowing into the cartridges and praying the screen would flicker to life. You said it with a kind of distant warmth he rarely saw in you, wistful, like you were still holding onto something soft in a world built of broken glass.

He wanted to give it to you for your birthday.

But that was before the fight.

Before he said things, he couldn’t take back.

-|-

“You always think caring is enough,” you’d shouted, voice tight with the kind of pain that comes from too many built-up silences. “But you shut down when things get hard. You don’t let anyone in until they’re already gone!”

And Joel, in his damn stubborn pride, had answered: “You knew what you were gettin’ with me, you knew it weren’t gonna be no fairytale. Look at us, we’re both a mess.”

That had been the end of it.

You left, no slamming the door. Just that quiet click behind you like a nail in the coffin.

-|-

Now, Joel stood outside your cabin, the cold biting at his knuckles through his gloves. The wrapped bundle in his hand felt heavier.

He didn’t expect you to answer the door. Didn’t even expect you to look him in the eye. But when it creaked open, you were there, arms folded, eyes shadowed with caution.

“Hey,” he said, voice gruff from disuse.

You said nothing for a second. Then “What are you doing here?”

Joel shifted, uncomfortable under your gaze. “It’s your birthday.”

You arched a brow. “And you thought that means something now?”

He nodded, just once, took the bundle from under his coat and held it out.

“I was fixin’ it for you before we… ended,” he said. “Ain’t tryin’ to make this right with just a gift. Just thought you oughta have it.”

You didn’t take it.

“What is it?”

“One of those SNES things. Jesse found it. Took some work, but it runs. Found a couple games too, ones you mentioned.”

You looked down at the flannel bundle. Then up at him. There was something glassy in your eyes, but not tears — not yet. Just the kind of pain that had been left too long without air.

“You never said you were sorry,” you said.

Joel’s jaw clenched.

“I know,” he rasped. “Wasn’t ‘cause I didn’t feel it. Just… I was ashamed, didn’t know how to say it in a way you’d believe.”

You opened the door a little wider, not enough to invite him in, but enough to let him see the small woodstove flickering behind you.

“I don’t want this to be another thing you do to patch over what you broke,” you said, voice low. “I don’t want an apology wrapped in nostalgia.”

Joel nodded slowly. He set the bundle down on your porch, carefully, like he was placing a memory instead of a machine.

“I’ll leave it here, then.”

He turned to go.

But then, quiet, almost too quiet you said

“I did miss you, ya know. Even thiugh I hated you.”

Joel paused, hands fisted at his sides.

“I didn’t stop lovin’ you,” he said without turning around. “Even when I didn’t deserve you.”

Silence stretched between you, suffocating, weightless.

When he finally walked away, you let the door close again. You didn’t pick up the console right away.

But later that night, after the stove had warmed the room and the wind had quieted, you did. You sat on the floor, cradling it in your lap, and found a cartridge tucked inside the wrapping — Super Mario Bros.

And when the console flickered to life for the first time in decades, you smiled.

Not because it fixed anything.

But because even when Joel couldn’t say the words, he’d always know how to build something that lasted.

Even if this time, it wasn’t him.