sageluvsjoel - Tumblr blog

sageluvsjoel · 21 days ago

Text

texas red | joel miller x reader, 18+

summary: Joel ain’t used to lovin’ like yours.

warnings: dbf!joel, married!joel so cheating, cowboy!joel, college!reader, big girthed up age gap (unspecified age for reader but somewhere in early 20s, 56 year old joel) mutual pining, yes there is angst, yes there is guilt, yes there is a lot of smut (unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, mentions of choking, spitting, etc etc etc.)

a. note: not spell checked :) started this as a smut piece and really just fell in love with what I had cooking. prob one of my fave pieces to date. hope y'all enjoy. love you <3

You loved on him like a summer’s day. No, not that kind of summer’s day.

A hot, thick, long summer’s day, the kind that clung to your skin even inside the air conditioning, so thick on your body that you just couldn’t forget about the humidity clamoring about outside. The kind of day where the sun beats down against the pavement and creates waves around sheets of metal, the kind that has you panting and gasping for air if you walk more than ten steps in any direction.

You loved on him the way a flame loves on a log- fiercely, unapologetically, brightly.

You loved him like an Austin, Texas summer day.

Home from college, a close family friend offered you substantial pay if you helped him out on his ranch. He had no help, was fifty-six years old, and found himself awfully lonesome. Sure, you weren’t much of a cowgirl- but for your dad’s best friend Joel Miller, you’d be anything he wanted you to be.

You suppose that’s how you got into this situation.

Skirt hiked up to your thighs, panties hanging off your ankle, and his cock buried deep inside your wet, impolite pussy.

“She’s takin’ me so good, ain’t she sugar? Always so good for your daddy.” His teeth sunk into your shoulder, fingertips grasping greedily at the dimpled skin of your ass. Joel was panting like a dog, crushed by the weight of your chest, your skin sticking together like fly traps.

Every so often, a gentle breeze would rummage through the windows and rustle about on the sheets of his bed, but it wasn’t enough to satiate the fire burning hot between your bodies.

Drool was dribbling at the corner of your cherry red lips, thick with the gloss that you had forgotten you applied. You were too concentrated on bouncing on his length, drunk on the feeling of his swollen tip melting into your g-spot with every grind and thrust of his jutting hips.

Your neck fell back, and his umber eyes seared holes into the soft skin, wet with a sheen of shining sweat. As Joel dragged his tongue along the edge of your jaw, his hand holding your chin in place, your thighs clenched around his own, the grip you had on his shoulders tightening at his gentle assault.

He was everything to you in this moment. You were breathing him in, taking him in, loving him in.

How could you not?

“Joel.” You begged.

“What is it, darlin’? Tell me what’s on your mind.” His voice was nothing but a coo, teasing in a way that barely got under your skin, but managed to just enough so that it left you craving more.

"Please, Joel."

You weren't too sure what you were asking for, what you needed most in this moment. What you craved was something you couldn't have. You felt it rumbling and tumbling in the confines of your stomach, that cloak of guilt slowly creeping up from behind you, but you never let it reach your face, never let it linger on your tongue.

Hush. Hush.

Focus on him. On this lovin' that he's giving you.

Lovin'? You could have laughed. This wasn’t love. This was lust. An illicit affair that neither of you ever put much thought into, because thinking lead to guilt.

And right now, with his balls slapping against your ass and his cock buried eight heavenly inches deep inside your leaking cunt, guilt was the last thing you wanted to feel. So instead you focused on the way his hot breath felt fanning across your sweat covered chest, focused on the way his finger tips felt digging deep into your skin, so deep it felt as though just a smidgen harder and his blunt nails would cause blood to spill.

His teeth were clamped around your neck like he was a hungry wolf in the pen and you were the prettiest sacrificial lamb, a dangerous mark forming beneath your ear from where he suckled.

You could feel that string.

That impossibly tight string that bound you two together, physically, mentally- in every way possible. That red line of fate that somehow tangled around your bodies and forced you together. If you had a pair of scissors, you wouldn't even be able to cut it, your hand wouldn't allow. There was something enigmatic about the cowboy Joel Miller that drew you in, something brewing beneath the surface that you could never turn away from.

His gravelly voice, low and Southern, snapped you from your thoughts.

"Please what, baby? Use your words. Lemme hear ya." He grunted like an animal as he grasped hold of your ass, bouncing you harder on his rigid cock, the sounds of your bodies loud against the walls of the room.

"P-Please. Wanna cum. Wanna-wanna feel you."

"Ain't feelin' me enough, girl?" He chuckled, nudging his face between the valley of your breasts. Joel's voice was muffled as he sucked on your nipples, allowing them to harden beneath his teeth in a way that made you shiver. "Alright then."

With ease he lifted you off, and you watched his sweaty biceps shine beneath the steady coming sunshine. Years of work beneath the blazing Texas heat, loading and unloading hay bales, wrangling cattle and fitting horses for new shoes made him impossibly strong. Strong in that cowboy sort of way, where his tummy was soft from hundreds of nights of homecooked Southern meals, and his thighs where thick and always so pretty looking behind worn denim. Strong in the good sort of way, strong in the way hard working men with good manners always are.

He tossed you on the bed, bending your legs against your chest as he mounted you, filling you impossibly deep once again. He could feel you tight around him like a vice, beckoning him further in, warm and soft against his throbbing cock. The noise of your wetness rang through his ears like church bells, and there was something deeply intoxicating about the knowledge that he was the one who made you come undone like this, that he was the one making your body shake and shiver and leak for him.

It was the best thing Joel Miller had ever felt before, and you were the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

His chocolate colored eyes, honeyed by the hazy mid afternoon glow, stared down into yours, soft yet demanding. A sentence twitched on his lips, words he would never be able to get out, affection he would never be able to voice. Talking about things, really talking about things, was not how Joel operated.

So instead, rather than communicating with you the way an old, grizzled man should have learned to do by his big age, he fucked you. He filled you up with him cum and would hum she's so fuckin' pretty, drippin' with me, or he'd take you by the throat, let you taste his tongue and his spit, let your teeth clash against one another as you bounced yourself on his cock. He would wipe you up with the bandana he always wore around his neck, would let you sip on his black coffee while you came back down to reality, even though you always made the same face with your nose scrunched every time you tasted the bitterness.

Those little moments, those little pockets of normality, domesticity, the little sparks of something that felt dangerously close to a relationship, were how he told you his true feelings.

You were looking up at him now, mouth gaping, eyes wide and glossed over with tears of pleasure as he rammed his leaking tip against those soft, spongy parts that made you whimper and whine for him. Your dress was wrinkled now, bunched up against your waist, and your nails were dragging so hard down the expanse of his button down you were sure you'd tear it.

"Come on, darlin'. Come on. You're takin him so well for me. That feel good, don't it? Daddy's cock." He purred his words, equal parts arrogance and filth, reaching down between your legs. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, swollen and throbbing, begging for his attention. "Christ woman," Joel groaned, "you're going to be the death of me."

You arched your back off the bed, grasping hold of his thick neck, and shook your head. "Don't die on me just yet, Cowboy. Not done with you."

"Yes ma'am." He was more than happy to comply with your request.

You could feel your pussy contracting even tighter against him, you could feel your orgasm steadily brewing in the pits of your belly, and you knew it was going to be a loud one.

Joel's skin on yours was burning, sweat dripping down your bodies, melting your chests together in a tangled heap of limbs and sex.

"Look up at me. Look." Joel grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes on his. "Want to see how pretty your eyes roll when you soak this cock."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you buried your fingers in the strands of hair by the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until his mouth met yours for a kiss.

"Prettiest damn woman I've ever known. Y'know that? You're jus' a pretty little thing. Best fuckin' pussy in Texas, and it's all mine."

"Just Texas?" You moaned through a breathy laugh, his thumb still brushing across your clit. Soon, you were going to snap. You could feel it running through you like a freight train.

Joel nipped your shoulder, his laugh getting lost in your hair. "The whole world, darlin'."

You wanted to smile, but your orgasm ripped through you out of the blue. You felt your cum soak Joel straight through, felt your clit twitch beneath his thumb, your little bundle of nerves becoming sensitive beneath his tender assault, thighs shaking and throat restricting as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how good it felt, how good he was fucking you, wanted to cry his name for the whole world to hear- but no words could form. Not with an orgasm that good.

Joel felt you squeezing around him, and his grunts and moans- more animalistic than human- told you he was close.

"God damn, girl." His teeth were gritted now, and he propped himself up on his hands to watch himself disappear inside of you. In and out, in and out. Your pussy was creamy, swollen, pulsating against him from all the pleasure he was giving you, and he couldn't hold on much longer.

Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you towards his chest so you were watching with him, watching the way he wrecked you, split you in two, reduced you to a whimpering slut just for him.

"See that? You've made a fuckin' mess on me."

"Sorry daddy." You moaned out, and if Joel didn't know any better, he would have thought your words were laced full of pride.

You did that to him. You.

Joels hips were rutting hard into yours now, fast and unsteady, a rushed mess of skin on skin as he felt his cock leaking, twitching with his oncoming climax. When he finally came undone, he snarled your name like a hungry dog, growling into your hair like a madman as he shot rope after rope of cum deep within you.

You felt him deep, felt his cum leaking against your walls as he slowly rolled beside you, his fingers dipping down into your pussy to push his dribbling spend back inside of you.

You turned to look at him, and in a moment of tenderness, you gently brushed the stray strands of curls out of his forehead, your fingers lingering against the deep set crows feet beside his honeyed eyes. They sparkled in the golden light, their umber hue set aflame by that pretty summer shine.

"Did you have a nice lunch break, Cowboy?" You words were soft. Too soft for the nature of your relationship. Neither of you seemed to mind.

The air was quiet now. The sun was still filtering in through the open window, those sheer curtains still billowing in the wind. The faint mooing of cattle could be heard, the soft tweet of a song bird, the bark of a herding dog. The noise of your bodies grinding, your skin slapping, had now all but ceased, and the little hum and sounds of both nature and domesticity filtered in and out the sunny room.

Joel reached for your hand, bringing the tips of your fingers to his mouth. His lips were dry and cracked against your skin, and the stubble of his graying beard pricked into your knuckles. It caused a smile to tilt at the corner of your messy lips.

"Best kind of lunch break." He conceded, untying the bandana around his neck. He leaned forward, softly wiping at your damp thighs, your belly, your cunt- drying you off from your previous rendezvous, before shooting you a wink and tying it back around his neck. When he worked late into the evening, he wanted to smell you. A little nudge to end the day on a high note, to end the day quickly- so he could see you in the morning and start it all from scratch.

He stood up with a groan, the kind of groan old men always let out when standing from their recliners or getting up out of bed in the morning, and readjusted his jeans. You always loved those jeans. The sun-kissed fade that stretched deliciously taut across his thighs, the little Levi tag on the back. They fit him perfectly, in more ways than one.

You watched Joel's fingers work the buttons of his shirt, a simple green flannel that brought out the richness of his skin, watched him slide through his belt with that big silver buckle depicting a steer, the one your father had gifted him when they graduated high school. He hadn't even had time to take off his shoes before he buried himself in your pussy, so he clicked his steel-toed boots together with a sense of finality and kissed your temple, grabbing his rope and wallet from the bedside table.

"Could you do me a favor?" He hummed, his eyes glancing at the bed. The duvet was soaked through, dirt from his boots and traces of your shared cum lingering through.

You grinned, knowing the question he was about to ask. "Already on it."

Joel watched you for a beat too long. Watched the way you looked bending over in that sundress, gathering up all the blankets and pillows to throw in the wash. Watched the way your hair became tousled in the breeze, the way it stuck to that pretty cherry color you had on your lips.

If Joel was a younger man, he would have bent you over again and fucked your brains out like his life depended on it. The thought caused something to stir in his stomach, and his cock. But he was old, and his back hurt, and he had a few dozen flocks of wandering sheep he had to wrangle back to the barn before night fell across the expansive miles of his ranch.

His eyes flicked to the clock.

3:47 PM.

She would be home anytime soon.

"And, uh, after that you can head on back. Alright?" He knew the words were a bit cold, knew they always stung right through to your heart, but what else was he supposed to do?

You nodded without looking at him, humming out a simple response. "Yeah." Your voice was barely a whisper as you pushed gently past him, making your way to the laundry room.

It wouldn't have really mattered if she showed up, to be realistic, it would have only raised a few questions. His wife knew you were working for him. But, that was the issue. You were meant to be working.

And right now, you were in a summery little dress- and doing manual labor wearing that was pretty much impossible. The first few weeks you showed up in jeans and a shirt, got your hands dirty, let the mud splatter on your face- but when things started heating up, when Joel started flirting more, looking harder, and you started pining more, yearning harder- that's when things changed.

He started letting you watch while he worked. Started telling you he didn't want you to get all gross and ruined on his farm. He would sit you on a thick fence post, talk to you while he shoveled shit, picked up hay, cleaned out pig pens, and he'd let you hold the newborn chicks and pet the piglets and play with the goats while you discussed anything and everything, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was through those little conversations, you realized how deeply attached you had grown, how the highlight of your work day was talking to him.

Then, you started showing up right after his wife would leave for work or shopping or whatever it is she did, always in those sun dresses that drove him wild. Your hair would be done, makeup all nice and pretty- both of which would just get ruined, later. You'd sit on the porch, watch him out in the field wiping the sweat from his brow, watching him unload the bed of his truck. You'd watch him pet every dog on his property, talk to his horse, feed his cows.

And halfway through, Joel would march right on up, grab your hand, and take you to the bedroom. Sometimes he wouldn't make it very far, and that old, rickety porch swing would get more action in an hour than it had ever gotten in its existence. Those breaks that were supposed to be lunch turned into something completely different, and his wife was left wondering why he ate through house and home by the time dinner was made and set on the table.

Joel followed you out of the bedroom.

He wasn't coy, or quiet, either.

The heel of his leather boots were clicking and clacking against the linoleum floors that hadn't been renovated since the 70s, ringing against the walls full of family photos, artwork, and Rodeo certificates.

"Look, you know if I could keep ya here-"

"I know, Joel." You dumped the duvet in the washer, turning it on. You turned to face him, gently resting your hand on his bicep. Thick, soft- it felt perfect against your hand, spilled out of the cup of your palm, warmed you just with a touch. You blinked the thought away. "I know. Really. It's okay."

He sighed, shaking his head. You walked out to the kitchen, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, and the cowboy was right on your heels, following you like an obedient retriever. "No, really. If I could just-" he stumbled over his words, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I ain't good with words. You know?"

You rocked on your heels, sipping at the drink as you watched him from behind the rim of the glass, your eyes narrowed and head tilted with thought as you let him work out what it was he really wanted to tell you.

Joel sat down with a huff, his legs spread wide, thighs broad and inviting. He rested his elbows on his knees, focusing his attention on you.

He could get used to this, he figured. Watching you drink lemonade, helping you with the laundry, coming in after a long day of work to see you all pretty and waiting for him. He would spin you around to the deep voice of Johnny Cash, sing along in that stupid voice you hated just to make you giggle as he dipped you and buried his face in your chest. He would help you stir whatever pasta sauce you had had simmering all day, or he would go out back to grill you a ribeye cooked just the way you liked, then watch as you dumped way more sugar than what was needed into your nana's tried and true banana pudding recipe.

Joel could imagine it, clear as day.

If he was younger, thirty, thirty-five maybe, he would ask you to go off birth control. He'd fuck you every morning, twice in the afternoon, and twice in the evening, flip through every baby name book and buy every swaddle you would point out in town. He'd sit there, trying to figure out if Colton or Ashton was a better name for a son, hope and pray that if it were a girl, she'd get your heart and tenacity.

He'd marry you. He'd let you plan the wedding, force him into whatever tuxedo you wanted him to wear, and he'd let his stubble grow out to that length he knew you loved, let you smudge a piece of cake against the tip of his nose but refuse to do it to you and ruin your makeup- only to get you back later with something much better than icing.

Joel blinked, swallowing thickly.

He was back in the kitchen, boots resting on that god awful linoleum floor. Your lemonade was nearly finished now, and you looked at him with a mix of concern and intrigue, eyebrows furrowed together tightly.

You had never seen him like this- so lost in his own head, stuck in his thoughts.

"Joel?" Your voice was soft, a song on to his ears, and for a split moment it calmed his thoughts. You rested your hand on his shoulder, tilted your head ever so slightly so you were eye level.

"Sorry." He was almost bashful, clearing his throat as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I just, uh... you know."

You nodded a bit. In a weird sort of way, you understood. You knew what he meant without the words ever having to be spoken.

"I get it."

"Do you?"

"Mhm." You fingered the fabric of his shirt between your index and thumb, eyes tracing over every part of him. The curve of his strong nose, the lashes of his eyes. You wished you could wake up and trace over him every day, wish you could memorize him so deeply and know him so intimately he was forever burned into the imprint of your mind, forever tangled up in your ribs and lungs and heart, a piece of him left so deep within your body it became apart of you. "Maybe in another life, right?"

Joel's forehead creased, his top lip catching between his teeth as he let the words roll around in his head. You counted the wrinkles on his forehead, four deep set lines, and slowly moved your fingers to his temple, brushing your nail across the smile lines.

"Another life." He parroted, swallowing thickly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Another life, I think."

Joel stood, impossibly broad and tall, and stared down at you. There was a longing twinkle shimmering in his eyes, something deep and sad, something that he swore he would never, ever speak of. Not to you, to Tommy, to his wife- to your father.

Father.

A pang shot straight through his chest.

He let his rough palms fall to your hips, let you readjust the messed up buttons of his shirt, and he finally let himself close his eyes.

Let himself imagine a life where you did this every day, a life where you were his wife, his young, beautiful wife who everyone talked about, his young, beautiful wife that all the old men at his baseball games and football Sunday's would wonder and hum about out loud, wondering how the gruff, mean, sturdy Joel Miller ever managed to pull a sweet angel like you.

When he opened them, you were smiling up at him, and when he kissed your cherry colored lips, they tasted faintly of lemonade.

Joel smiled, his stomach twisting as you smiled back.

You gently dragged your hand down, let it rest on his soft stomach for a moment before you patted him away.

"Go on then, Cowboy. You've got some sheep to track."

He nodded, humming out, and as he turned on his heel to walk away, he wondered if you felt it too.

That string. That terrible, awful string that bound you two together, that unraveled like yarn and tripped him over his own two feet time and time again.

And when you walked into the laundry room and took the duvet to throw it in the drier, you wondered if Joel felt it too. That string. That terrible, awful string that had knitted itself within the very sinew that kept you together, that bound your wrists and imprinted deep within your bones until it left you aching.

On the drive home, you watched the sunset cast itself across the horizon. You watched the orange bleed in to the blue, watched the purple kiss of the approaching night blot itself behind the clouds. And in the distance you saw your cowboy, rope high in the air, whooping for a calf that had wandered too far away from his mamma, and the setting sun reflected against the faded leather of his hat, hit against the metal side of your car, and for a moment you could smell him. The smell of pine shavings, tooth paste, tobacco. It lingered in your nostrils no matter where you went.

Johnny Cash was crooning to you from the radio.

But your people have always been my people, And you have always gone wherever I go. And when it's all over, I hope we will go together I don't want you to be alone, you know.

You caught one last glance of Joel from your rearview mirror, off his horse and petting the scared calf, and a soft smile spread across your face, despite that deep gnawing that rested beneath the cavity of your chest.

Tomorrow, you would wake up and do it all over again. You'd wear your pretty sundresses, smack your cherry lips, flip your perfect hair- and you and Joel would both pretend through stolen glances and heavy breaths that whatever it was between the both of you was casual, that love was nowhere near.

1K notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 25 days ago

Text

104 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 1 month ago

Text

‼️‼️‼️ FIC STEALER ON THE LOOSE ‼️‼️‼️

I just wanted to bring this to the fandom’s attention because I keep seeing the same people interacting with these fics who may be unaware that everything on this blog is stolen!!!

@/cyarikaplease has been copying stuff from the user ibsbabe on ao3 for two weeks now. I have one of the most recent examples of their theft under the cut and it happens to be their post with the most notes 🙄🙄🙄

They’re directly targeting this user since they’re not on tumblr and they have stated once they’re done with this person’s work they’re moving onto someone else. I’m not super familiar with tumblr’s reporting system when it comes to plagiarism but I’ve been told that it has to be the og author who reports them? If anyone has contact with this person please let them know their work is being stolen!!!

Link to the original fic

39 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 1 month ago

Text

➹ via pascalispunk on Instagram ♡

107 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 2 months ago

Text

hi guys!! just wanted to let you all know i got your requests and i am working on them!! sorry for my absence life got a bit tricky but im here now💗

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #joel miller #joel tlou #tess servopoulos #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #joel x reader #tess tlou

2 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 2 months ago

Text

stay awhile (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: you & joel are travelling to jackson, and make the most of a well-needed rest stop along the way.

warnings: age gap (29/56 — if this isn’t for you, that’s fine! you don’t have to read it), canon typical violence, no ellie, cursing, food, alcohol, mention of parent death, unprotected piv (don’t do that), smut, kissing, shower sex, joel miller being in love and not knowing how to say it, soft!joel, anxiety, weapons, insecurity, panic attack, fluff & comfort, 18+ mdni.

notes: my first foray back into fic writing! yay! nothing much really happens in this one: i just wanted some soft, comforting vibes from joel <3 enjoy 🫶🏻

this is a gift for @ovaryacted 🤍 thank you for inspiring me to write again, babe, by being horny about slick-back joel. i love you. as ever, a huge big gorgeous shoutout to my @macfrog, without whom this fic wouldn’t be seeing the light of day. love you forever.

Dirt clings to your shoes, dry and heavy like sun-baked concrete. Shoulders twinging as you shift your pack across your back, your stomach rumbles. Loudly. Joel looks over his shoulder at the sound, ahead on the path as always.

“Not much further now.”

Your sigh of relief is muted, not wanting to show your struggle. You don’t want him to ever think you’re a burden, that you’re just a girl out of her depth. You want to prove you’re worthy out here past the walls you were raised in.

Time has become meaningless since you left the Boston QZ; a rinse-and-repeat cycle of waking up with the dawn, chewing rabbit, walking ‘til your feet bleed, and Joel fucking you under the stars every night.

You can’t recall the last uninterrupted sleep you had; the last night he wasn’t inside of you. It marks the end of another day you’ve both survived, helps you to forget the shit you’ve seen — and undoubtedly will again, the next time the sun raises her weary head over the scorched Earth.

Some nights, it’s Joel who’s works you up: touches you all day, innocently at first, until it isn’t. Most of the time, however, you’re the one pulling at the zipper of his sleeping bag, finding your way underneath his shirt, toying with the buckle of his belt. He’d lit a fire in your belly only he can put out.

You’re always pinned beneath him, rifle next to his hand as it drives into the dirt beside your head. His thick fingers wrapped round your throat, your back arching off the thin material beneath you as he pushes you over the edge, telling you to take it.

Just like Joel takes what he needs, over and over, and gives you more than you’ll ever be able to tell him. Namely, a tiny, jagged piece of his heart: pulled unwillingly from his chest and dumped into your fragile grasp for safekeeping.

You wondered, at first, if it was purely physical. If you were just a body for him to pour his frustrations into, a tight space for his pleasure only. You wouldn’t resent him for it: crossing your ankles over his back to feel him deeper, scratches from your nails adorning his shoulders.

But then, one morning, he held your hand.

His huge, warm palm over yours, his lips at your temple as he thanked you for taking the overnight watch. Joel’s eyes had twinkled, and you knew from that point on you meant something to him. Something undefined, lingering on the tip of his tongue — something he can only convey with the way he takes care of you.

Joel stops, now, and waits for you to catch up. He offers to take your pack, slinging it over his thick forearm and kissing your sweaty forehead; allaying your earlier fears. “It’s just past this clearin’,” he tells you, squeezing your hip lightly. Your throat is parched as you carry on, the township coming into view past the trees.

The street must’ve been nice, back then. It’s obvious someone’s tried to spruce it up here and there; white picket fences and a vegetable patch seemingly out of place with the barbed wire surroundings. Must’ve been Frank, you muse, remembering what Joel had told you this morning.

They’re decent people. Well, Frank is. Stay out of Bill’s way, ‘f you can. They’ll house us for the night — feed us, let us shower, all the good stuff. Then we make tracks for Wyoming.

Jackson, Wyoming. The place Joel’s taking you to.

He’s had word from his brother that they’ve set up a community, which is thriving by all accounts. There’s a place for both of you there, if you could make it. Free of FEDRA, rations and rats. It sounds like a pipe dream — you’ve told Joel as much. He’d responded with a wry smile, and little else.

Whether it’s real or not, you know you’ll follow Joel to the ends of the Earth. You’d rather be pulled apart by a pack of clickers than left behind in Boston to rot without him.

Joel stops at a gate, indicates for you to go on ahead. The house is beautiful: littered with thriving plants and flowers you’d forgotten existed, besides illustrations in old books. The front door opens, and two men emerge: one wearing a wide smile, the other seemingly chewing a wasp.

Joel introduces them both: Frank and Bill, respectively. The latter eyes you both with suspicion; something you’ve already been warned to expect. Frank’s kindness is a strange but welcoming contrast, adding to the absurdity of their picture-perfect home in a town time forgot.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Joel?” Frank grins, and Joel clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Your eyes remain rooted to the lush grass bordering the pathway, unsure of how to aid him. You hadn’t discussed this, hadn’t found a reason to. Until now.

“She’s — uh, she’s my —”

“Your daughter, or something?” Bill’s eyebrow lifts towards his hairline disapprovingly.

Joel’s lip curls. “Partner.”

Bill’s face screws up incredulously, Frank intervening with a hand over his chest. “It doesn’t matter who she is,” he smiles, mostly at you. “Any friend of Joel’s is a friend of ours.”

///

Dinner is an experience you’ll never forget.

A smooth wooden table, elegant candlesticks, polished cutlery. Succulent meat, fresh vegetables, red wine — a night of firsts for you, your eyes widening to take it all in. Life before, with treats and trinkets like these, is hazy to you: nine-years-old when the fungus took over, the next twenty years of your life clouded by trauma and violence.

Joel checks in with you throughout, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist when the two of you are alone, Bill and Frank bickering in the kitchen.

“Feelin’ any better?”

You hum contentedly, belly full and warm. “Can’t fucking wait for a shower.”

He smiles; small and lop-sided, the one you think might be reserved just for you. Your hosts return, and small talk resumes. Joel empties his pockets, the medications you know are paying for your stay lined up on the table. Bill examines them closely, rattling pill bottles and poring over labels.

Frank takes your hand in his. “The guest bathroom is stocked for you — well, as much as it can be. Use whatever you’d like, and take it with you if you want.”

A lump rises in your throat unexpectedly, tears sprouting to the corners of your eyes. They don’t have to provide anything for you — you’re imposing on them, really. Your parents have been gone for so long, and Frank’s soft voice and quiet kindness makes you ache for them.

“Thank you,” you mutter, squeezing his hand. “I really appreciate it.”

///

As soon as the plates are cleared, your eyelids are drooping. Frank ushers you upstairs, Bill having shut himself away in the garage. “Joel can show you how to work the shower,” he tells you, both of you following his lead up the stairs.

“Any clothing you don’t want anymore — just leave it in a pile. We’ll use them to make cleaning rags,” he grins. “There are boxes in your room, marked with sizes. Take what you want.”

You wring your hands, returning his smile shyly. “Like shopping?”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And tips for the staff are always welcome.”

Joel is quiet, lingering behind you both for a while. You sense his eyes on you, though. You always can.

“If you need anything else, just ask. Joel knows his way around,” Frank tips his head towards him, squeezing your shoulder lightly. Joel thanks him, and he leaves you both in the semi-darkness, footsteps echoing down the stairs.

“C’mon,” he sighs, holding out his hand. “Shower.”

///

The water is heavenly. Hot and burning across your skin, dirt and sweat disappearing down the drain. Eyes closed, you tip your head back and submerge yourself fully, losing yourself in the sensation, blood rushing in your ears.

A pair of hands on your hips bring you back: Joel’s close behind you, his lips against your shoulder. Stripping off in front of him felt different on this occasion: you’re not dipping yourself in a freezing river, and he doesn’t have a gun close to hand. You took your time, his gaze dark and watchful.

You turn to face him, his cock hard and insistent against your belly. He bends to kiss you, hands sliding across your slippery skin, finding purchase on your ass. Your whole body is relaxed, fluid — the luxury of time meaning you can enjoy the sensation of Joel’s tongue in your mouth, focus on nothing else but the way he’s touching you.

There are no threats here, just the two of you indulging in one another over the clean white tiles. Every movement is languid, determined to stretch the minutes into hours. At some point, Joel lifts you into his arms, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap round his waist instinctively. He winces in pain as you move, brows drawn together.

You’re not the only one with back problems.

You kiss his nose, droplets clinging to his lashes. “Put me down, old man.”

“Take no notice of Bill,” he smirks, both of you remembering his earlier comment. “He’s never liked me all that much.”

You hum, eyebrows raised, fingers in the grey streaks of his hair. “Well, I like you. A lot.”

You’re not sure what’s made you so bold, if it was Joel’s constant, reassuring touches along your thighs beneath the table all night, or the fact you’ve just washed the soap from his body like you’ve done it your whole life. Like it’s routine for you both to be here: naked and content in somebody else’s shower.

Joel’s lips drag a path of fire down the column of your throat, and you’re whimpering like he’s touching you for the very first time, like he’s mapping every contour and curve of your body and committing it to memory.

“Wanna fuck you like this, baby,” he groans, nosing at your pulse point. “Make you feel it for days.”

You think you could come already just from his words; the way his thick forearms support you, broad chest pressed into yours. Joel lets you beg for a moment, but soon enough, he’s filling you up deliciously, stretching you at a torturous pace to have you feeling every last inch of him.

“Good girl,” he groans, damp forehead against your own as you grind down on him eagerly, his thrusts meeting yours in a rhythm you’d established long ago. Joel’s big — sometimes overwhelmingly so. The sensation of him splitting you open has you clawing at his shoulders, moans caught in your throat. “So perfect f’me,” he reminds you, breathing short and laboured as you both reach the point of no return — your favourite place to be.

///

Joel flicks the light switch, boxes stacked high around the room. You don’t even know where to start; sleepy eyes bewildered by the sheer amount of choice.

“We’ll make this quick.” His hands find your hips again, kiss pressed below your ear. You nod, tugging at the first box you can reach.

A pile of items begins to grow — new jeans, socks, sneakers, and sweaters. Joel finds himself a flannel and packs it away, pulls on a plain black t-shirt and fresh underwear. You sneak glimpses at him as you continue rifling through the clothes; tanned biceps pushing against the fabric, thighs dusted with the same dark hair that spreads across his belly.

Arousal claws at your insides, white-hot and agonising. You’re still reeling from the orgasms Joel had pulled from you half an hour ago; watching his release paint your tummy, washing it away as his chest heaved with the aftershocks. Thinking about it has your thighs clenching, and you busy yourself with your task as a distraction.

The next box in your search is full of pajamas: plaid pants and graphic tees, camisole vests and matching shorts. Dropping your towel, you pull the silk vest over your head, shimmy the shorts along your thighs. “What d’you think?” you ask, adjusting the straps over your shoulders. Joel’s on his knees, distracted by a pair of boots.

“Hm?”

“Do you like this?”

He looks up, eyes wide. You watch his throat bobbing as he swallows, taking in your bare legs, the lace trim. You’ve never worn anything like this before, never had cause to. You like the way it feels against your skin, how it makes you feel in front of Joel, who’s still struggling for words below you.

You approach him slowly, cradling his chin in your hands. You feel powerful; his pupils dilated as his calloused palms drift along the back of your thighs. His hair is combed back from his face, silver waves flat against his head. Your fingertip runs along the curve of his nose and comes to rest on his full bottom lip.

You pull Joel to his feet, his thick thumb sneaking underneath the camisole strap. He plays with it absentmindedly; eyes heavy with tiredness. “You need to sleep,” you murmur, running your hands along his biceps. His brows raise, grin tugging at his lips. “Yes, ma��am.”

“I’m serious, Joel.”

“I, uh, don’t mind takin’ the couch, ‘f you…” he trails off, chest slumping as he exhales. “Oh,” you mutter, taken aback slightly. “I mean, I could take the couch, if you didn’t want to — y’know, share.”

Something akin to hope lingers on his features, eyes flitting between you and the bed.

He takes your hands in his, rubbing over your thumbs.

“There’s no way you’re doin’ that with your back.”

///

You’ve never slept on anything this soft.

Back in Boston, your bed was propped up on pallets; blankets scavenged and traded for, pillowcases stuffed with clothing past repair. On the road, the forest floor sufficed. You don’t remember your bedroom from before, although you know it must’ve been nice — soft shades of pink, a story to lull you to sleep, your mom kissing you goodnight.

Joel’s arm circles round your waist, anchoring you to the present. His warm palm against your tummy, you feel his soft exhales of breath over your ear. The moonlight throws shadows across the room: both your packs ready to go in the morning, an assortment of weapons and stores of food, a reminder that this safe haven was only ever temporary.

Tears prick suddenly at your eyes, and soon enough you’re sobbing quietly; tears soaking the mattress beneath you. Joel stirs, looming over you in an instant. “Hey, don’t cry,” he hushes, gathering you into his arms. You go into them gladly, Joel tracing his fingertips along your spine to soothe you.

“Long day,” he murmurs after a beat.

“But a good one.”

Joel kisses your damp cheek, pulls back to check in on you. “You wanna talk about it?”

Wiping your eyes, you curl into his chest: greying hair tickling your face, his steady heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You feel your own begin to regulate as a result, encouraged by his presence. Now you can’t see his face, your tongue loosens.

“I just — I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back out there. Infected, raiders, God only knows what else.. I want us to stay here, with our nice bedroom and hot water and proper fucking food.”

Joel is silent for a moment, digesting your confession. Your earlier fears begin to surface — he’ll think he’s made a mistake. That you’re a burden. He’ll take you back, leave you on the road. Leave you to die.

You’ve fucked up everything for him.

“Breathe for me,” his voice pulls you from the depths of your despair; not even realising your heart rate had spiked again, fists curled into the floral coverlet. You inhale deeply as per his instructions, breathing out as he sits upright, pulling you into his lap.

“I wish we could stay too, baby. But that’s never been the arrangement — n’ trust me, Bill can be meaner’n any clicker when he wants to be.”

You laugh shakily, Joel’s lips at your temple.

“Sorry for being pathetic.”

“Got nothin’ to apologise for. I should be the one sayin’ sorry; I didn’t think about how overwhelmin’ this might’ve been for you.”

Fingers brushing against his chest hair, you sigh heavily. “Do you think Jackson will be like this?”

“Maybe. Not sure about fancy plates ‘n all that, but Tommy’s sure been talkin’ it up.” Joel scratches at his chin, shifting you a little across his thighs. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

You loop your arms round his neck, nose to nose in the silvery white light. His hands move to your waist, flex across your ribs. “Go ahead.”

“When we get there —” you notice there’s no if. Joel has no doubt; certain you’ll make it through whatever horrors lie ahead, “— I wanted to know.. ‘f you planned on stayin’ with me. Livin’ together, wherever they put us.”

You swallow, feeling tears threaten once more. The comparison clutches at your heart: the risks and perils that lie in wait on your journey don’t trouble him, but asking you if you’ll remain in his company has Joel averting his eyes, lip caught between his teeth.

“If you’ll have me,” you whisper, kissing him softly. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The kiss that follows is long, both of you breathless when you break apart. Joel’s hand drifts under your camisole, squeezing your breast as he hardens underneath you. The smile he saves for you is back: half obscured by the darkness, but you trace along his lips anyway, feeling it for yourself.

“You got room to pack this?” he asks, voice deep and guttural, tugging gently at the silk.

You push him back into the sheets, pin his wrists above his head. “For you, Joel Miller, I’ll make room.”

3K notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 2 months ago

Text

holy fuck

1K notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 2 months ago

Text

hi guys i don’t usually come on here to talk about this, but it needs to be discussed. my friend kenzie, went missing on october seventh. she left a note saying she ran away. she hasn’t been answering anyone’s calls or texts, and claims she ran away to live with her girlfriend who lives two hours away.

she never said who her girlfriend is.

please, keep an eye out for her if you live in: pennsylvania, new york city, new york state, new jersey, maryland, and anywhere close to the areas listed.

this is her. we all really miss her, and want her to come home soon.

here is some information about her.

if you see her, don’t approach her. call 911 right away.

please, share this and help bring kenzie home.

657 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 3 months ago

Text

A Birthday to Remember

(Part Three to "A Different Kind of Miracle")

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: You and Joel celebrate your daughter’s birthday in Jackson and have to navigate it together.

wc: 1.3k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It was the first birthday she could really understand. Your daughter was now three, and this birthday felt like a turning point. She was growing fast, becoming more aware of the world around her—and her place in it. So you and Joel had decided to throw her a small party, just a gathering of close friends and neighbors in Jackson. Nothing too big. Nothing too overwhelming. At least, that was the plan.

The sun hung low over the town, casting a golden light across the square as people trickled into your yard. It was a perfect day for a birthday—warm but not too hot, the breeze carrying the faint scent of the flowers that lined the fences. You’d set up a long table with snacks and decorations, a simple cake in the center with her name written in soft, delicate icing.

Joel stood off to the side, watching as you helped her with some colorful balloons, her small hands grasping at the strings with delight. You caught his eye and smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. It wasn’t just the party or the weather—it was seeing her so happy, so alive. Joel had been more anxious than usual today, though he’d been trying not to show it. Birthdays, especially after everything that had happened in his life, were both a blessing and a source of quiet fear. He was grateful for every day she grew older, but the thought of her growing up in a world like this gnawed at him.

As more people arrived, the little yard began to fill with soft chatter and laughter. Tommy showed up first, bringing along Maria, who had a gift in hand wrapped in bright, mismatched paper. Ellie was close behind, holding a small stuffed animal she’d been saving for this occasion. She gave a mock sigh as she handed it over to your daughter, who beamed up at her with wide eyes. “Happy birthday, kiddo. You better like that, took me forever to find it.”

Joel chuckled at that, ruffling Ellie’s hair. “She’ll love it, don’t you worry.”

Ellie grinned, but her eyes shifted to Joel’s daughter, watching her with a mix of amusement and affection. The bond between them had been slow to grow, but it was solid now, the way big sisters and little sisters naturally were. Even though Ellie was rough around the edges, there was a softness she reserved just for her.

The party started off small, just as you’d hoped—your daughter flitting around the yard, alternating between her new toys and the few kids who came by with their parents. She stayed close to you and Joel, her face lighting up every time someone handed her a gift or said, “Happy Birthday.” You could see she was happy, in her own quiet way. But the closer it got to the cake, the more she started to cling to you, her small fingers wrapping around your arm.

“She alright?” Joel asked softly, watching as she tugged at your shirt, wanting to be held.

“She’s fine, I think,” you said, though you could feel the tension creeping in. Her behavior was subtle, but you knew the signs—she was starting to get overwhelmed.

Ellie nudged Joel’s side. “It’s cake time, right? We gonna sing or what?”

Joel’s face twitched, torn between the moment and the anxiety that had been brewing in his chest all day. He glanced at you, and you gave him a nod, signaling that everything was okay, for now.

“Alright, let’s do it,” he said, forcing a smile.

The cake was placed in front of her on the table, the small crowd gathering around to sing. You watched her carefully, her wide eyes scanning the room, her fingers tapping on the edge of the table in that way she always did when she was anxious. The moment the first note of “Happy Birthday” was sung, you felt her body stiffen next to you.

“Happy birthday to you…”

The noise, the attention, the sudden burst of voices all around her—it was too much. Her eyes darted around the group, her breathing quickening, and before the song was halfway through, she let out a small, high-pitched whine, her hands flying up to cover her ears.

“Happy birthday, dear—”

Suddenly, she let out a loud sob, and the song came to an awkward, stumbling halt.

Your heart clenched as she buried her face in your chest, her small body trembling, the meltdown hitting hard and fast. Joel’s eyes went wide with panic, his hands hovering helplessly for a second before he rushed over.

“Hey, hey, baby girl,” Joel said softly, kneeling down beside you. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re right here.”

The crowd backed away, giving her space, but their concerned murmurs filled the air, making the atmosphere feel heavy and stifling. You held her tightly, whispering soothing words as you rocked her gently.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just too much, I know. I know.”

Joel shot a glance at Ellie, who was standing nearby, her face a mix of worry and confusion. “Ellie, can you—”

“On it,” Ellie muttered, already stepping in to quietly usher people away from the table, shooing them with her hands. “Alright, folks, party’s over here. Move along, nothing to see.”

Tommy and Maria helped her clear the area, and soon the space was quiet again, the voices fading into the distance as people moved to the other side of the yard, giving your family privacy.

Joel reached out, rubbing small circles on your daughter’s back as she continued to cry, her little fists clenched tightly in your shirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice tight with guilt. “I didn’t think—”

“It’s not your fault,” you said softly, shaking your head. “We both thought it’d be okay. Sometimes… it just happens.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes filled with that same helplessness you’d seen too many times before. “I hate seein’ her like this.”

“I know,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But we’ll get through it. We always do.”

It took time—long, slow minutes of calming her down, of rocking her back and forth, of speaking to her in soft tones. Her crying eventually slowed to sniffles, her body relaxing in your arms as she curled up against you, utterly drained. She wasn’t fully back yet—she was still lost in her own world, overwhelmed by everything—but the worst of the storm had passed.

Joel reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her damp cheeks. “You’re okay, baby girl,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Ellie came back over, a small, sheepish grin on her face as she crouched down next to you. “Think I scared everyone off,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “You guys okay?”

Joel nodded, though his expression was still tight, his shoulders tense. “Yeah… I think so.”

“She didn’t like the singing,” Ellie said with a small shrug. “Can’t say I blame her. That was a lot of voices.”

You let out a quiet laugh, even though your heart was still heavy with the aftermath of the meltdown. “Yeah, it was.”

Ellie glanced at your daughter, who was now resting her head against your chest, her eyes half-closed. “You want me to grab her some cake? No singing this time, promise.”

Joel let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Thanks, Ellie. But maybe later.”

Ellie gave a mock salute and wandered off, leaving the three of you in the quiet of the yard. You and Joel exchanged a look—one filled with all the unspoken words you didn’t need to say. This wasn’t easy. It never would be. But you had each other. And as much as the world had thrown at you, you’d learned how to weather the storms together.

“I think next year, maybe we keep it small,” you suggested, rubbing gentle circles on your daughter’s back.

Joel nodded slowly, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “Yeah… small sounds good.”

But for now, all that mattered was that she was here, safe in your arms. The rest of the world could wait.

to be added to my tag list click here and comment or comment below

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller fic #ellie williams #pedrohub #pedro pascal #tess servopoulos

64 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 3 months ago

Note

Joel and autistic! daughter idea!

It could be her birthday right after the first oneshot, and everyone in Jackson comes around to celebrate her because she’s the cutest little thing. They have a whole little party, but when it’s time to have cake Joel’s precious little toddler gets overstimulated by the sudden singing and noise and has a meltdown.

You could add Joel and reader trying to deal with the aftermath and big emotions after it. Maybe even an appearance from big sis ellie!

posting today! thank u for the request lovely

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #joel miller #joel tlou #tess servopoulos #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #joel x reader

5 notes · View notes

sageluvsjoel · 3 months ago

Text

oh. my. god.

Stupid Prizes

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Before you head back to college, your dad wants to go on one last family outing: the county fair. The only problem? Your secret fuckbuddy, Joel, is there.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky, unprotected p-in-v. Joel pining for you while your dad is beside him, oblivious for now. Semi-public sex (on a ferris wheel—don’t ever do that). Gross misuse of a candy apple. Age gap. Jealous Joel. Teasing. Angst(!) Mentions of infidelity/abandonment.

Word count: 10.0k

The gingham dress was your best idea yet.

For Joel, nothing could’ve been worse.

He’d cum down your throat no more than ten minutes ago, and with just a glimpse of your new getup bounding down the stairs—you’d had to change after he painted your last one white—Joel almost inhaled his Heineken.

He coughed and sputtered and hacked the beer back up while you strolled past the sofa and grinned at your dad.

“Ready to go, old man?”

It was just a short red frock with a sweetheart neckline.

The fabric cinched at the waist and flowed with every step you would take. Turning slightly to toy with the hem, and teasing the only eyes on you, you corrected yourself:

“Sorry…old men, I mean.”

Something like amusement flashed in Joel’s eyes.

Didn’t seem to mind this old man’s cock down your—

“I was born ready, kid,” your dad answered, still messing with something on his key ring, “How ‘bout you, Miller?”

“Yessir.” Joel stood.

He recalled you saying something similar before opening your mouth in the guest bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. Joel’s cock twitched in his jeans at the memory, and his cheeks might’ve tinged a little, remembering how fast he’d cum. You’d only smiled and sucked your thumb, getting a taste of the residue that had missed your chest.

“Quite a mess you made there, Joel.”

And you repeated those words, at length, with only you and him to know what it had meant to you both before.

You gestured to the smattering of crushed potato chips on his shirt, and your grin got bigger. Joel grew redder.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, brushing the crumbs off his front. He wasn’t nearly as fast with the comebacks as he was with other kinds of comings and goings, and he knew it. He set the bag of Lays aside and seemed ready to leave.

But when he’d licked the salt off his lips and caught you staring—when he saw his friend go back to the kitchen:

“I had to be quick,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, “You know better’n anyone what a messy eater I am.”

Of course you knew that. Joel winked at you, and you winked back, mostly making fun of the boomer move. He reached for you—the edge of your skirt scarcely hanging a fraction of the way down your thighs—and he opened his mouth to speak again, when there was the sound of heavy boots at the threshold of the room. Joel leaned past your body and snagged the bag of chips instead.

“Food for the road?” He turned to his friend.

“All you,” your dad replied, smiling and waving the chips off as he went for the front door, “I swear your stomach’s a bottomless pit, man. Eatin’ me outta house and home.”

Joel looked at you when your dad was past you both.

House and home ain’t the only thing I’m gonna—

“Let’s go,” you chirped, fast, “I call shotgun!”

This would be a long, long day, no doubt.

The county fair had been his friend’s idea. One last day of ‘family fun’ before his little girl went back to school out East, and Joel hadn’t seen Bellville in years, so he’d asked him if he wanted to join. After a shared, brief stint in abstinence camp, the answer should’ve been clear:

‘NO.’

But Joel hadn’t learned very much from the Fireflies in the less than 72 hours he’d spent living—and also fucking you—there, so he’d nodded and said ‘Okay.’

Now you were twenty minutes out from the fairgrounds with a near-depleted tank of gas in the truck, obliged to make a quick pit stop at a Texaco. It was the first time he’d been alone with you since you’d set off from Austin. The second his friend was gone and headed inside to buy a pack of smokes, he heard a seatbelt come undone.

Earlier, he had raced you and beat you to the car to lay claim on the passenger seat, so you’d been in the back this whole time. He barely saw you before he felt you, climbing over the center console and then into his lap.

Straddling him while the Eagles played faintly overhead.

“Feel fucking insane not being able to touch you right now,” you huffed against his lips, kissing him hungrily.

Joel groaned. Felt your lower half grind into his. Almost rutted his hips up and yearned to have you seated on something other than just his denim-clad crotch when he sucked in a breath and remembered where he was. He nudged your hips and fisted the fabric in his hand.

“You in this dress ain’t helpin’ me either,” he growled.

You grinned against him, then hiked the red-and-white material up your legs a little more. Joel felt something like a shockwave when he saw what was underneath it.

Or, rather, what wasn’t there at all: your panties.

“Bathroom quickie?” you said, already breathless, “I’ll tell my dad I got cramps. I’ve been so wet this whole ti—”

“Darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes had drifted down to the place where your body and his were touching—rubbing—now. Even from this limited vantage point, he could see a glistening patch sticking from your bare seam to his jeans, and it was pooling on the fabric. Practically oozing out of your cunt while you rocked your hips and begged him please.

“Please, just one. I’ll be good the rest of the day, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

His pupils were wide, and his mind was seriously considering it. Stupidly so, he reckoned; your dad was bound to be back any second, and surely you couldn’t both be gone for more than five minutes without raising suspicions. It was a reckless endeavor, he already knew.

And when he saw his old friend strolling out the front doors of the Texaco, his decision was made for him.

He watched you scramble off his lap and back to your seat, body quick and lithe and giggling the whole way.

“Gonna get me murdered, girl,” Joel panted, gruff.

Your own smile didn’t waver; you just settled back into the middle seat and let your gaze trail out the window, trying to fix your eyes on something to calm you down.

You already had the sense that nothing would. Your teeth bit your bottom lip between them to forestall the threat of another laugh while your dad approached the vehicle.

From the radio, ‘Life in the Fast Lane’ kept playing.

As old as they were, Joel Miller and your dad had a funny way of acting more like kids than you ever had, at any age. As your trio approached the wide, gleaming gates of the Austin County Fair, you saw your dad nudge Joel, and Joel shoved him back, and somewhere in the midst of all the ribbing, you heard your dad say, clear as day:

“If I’m takin’ a whole day off work, I’m gettin’ hammered.”

You knew by that tone this would an interesting afternoon, to say the least. You held your ticket tighter.

And for a moment, you wished you’d worn underwear. It’d been a split-second decision to peel them off before skipping downstairs, and it had worked well enough—Joel walking with a limp all throughout the parking lot and trying to shield the tent in his jeans—but now you were the one in greater danger still. Seeing your secret family-friend-with-benefits in his tight, light, heather grey shirt and jeans, hips adorned with a hefty belt and moving deliciously with each new step he took, you were transfixed. Left to watch him and gawk and grow wetter between the legs with every passing second, there was nothing you could do about it now. Likely sensing this, Joel raked a hand through his grey-flecked hair and hummed to himself. His bicep bulged through the sleeve.

“Nice little view, ain’t it?” he asked, nodding to the outline of a dozen shining rides and attractions ahead.

Go fuck yourself, Joel.

“Can’t wait to ride that.” You pointed to the ferris wheel, though the finger in your mind was aimed closer to him.

“Funnel cake,” your dad beamed, eyeing a nearby stand.

The three of you weren’t walking for much longer before he insisted on buying one. Joel had had a hankering for lemonade himself, so he’d fallen in line behind you and your dad. When it was your turn to order, you paused.

Then, pointing again:

“Can you get me one of those?”

You’d had to stand on tiptoes to see it inside the display, but from Joel’s own height, he was certain to have seen what you meant. While your dad shilled out the cash, not batting an eye, the man behind him clenched his jaw.

Candy apple, hon? Real fuckin’ mature.

Your eyes met his as soon as you’d turned, treat in hand.

I thought you liked seeing big things in my mouth, Joel.

He would’ve scowled if he wasn’t next in line—and your dad wasn’t walking so close behind, sniffing his food.

Joel ordered his drink, drank it fast, and found his thirst no better quenched than when he’d started. You’d sat across from him at the table and made sure of that.

You dragged your tongue up the sugar-coated apple just like you’d done to his shaft that morning and blinked, savoring the taste. Feigning innocence as he looked on.

And what else could he do? If not watch you, then peer at your father, furtively, and make sure he wasn’t able to see so much as a second of this little show you were putting on now. Joel glanced around you, too. No one else seemed to notice what was going on, even when your lips left a soft, sweet suction near the top of the apple, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard you moan.

It was just in his head. He was remembering how you’d done it that morning, mouth sinking down his length and whimpering when you’d reached the base. The way your eyes had watered, your free hand had reached between your legs, and your lips had welcomed him in; it was all burned in his memory, and not retreating any time soon.

Neither was the blood rushing to his dick, he reckoned.

You didn’t seem to care. Even when a bright pink river of spit and sugar trickled out of your mouth, you didn’t flinch. You let it slide down to your chin. Right before it reached the end of your face, and you were certain Joel’s gaze was glued to the spot, you licked a little bit of it off. You didn’t get it all in one go, so you shifted your snack to the other hand and then swiped your thumb under your lips. You brought it up to your mouth and sucked it, just like you’d done with Joel’s cum on it earlier that day.

Joel chucked his cup in the trash. Your dad took another bite of his deep-fried pastry and, talking between chews:

“That was fast.”

“Need’a stretch my legs,” Joel announced, abrupt.

He turned to you, and your thumb came out of your mouth. The frown on his face was unmistakable, though your father probably thought it was just from having to squint against the sun. Not because he was incensed.

Out for revenge.

“Ready to get wrecked, kiddo?” he asked you.

Your eyes widened, and your tongue quit licking.

What?

Then you saw him nod to some spot over your shoulder. You didn’t have the nerve to follow his gaze as he did.

Faintly, you could make out a smirk crossing his lips.

“Arcade’s over there. Unless you’re too scared.”

Your dad raised a dumbass, not a quitter.

You’d accepted Joel’s proposal without a second thought, and your father seemed pleased to have the chance to peruse the food stands and beer carts to his heart’s content. You’d set off quickly. Your candy apple was still in your hand when you saw your friend lean over.

Joel opened his mouth, and he took a big, angry bite.

“You’re insane,” he said after, words muffled by fruit.

You took your first steps inside the dark, cool building littered with machines and fun activities of every kind, and deep down, you were happy you’d had that treat. You took a bite yourself, then discreetly patted his ass through his jeans and told him, ‘Only for you, Miller.’

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it, no matter how stupid and playful the message was meant to be read. But then Joel nudged you back—actually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

His mouth was close to you, and you could feel the smile:

“Just how I like it.”

Your cheeks heated a little. You weren’t so fond of the intimate move—in public like this, even as dark as the arcade happened to be—but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach. You swallowed the rest of your apple, and with it, any shred of emotion, or so you were hoping. You nudged Joel off of you under the guise of trying to point to something new, and his eyes followed.

“C’mon. At least pick something you’ve got half a shot of winning,” he said, swiftly. Sounding smug as he spoke.

You plodded on anyway, not hesitating at all.

“I’ve got more than half a shot,” you assured him, tone arguably twice as conceited, “Now if you’re scared—”

“You can’t use my own lingo against me, little girl.”

“Then nut up or shut up, old man.”

Joel scoffed. You chewed. The two of you approached the Skee-Ball machines with near identical looks of ambition and zeal, and sensing this tension wouldn’t dissipate with any more shit-talking, you got to work.

The first game was close. You beat him by less than ten points, and you guessed that that had been due in part to Joel’s own will. You saw him make more than two pitches so outrageously bad that you’d had to have guessed he was going easy on you. As soon as you felt that, you’d scowled. Pointed angrily at the scoreboard.

“You can’t just let me win, Miller!” you said, shrill.

Joel’s hands went up, and you knew he’d deny it all.

“No need to gloat, now, honey—”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, all while fighting back a smile, “Gimme your A game or don’t bother playing, honey.”

And he did.

The next game left you destroyed, roughly 900 to 320. You stepped back from the machine, feeling a frown start to form on your lips but knowing you’d asked for this, and just as Joel was about to lean in to offer a conciliatory hug, he had to stop. Both of you turned.

Somewhere behind you, you’d heard a voice.

It was young, male, and audibly amused.

“He really whooped your ass, huh?”

Your eyebrows raised as soon as you saw the source. Your scowl morphed into a smile, and your eyes were bright—too bright, almost. You ran over to hug the boy.

He was a boy, after all. Likely no more than half Joel’s weight soaking wet and wearing the biggest, dumbest grin that could only belong to a guy your age. He hugged you back, and his arms tightened around you. Comfily.

“Wade!” you gushed, squeezing him hard. You stepped back and looked him over, as if in shock, “It’s been…”

“Forever,” Too-comfy-cozy Wade finished for you.

Joel frowned.

“And here I thought you were gone away for good!” you laughed, “Went off to get that fancy Stanford degree—”

“—and you, in Boston—” the boy chimed in.

Before the reminiscing could go on much further, you remembered yourself and turned back to Joel. Still beaming as bright as you’d been when you first saw the kid, you gestured indistinctly, tongue-tied for a second.

“This— Joel, this is Wade Pritchett, one of my friends from high school,” you introduced him. Letting the two men—or, rather, mustached boy and muscled man—shake hands. Evidently, you were too stoked to notice.

“He moved out to Sacramento our senior year, and none of us thought— well, we— we figured we’d probably never see him again. Fuckin’ west coast hot shot he is.”

You smirked as you nudged his ribs, and something in Joel turned to month-old milk: sour, rancid, and heavy. His stomach turned inside him, and he hardly knew why. All he noticed was that he didn’t like the eyes you were making at him, and he hated the face Wade had for you.

Joel was just looking out for you, really.

You could do so much better than this douche.

“This is my friend,” you said to Wade, motioning back. Then, reconsidering just a second, “My dad’s friend.”

Joel didn’t like that.

Wade gave him a brief once-over and hardly seemed to see him at all. In that millisecond of a look, Joel saw it:

‘Old family friend. No worries there.’

Foolishly, Joel wished the chump could’ve seen what you’d been doing the night before—impaled on his cock and riding him as hard as your knees would allow you:

‘Daddy, please, daddy, daddy, daddy.’

“Joel?” Your voice cut in his mind like a knife.

Joel blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay if Wade joins?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

Not that it mattered now. Royal pain-in-the-ass Pritchett was already getting the machine next to yours set up.

Joel eyed him once more and tried to swallow his pride.

Somewhere along the way, it got stuck in his throat.

Three rounds was all he could take.

You on Wade, Wade on you—goading each other on in the most sly, flirtatious ways. Or maybe it was just Joel imagining that. Regardless, the man didn’t feel guilty at all when, at the conclusion of the third game, he’d tried to feign a casual tone and told you your dad would be expecting you back any minute, better wrap things up.

“He texted me like twenty minutes ago saying he’d be neck-deep in craft beer for an hour. I think we’re good,” you replied, and the indifference in yours didn’t have to be faked. You grinned at Wade, and Wade grinned back.

“Well, he texted me a second ago that he was holding a spot for us in line at the ferris wheel, so let’s roll, kid.”

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t like himself for doing it. But, again, he didn’t like Wade Pritchett even more, and he reasoned that he was doing you a favor, anyway. He searched for the exit.

“It’s alright, my mom’s probably looking for me, too.”

We get it, Pritchett. You’re a mama’s boy.

“Ah, okay.” You almost sounded sad.

Don’t be, baby. You’re daddy’s girl, remember?

Wade pulled you in for a hug; Joel wanted to deck him.

“I’ll be in town all week if you wanna—”

“I wish. My flight leaves tomorrow,” you cut in. Now your tone was really despondent. Your mouth was pouting.

It was just Joel’s eyes. He was seeing things. He was thinking you cared for this guy more than you probably ever did, and he was getting himself worked up over nothing. He clenched one hand into a fist by his side and waited for the anger to subside. Sadly, it was slow to go.

“Maybe we could…go out for drinks later or something?”

That suggestion didn’t make things any easier on Joel.

“I’d love to.”

Your reply didn’t exactly set his mind at ease, either.

At last, he decided he’d had enough. Turning on his heels, he bid a terse goodbye to shithead Pritchett and walked out of the arcade. He didn’t stop until he’d hit one of the bar carts your dad had been raving about outside.

He contemplated buying a drink. Maybe two. In fact, he’d just been eyeing three cans of Coors Light and was fishing for his wallet when he heard your voice again.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” His tone was clipped.

If you felt it, you didn’t show it.

“Are we riding the ferris wheel or not?”

He probably should’ve given a verbal answer in the affirmative. Instead, he’d just nodded his head and started off the other way, expecting you to follow.

The walk was short. You’d had to weave through a sea of fairgoers, including schoolkids, college-aged drunks, and more than a fair share of loved-up couples, but that wasn’t too bad. Joel just ignored each one and didn’t stop until you’d reached the line for the ferris wheel.

Or what was left of the line, anyway.

Unlike what Joel had told you, there was no wraparound queue for you to join. Your father wasn’t there. Once you’d passed a look over the dozen-odd people waiting patiently for it to be their turn on the ride, you felt your stomach turn. Joel had never texted your dad at all.

“He��s not coming, is he?” Dispensing with the obvious.

Joel still wouldn’t look your way. He’d just sidled up behind the last people in line—a group of older folks who all seemed eager to get on the ferris wheel. You scoffed when you saw Joel’s expression harden, and you planned to turn away. Then the people up front started to move. For a moment, you were torn between telling him off and leaving him there. At length, you settled on saying, low:

“You lied.”

Joel followed the moving line, and a few more people started to trickle in behind you. Before you could even think to speak again, you were nudged ahead by the force of that crowd, and had only to keep glaring.

“Hey—” you hissed, only five steps away from the platform now. The ride attendant was scanning the line, appearing to count the people approaching the gate, and when his eyes landed on you, you made out a little grin.

“Aww, your daughter scared’a heights or somethin’?”

He’d said it to Joel, sounding cheeky. His teeth gleamed in the light of a hundred different neon bulbs, and you had to avert your face to keep from revealing its disgust.

So everyone else still thinks he’s my dad. That’s nice.

You couldn’t see Joel’s expression, but you imagined it looked the same. You shuffled ahead, reluctantly, and heard a lady behind you laugh; the sound had a tipsy lilt.

“My kid’s the same way—you’ll be fine, hon,” she slurred.

Heights aren’t the issue here, you’d wanted to snap back, for no other reason than your own disdain for Joel and the present situation. He walked in front of you, still refusing to meet your gaze, and soon you were perched on the platform, sandwiched between two semi-rowdy throngs of fairgoers with no clear means of escape. You crossed your arms and stared up at the back of his head. The look you gave him probably could’ve burned holes in his skull if irritation had been the means of achieving it.

You were seated on the ride in minutes. The compartment was surprisingly large, and its walls high, with glass on every side. Under a waning afternoon sun, the views you expected to see were bound to be pretty. All that was left to detract from its splendor was Joel— hunkered down opposite you and manspreading. Wide.

Sitting in total silence with his denim-covered legs split in a ‘V’. Watching you and rubbing one thigh, absently.

“You’ve got some nerv—” you started in.

“Yeah, no. No. That kid was gettin’ on my nerves—”

It amazed you how fast Joel was to return your words with a hostile quip of his own, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’d he even do?! He’s my friend— my best friend—”

Fury flitted to something like discomfort, momentarily.

“Oh yeah? Just friends?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

In your own expression, rage flared unchecked. You didn’t particularly care what Joel thought now if he was immature enough to act like this, and the walls of the compartment were thick enough to prevent anyone else’s hearing a word of it. The ride continued to rumble along, letting on new passengers with each new stop.

Joel might’ve paused. Could’ve stared out the window for all you knew—everything but the wheel itself seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and time was sliding.

“Because I— I— I give a shit, kid. I care.”

“And that makes lying to me alright?”

“I was just worried for your—”

“Bullshit. What would you need to be so worried about? Me playing Skee-Ball with an old friend and maybe getting drinks? You can fuck right off with that.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when the ride suddenly jolted to a stop. It sputtered. Then, after a long, tense moment, it slowly ascended again. You took this lull in speech as your own chance to re-intervene:

“That’s not ‘care.’ Or ‘worry,’” you continued, words dripping with condescension, “That’s controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Joel Miller always did.

“It’s not—”

“It is—”

“Protecting you from assholes like him—”

“—he’s not—and I never asked you to do that!”

“So I just sit by and watch him touch what’s mine—”

“I’m not yours, Joel!”

Your last words echoed through the car like a shotgun’s report. You’d said it with such force—so emphatic for him not to be mistaken in what this was, or whose you were—when you hardly even knew how you felt yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that Joel knew only too well. The last time you two fucked, he’d begged the same: ‘Say you’re mine,’ and no matter how close you’d been to release at the time, you simply couldn’t say it. Now, clear-headed and mostly clothed, you still despised those words. Emotions. Uniquely juxtaposed with Joel’s jealousy over Wade, you’d never wanted to say it louder:

“I’m not yours, and I never will be. So just stop.”

More cruel.

“Are we clear?”

The car came to a halt near the top. When Joel still hadn’t deigned to answer, you leaned in closer.

“I said, are we fucking clear, Miller?”

Then you didn’t have to wait.

“I hear you.”

Of course he heard. His face was hard. His eyes were like two brown stones in the sockets, and the line of his mouth was tight. Whatever use you might’ve had in trying to decipher that look was ignored for the time being; you were still too angry. And, perhaps owing to this state—with a white-hot look fixed on him and your head full of blinding, bitter thoughts—you were more than susceptible to surprise. You jumped when you felt it.

Felt him with a hand moving from his leg to yours.

It went quick but was almost too ridiculous to fathom—how swift Joel was in reaching for you, hoisting you into his lap, letting your limbs straddle his hips with all the ease of old, welcome habits. It might’ve worked just as well, were it not for the tension in your legs. The short, sharp, ‘Joel’ and a look flitting out to either side of you.

“What?” he grunted.

You heard a fly unzip.

“We’re on a—”

Before you could finish, and as if to furnish the answer for you, the ride shuddered back to life. Its descent was slow, but any movement now made your stomach churn. It didn’t matter that most of the cabin was encased in metal, the rest semi-tinted plexiglass, or that your space was almost entirely shielded from the view of other cars—it was too much of a risk, as was everything with him.

Joel remained blind to it all. Your cabin came to a stop, still high in the sky, and then you felt him grip something between you. In one swift motion, he had the head of his cock rubbing your seam. You sighed; his eyes were cold.

“C’mon then…show me what ain’t mine,” he murmured.

His voice was low. You hated those words. This was more than just that. Your cunt slid and accepted him anyway.

For a second, your gaze was level with his. Your hips hadn’t stirred, and he was crawling inch-by-inch inside you, pulling you down. The act could’ve been intimate, had the words that passed before not been so harsh—and the place not been a fucking amusement park.

When the ride resumed its slow, rumbling circuit, he didn’t make your bodies part, but instead flipped you around. Your back was flush with his front, and by all appearances, you were innocently perched on his lap.

What the tens, or dozens, or hundreds of strangers ambling around down below couldn’t see was that a cock was nestled inside you, too. That with every gentle bump of the wheel, a man several decades your senior was filling you to the hilt, sending waves of pleasure through your body and his while he stuffed you tight. What your dad didn’t know was that this was his friend. That the nose nudging the skin between your sleeve and your neck belonged to Joel, and his breaths were short.

Trying to calm the flutter of his pulse and the pull of his lungs, he flattened his hands on either one of your thighs. He rubbed his palms back and forth, and you glanced down to find the insides of your legs extra shiny.

Slick, pretty, and full of him. He tilted your chin back up.

“Nice and quiet for daddy—nice and still. No squirmin’.”

He nudged your hips forward, and his cock brushed a wet, spongy ridge inside you. You had to purse your lips to swallow a noise. You felt your cunt drool even more.

The car swung low, in the line of sight of far too many eyes, and then it stopped again. You weren’t at liberty to move at all, and still, the feel of Joel inside you was raw.

Grating, almost.

It made the prospect of conversation seem the tiniest bit easier, though—forced to face away from each other and act civil now. Right before the ride started up again, you gripped the armrest and anchored your feet to his boots.

“Feels…good,” you whimpered.

“That so?” Joel murmured back.

“So—oh.”

Your words fell apart at the next brush of his hand, sliding down to your heat and taking his index and middle fingers to the precious, pulsing bud in between.

Soon the car was up at a comfortable height. You sighed.

Your legs pressed together over Joel’s, and you felt him rub the tips of his fingers even harder, circles tighter.

“I know,” he said, sensing your words before they came, “I know it feels nice, baby. Keep that chin up for daddy.”

Don’t let them know I’m inside you. Stay quiet.

But his girth was so much. The tug of his smooth, throbbing manhood between your walls was almost more than you could take. You laced the fingers of your free hand with his over your thigh, and you held them tight as your hips wriggled back. You couldn’t help it, feeling a welt of pleasure start to blossom in your belly.

“Joel—” you started.

“Don’t talk,” Joel grumbled, stern, “It’ll draw attention.”

You sensed there was more to it than that. Your fingers threaded even deeper through his, and he squeezed them back. Between your bodies, there rose a soft, gentle tap, tap, tap with the thrusts Joel was able to deliver now that you were back up high and out of sight. If there was any time to speak, this was your window.

Joel probably wished you hadn’t, but you tried, anyway.

“You know it’s been years since—”

“Since?”

Now you didn’t want to say it. But you knew you had to.

“Wade’s been my friend since—”

Another influx of something soft and tender inside you. Joel holding your hand, pushing himself deeper, and trying not to groan when you clenched around him. Hating that he had to hear that name, most likely.

You despised the words even more before you said them:

“—since my mom left.”

It was an awful time to be bringing this up, admittedly. Both of you on the brink of release with Joel’s cock buried as far inside you as it would go, his fingers entwined with yours, and the ride drifting lower.

And lower, lower, lower still. Joel’s breaths picked up.

The car shuddered to a halt almost halfway down. You didn’t have to see his face to picture it a little more rigid than it’d been before. He’d known your dad long enough to remember the time his wife had walked out on him.

“When we were, like, thirteen—” You continued, as if you needed to remind him of any of the particulars. Joel hardly knew you back then, though, “—he was my friend. Wade’s been one of my— my closest— he was there—”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the subject of discussion or simply how close you were to cumming that kept your tongue from forming a coherent string of words, but here you were. Joel’s grip on your hand had loosened, and the movements of his hips had slowed considerably. You hoped he’d be too lost in his own pleasure to care.

“I remember,” he returned quietly.

That was all he said for a moment. Out of habit, your legs parted more for his touch, and you whimpered, feebly, as the fingers kept circling your clit. The ride started again.

“You don’t have to—” And again, his voice was low.

“I’m not saying that as an— as an excuse or anything.”

You didn’t know why you were saying it at all. You just wanted Joel to know he didn’t need to be jealous. That Wade had been a friend through a dark and bleak season of your life, and that was all it had ever, or would ever, be.

While the car was still suspended in air, and the sights below all relatively small, you got the sense you’d have to deal with this budding bliss inside you a bit quicker than anticipated. Joel was all wordless encouragement. You almost wished you could’ve seen his face as he urged you to come undone, keep making yourself feel good, that’s it, cum for me, but frankly, it was probably for the best you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. Beyond just needing release, you wanted him to see you in a more vulnerable light than you’d ever been—facing away seemed the least painful position to have that happen.

With your fingers and his still interlaced and your hips moving a little more quickly, Joel could feel your pleasure soaking his jeans, and he pulled you down closer to him.

He nudged the back of your neck with his nose. He panted against it gently, tenderly. Then he kissed it.

“Don’t need’a say anything else, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Under any other circumstances, an apology from a man would have been the last thing to send you over the edge, but today, you couldn’t help it. Just as the car started up again, you hit your peak with Joel still stuffed inside you, and you gripped his hand as hard as you could. You fought to keep the moans contained behind your lips, but it was hard—and Joel’s constant, tender caresses with his lips and fingers made it that much worse. He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder and told you gently, ‘That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl.’

My girl.

Again.

You almost didn’t mind it being said this time around.

Almost.

In truth, you didn’t have half a mind to think much of anything in that moment. You just curled your toes and pressed your back into Joel while the warm, euphoric waves coursed through you, and you let yourself be content with what he’d said. Whatever he meant by it.

In the minute that followed, you sensed he was perilously close to finishing, too. So, as soon as you’d made it down from your high—and the ride, too, was circling back and making its way through the final cycles—you crawled off of Joel. You got on your knees. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you locked eyes with him; your mouth moved lower still. You’d barely latched your lips onto the head of his cock before he was shooting off rope after rope after rope of his cum. Warmth splattered down your tongue and throat, and you swallowed it all obediently.

You didn’t need to be told when the ride was over. You heard a buzz, felt it jolt, and, unfortunately for you and Joel, your car was one of the first to be let off. You had to hurry off your knees and back into your seat, across from your panting, silver-haired friend, just seconds before the door to your left swung open. You began to stand.

Joel followed you out. His spend was still stuck to your throat in some places, the scent of his skin and his stubble and his extra heavy load all fresh to your senses. You wiped one corner of your mouth and kept walking.

And it was in this state you remained another second or two. You were just about to take your first steps off the platform, mind floating over somewhere tranquil and warm, when your thoughts were presently interrupted.

Your steps, too, were cut short. Joel had stopped you.

Then he grabbed your face, and he kissed you.

Your world froze a moment. You didn’t have time to think, or react, or even kiss him back, so you just stood there and let him hold you to him. It was over in a blink.

And one glance over Joel’s shoulder after he did it, to the ride attendant and nearly every last person in line, said they were just as stunned. Some sick, by the looks of it.

‘He’s NOT my dad!’ you wanted to yell, out of habit.

Seeing the eyes Joel had fixed on you—the smile that followed—their suspicions didn’t matter to him at all.

You walked off together, still considering those words:

My girl.

A month wouldn’t be so bad. Two was tolerable, even.

The next few hours spent with Joel made it seem like you could go a year or longer without seeing his face, and nothing between you would change too much.

He was a friend. A good friend. Not just your dad’s old companion, but your own. Whatever else was left beyond that could be explored down the road, but for now, you were content to just let him hold your hand in places you weren’t likely to be seen, and kiss you in those he hoped your dad wouldn’t be. Maybe fuck you on a ferris wheel.

At the thought of going back to college tomorrow, not seeing him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas at the earliest, you didn’t feel too sad. You did get an extra burst of yearning when Joel’s hands would find your hips and push you off to some shaded, semi-discreet area and he’d tell you, softly, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya, kid’ before kissing you with a hunger all over again. That made you think you might miss him a little.

You’d warned him not to lie to you again. He promised he wouldn’t. You believed him, at least as far as your general mistrust of men would allow, and you had left it at that.

Now the tips of his fingers were brushing your own, and his mouth was grinning—coated in all sorts of sauces from the barbecue you two had been devouring. It was approaching six o’clock. He held the last Carolina-style pulled pork slider up to you, and you shook your head.

“I’m stuffed,” you said, pained.

Really, you were. You and Joel had decided to join in on the fair’s 25th annual BBQ and Chili Cook-off an hour ago, and now your stomachs were suffering immensely.

You made a face in disgust when he tried to push it closer, ‘Joel, I’ll projectile vomit if you don’t— don’t—’

You squealed when he leaned in, thinking he was planning to smush the patty in your face—you’d done that to him with some coleslaw not too long ago—but instead, he dropped the burger. He pressed what non-sticky parts of his hands he could get on your face and, cupping your cheeks between his palms, he kissed you.

Then he kissed you again, and again, and again.

This time, it felt more like an attack. Not an attempt at being affectionate, which he’d shown himself amply capable of all day, but really just a way to smear your lips and chin with sauce and get you extra pissed off at him.

It worked. You bit his lower lip at the last kiss.

And, instead of wincing in pain or biting you back, Joel surprised you by groaning a little bit against your mouth. His grip loosened from your face, and he leaned back.

‘Behave’ was all he said. Smirking.

If any one of Joel Miller’s quasi-fatherly lectures had ever met with success before, this would not be one of them. You only rolled your eyes and were about to reply with some variant of ‘Make me’ when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see the new notification.

Nothing more than a reminder to check in for your flight. But that sight also roused some awareness in you that it was just then starting to get late, and you hadn’t heard a word from your father in hours. You and Joel had been extraordinarily fortunate that day in hearing that your dad happened to run into some friends at the livestock show, and had been occupied—plastered, most likely—ever since. You hadn’t thought to question it before, just happy to have your dad out of your hair for the afternoon, but now that it was late and all the shows were long since over, you had to wonder if it wasn’t time to shoot him that text. Bring your last happy, fun-filled night with Joel for the next two months to an end, and head home.

You started to send him a message. Joel peered over your shoulder, absently wiping his hands on a napkin.

“He said he was headed over to a concert last time we talked. Some band he likes,” he hummed, “Wanna go?”

You weren’t too keen on seeing the likes of any Creed-adjacent artist your dad so loved to listen to himself, but if it gave you an excuse to stretch your time with him and Joel, you didn’t mind. You nodded, then deposited your phone back into your pocket. You were just about to stand when Joel held you back. He’d snagged your hand.

“Hang on, ya got a little—” he said, soft. Then he lifted his napkin and started wiping at the sides of your mouth. His motions had all the crude, brute force of a man who’d never wiped a person’s face before—he seemed more concerned getting the vinegar-based glaze off your cheeks than impressing you with how tender he could be—but the gesture was received well enough. For once, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just smiled.

“You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Long as it’s alright with your dad.”

“You could spend the night, too.”

Joel paused. He flitted a look from your lips to your eyes, then, finding a sly playfulness in both, only hummed. Stopped wiping long enough to kiss you on the cheek.

“We’ll see—”

“I’ll be real good—”

“Oh, I bet you won’t.”

But by the end of it, Joel was grinning too. He didn’t protest when your lips returned the favor from his, and they left an equally sweet and clean kiss on his cheek.

He didn’t bat an eye when your hand slid up his leg either. He just squeezed yours back and helped you up.

“Gonna get me murdered, I’m tellin’ you,” he murmured in your ear as you stood, just like he’d said to you earlier.

You figured if he’d had his pick of ways to risk his life, sneaking into your room tonight wouldn’t be the worst possible option. You threw your trash away and started off for the entertainment pavilion, following the music.

It was almost like you could feel Joel contemplating whether to sling his arm over your shoulder while you walked. Not once, but twice did his fingers twitch beside him, and he looked around you both from side to side. He decided against it, at length, and contented himself instead to just nudge your elbow and tell you that he liked that dress a lot—he hoped you would wear it again.

Come up for a football game, and you might see it then, you’d urged him back. The red of your dress wasn’t quite the perfect match for your school’s hundred-year-old crimson and black color scheme, but that was alright. You’d bend the rules for him. The two of you were just approaching the outskirts of a big, noisy crowd when Joel was about to respond. Your eyes glazed over a sea of people, surprised by its size, when you cut back in:

“We’re never gonna find him in here.”

Joel assessed the crowd. Checked his phone. Heard the wail of a guitar from somewhere up at the front and instantly surmised this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band—and that your dad wouldn’t leave until he’d heard every song. Silently, he kicked himself for suggesting coming to look at all. He could’ve taken you on a few more rides, filled your overstuffed belly with a little more cotton candy, popcorn, or ice cream, if you’d been up for it, but instead, you were obliged to find your old man. It wouldn’t have been awful if it wasn’t so hot and—

“Hey,” Joel broke in, before he could think.

His eyes had landed on a person—a pair—in the crowd that you hadn’t seen, and his heart clenched in his chest.

You’d barely tilted your head to him, “Yeah?”

“We should go,” he told you. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rushed, or strained, but it was.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your gaze had shifted fully to him. Your eyes searched his, curious.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I…” Joel trailed off, looking around. Scrambling to procure an excuse of some kind, “I gotta…go piss.”

“Then piss. I’ll wait here,” you replied.

You didn’t get it. Really, there was no way you could. You hadn’t yet seen the short-sleeve, turquoise-colored PFG shirt at the back of the crowd, the beaming face Joel spotted above it. You hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the man’s profile, much less the full, wide smile on his face, the beer in his hand, or the woman by his side. She was either laughing, or singing, or nudging his hip. They looked happy. And yet, you shouldn’t see it.

Joel would kiss you—that was it. It would be the riskiest thing he’d done, but at least it’d save you from seeing.

So he tried. Joel leaned in and ventured to press his lips to yours, gripping your face, but the second he did, you pushed him away. Your eyes were wide. Cheeks heating.

“What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, “Dad could be—”

Your gaze darted to the side, and then you stopped.

The eyes grew wider. Your lips stayed the course, as if to keep going, but no sound came out, and all that was left of your mouth was a round, stunned ‘o.’ You blinked, like you couldn’t believe it: the two people were kissing now.

Joel reached for your arm, but you were far too fast. You shot off to get away, toward them, and didn’t stop until you’d made it to the edge of the crowd where they stood. The music was loud, the audience was rowdy, but still, even at a distance, Joel could hear you as clear as day:

“Dad?!”

The man and the woman split as quickly as they could.

You were standing there, watching them watch you in utter shock for a second or two. Joel wasn’t counting, but he did find himself next to you before he could blink. He was reaching for your arm again, then stopping. Looking to his friend, whose gaze was plastered on his daughter with all the markings of awe. Embarrassment.

“Honey—” he started.

“What the fuck is this?”

Bad question. Terrible timing. Joel knew what it was—clearly his friend knew it too, but you weren’t supposed to find this out yourself for at least another month or two. That was what he’d told Joel back then, anyway.

“Sweetheart, this is my—this is Helen.”

You looked like you wanted to be sick.

“I know who she is!” you spat. You waved an angry, inarticulate hand in Helen’s direction. Helen looked away.

“Why don’t we go someplace quieter?” That was Joel, cutting in over the thumping bass and the strain in the air like he might’ve been a father to you himself. Wanting to shield you from what was coming next if he could help it.

Once more he reached for you, and still inflamed, you shoved him off. Your eyes were too hurt to turn away.

“What? This is y—your—” you started back, stammering.

“We were going to tell you, honey, I swear.”

In all the years he’d known him, Joel had never seen his friend look so contrite—or fucking moronic. The man had ditched his beer, was wringing his hands trying to pace a little more carefully your way while he spoke, but you weren’t having it. Or anything, really. When Joel brushed his touch against your elbow the slightest bit, about to murmur words low in your ear, like, ‘We’ll talk. C’mon,’ you’d jerked your arm away from him entirely.

He didn’t need to see your face to hear the pain in:

“Fucking stop, Joel!”

That caught your father off-guard. He didn’t hesitate before he cut back in, looking more pointedly at you.

“Hey. You don’t talk to your Uncle Joel that way,” he said, sharp. Joel winced. He went on, “I’m the one who told him not to say anything, okay? Now just calm down—”

And whatever effect his friend had intended to produce created just the opposite in you. Instead of focusing on your dad, your eyes shot to Joel, and in an instant, your body was turning. Your face was half-hatred as you did.

“You knew?!”

“Honey, I told him—” your dad tried saying.

But your look was too enraged. Your jaw was too tight. Your mouth could barely form the words you wanted to say, and your eyes were like two bloodied daggers. Joel was amazed you could speak a syllable at all, but when he heard it, he got a sense for why that was. He had to.

“You knew?”

You were hurt.

When you left, he followed. He wasn’t sure what he’d bothered saying to your father as he did, but it sounded like an excuse—‘It’s fine. I’ve got her.’ He didn’t, though. You were gone quicker than he could turn around, and by the time he’d made it far enough away from the crowd to yell your name, you were too removed to hear it. He saw the top of your head through a whole new cluster of strangers, and he yelled it again. You kept walking.

Joel was fast, but you were adept, all things considered. You slipped through the crowd with ease and gained more and more distance than he could attain in twice the time. Joel bit the inside of his cheek and kept going. He didn’t reach you until you were approaching the front gates, when he called out for you again, out of breath.

You probably wouldn’t have turned if you’d had a choice. But as it was, you were up against a bottleneck effect of more people trying to leave than the exit could fairly handle at once, and everyone at the back was at a standstill. Your jaw tightened when he said your name.

“Darlin’— hey— baby, just let me—” Joel had weaved his way around your neighbors, but the area was cramped.

You didn’t move. Your gaze was trained elsewhere.

“—explain. Let me explain, and I promise, I didn’t—”

The line shifted forward, and you moved with it. Your body was turned; while you kept walking, shuffling, Joel earned a few uneasy looks from the people around him.

“I didn’t mean—” he forged on.

But as soon as he reached for you, he knew he’d overstepped. Confirming every onlooker’s suspicion that you didn’t want to be disturbed, you snatched your arm away, and your eyes flared with anger. You faced him.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could reply:

“Leave me the hell alone, Joel.”

And, while the words were still fresh on your tongue and no one else tried stepping in themselves, you walked off.

You left him again—for what other place, Joel wasn’t sure. You just made off the other way, breezing past carts and stands and now-shuttered booths and more faces than either one of you could count. You kept walking until you found an open space a tolerable distance away from all the noise, then went further.

Your face was fixed in a hard, immutable stare when Joel approached you again. The look behind your eyes was worse; he could tell in a second you were about to cry.

“Darlin’—”

“You knew this whole time,” you said. Seething.

“I didn’t—”

“My dad’s been dating the woman he cheated on my mom with and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?!”

“I thought—”

“Not ONCE?! Huh?” you screamed it this time, “Known you my whole goddamn life and you hide that from me?”

Joel winced. He knew the tears were coming before they even filled your eyes, but the sight still made him hurt. You wouldn’t let him near you, either. You just shook your head and swallowed a lump and blinked hard, and he felt stupid. Whatever favor he’d thought he was doing your father—and you—seemed infinitely small to him now.

That knot you’d tried pushing down in your throat kept you silent for a minute. Joel opened his mouth to insert a word or two himself, but then you looked keen to keep hold of the conversation, no matter how much it hurt, and you were starting again. Blinking harder. Hating it.

“She’s the reason mama left,” you said, hoarse, “Helen was her best friend, and then she went and— and— and— fucked my dad, and because of that, I didn’t have a family for half my fucking adolescence. You knew that.”

Another beat. Joel’s own throat constricted considerably as he considered his next words, but there was no need.

“You saw how much I hated my father, and her, and myself for years, thinking there was something just…wrong with me not being enough to make her stay. And you knew all that, and you still kept it a secret from m—”

“I know, baby. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.”

He’d also known your dad was in the wrong. That hadn’t stopped Joel from trying to rationalize his friend’s actions while they happened: it was a one-time hookup with Helen, then a casual, no-strings deal that the man only indulged when he was feeling extra lonely, then a thing, a relationship of two, three, six months now. Joel had known all along what kind of profound ramifications these decisions would have if you were to ever find out. But his friend wasn’t so easily swayed from old habits, and Joel couldn’t stomach having to break it to you.

Then the roadtrip from Boston happened.

You seemed to be remembering the same.

“Was fucking me a way to make yourself feel better?”

Your words had never struck Joel with more deliberateness or force. He croaked ‘No’ in a moment. You took a step back, and there came the look again—more spiteful than before and repulsed to its core.

“Is that why you offered me a ride back in the first place? Just felt guilty for all the stuff you knew my dad was—”

“No. No, no, honey, I would never, ever—”

“Then why hide it?! Why all this? Why bother?”

You gestured between his body and yours; you didn’t seem to know what you meant. Your cheeks were wet with tears. You had to scrape your palms down your face, sniffling and struggling to clear your own vision, but the efforts appeared to be in vain. You couldn’t stop crying.

“For you,” Joel said, and he hated the way his own voice was splintered. He didn’t know how to make it better, “You were off at school when it started, then— then Boston. Just thought it’d be safer…for you…for us—”

Somewhere in his brain, he’d meant to say that he didn’t want the news of your father to hurt you, or else jeopardize a shred of something Joel had had with you.

It was stupid. Your instantaneous reaction said as much.

“Us?!”

Joel blinked. The eyes across from his were alight.

“Us, Joel?! Are you fucking kidding me? There is no us.”

Their brilliance wasn’t appreciative by any means. If anything, the words made the flow of your tears even worse. You pressed your hands to your face, rubbing your cheeks and trying to shield your eyes, and saying again, ‘There is no ‘us,’ Joel, that’s not an excuse—you knew!’

With his insides in knots, Joel wanted to hold you again. You were still in pain, and your scowl wouldn’t move, and when he tried to touch you, you stepped back in disgust.

He knew better than to think he could reach you now.

“Whole thing was a mistake,” you spat, unfeeling.

“Baby—”

“You and me. Dad and Helen.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Anything you need to keep a secret probably isn’t worth keeping at all, right?” And when you said it, he could tell you’d meant it to hurt him. As if the tears and the time and the sheer resignation in your eyes didn’t say enough.

Now Joel felt an ache in his bones, worse than it’d ever been, and he still couldn’t touch you. Where the heart demanded comfort of a kind you couldn’t give, the head knew better than to ask, and his hands fell limply at his sides. He saw you cry and had only himself to blame.

You turned back to the fairgrounds’ exit. The crowd was as big as it had ever been, but anywhere away from him seemed to be as welcome as anything else, Joel guessed

He’d try something stupid. Again. Even more desperate.

Never in his life had he said the words to someone else, and he sensed it wouldn’t do a thing to change your mind right now, but he’d say it anyway. If not to extricate himself, to let you know what he felt beyond every thing that had taken place tonight. He reached for you again.

“Darlin’, I lov—”

But before the words could register with you, the simple act of pressing his fingers to yours made you blanch. You hadn’t heard him at all, and seemed only concerned with jerking yours away as fast as you could, then shrieking:

“I HATE YOU, JOEL!”

Then you choked back a sob, trained your glossy gaze on him in one last pitiless look, and left him. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to. Sights and sounds and the ground underneath him seemed apt to swallow him whole, and still, he couldn’t move an inch. Somewhere ahead of him—too serendipitous, really—he heard you call a name.

Of course, it wasn’t his. You weren’t running to him.

It wasn’t Joel in the crowd making its way out the gates. It wasn’t him standing a little ways off to the side, eyes wide and confused as he watched you rush over. Almost stumble over yourself falling into his arms and hugging him, burying your face in his chest. Joel watched it all with a raw and hollow heart and wished it were him.

But it was Wade.

Wade hugged you back and held you close, and the look on his face was too bewildered and distraught for Joel to blame him. He hadn’t been the one to hurt you. Joel had.

He watched you leave.

There was nothing more to say.

2K notes · View notes