#Joel Miller Fanfiction

[bluebeary-jay]

Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth.  You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.

[millers-angel]

joel, come on domestic!joel miller x female reader

summary: you're sitting on joel's lap while he plays his guitar. "his hands, big and calloused and so good at everything they touch—the guitar, his weapons... your body." warnings: dry humping, domestic joel, soft joel, lots of fluff (imo), unprotected sex, creampie.

you were supposed to be getting ready for patrol.

the boots are already on, laced up tight, dust clinging to the sides from yesterday. your thighs bare beneath the hem of joel’s shirt — the one you threw on after your shower, thinking you’d only wear it for a second. long enough to find clean pants, maybe grab your stuff. long enough to get your shit together.

but then you heard it.

the low, familiar hum of strings sliding under his fingertips, floating in from the backyard. you knew that sound — could pick it out from a mile away. joel’s guitar. joel’s hands. joel playing like the world’s still asleep and he doesn’t wanna wake it up.

so now you're here. standing barefoot in the doorway for a second before stepping out onto the warm patio stone, boots heavy against the quiet.

he’s sitting in the shade, sun catching the edge of his shoulder, guitar cradled in his lap. his shirt rides up a little when he moves, and you watch the muscles in his forearms shift as he plays. relaxed, steady. there’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray beside him and a mug of coffee gone cold.

he doesn’t see you at first.

you watch his fingers. the way he picks, slow and careful, like he’s carving the notes out of the morning. he’s not playing for anyone. just for himself. and god, you love him like this — when he thinks no one’s looking.

you walk toward him slowly, boots scuffing lightly on the ground. his head tilts a little when he hears you, but he doesn’t stop playing. just looks up with a small, crooked smile.

“didn’t think i’d distract you that easy,” he says, eyes flicking down your legs, stopping at the boots. “ain’t even wearin’ pants, darlin’.”

“i was gonna,” you shrug, stepping behind him. “but then i heard you.”

you slip your arms around his chest from behind, palms pressed flat against the soft fabric stretched over his skin. he’s warm, all sun and sweat and cigarette smoke, and he laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating under your hands.

“mm,” he says. “this why i don’t play as much.”

you kiss the rough edge of his jaw, the place where his beard meets his neck. “you should play more,” you whisper. “for me.”

joel hums, setting the guitar aside so his hands are free to slide over your thighs, fingers slipping just under the edge of his shirt.

“you ain’t makin’ it easy for me to be good.”

“you’re never good,” you grin.

he chuckles, low in his throat, pulling you gently into his lap. “you got ten minutes ‘til you’re late,” he says, hands already wandering. “then we better make it count.”

he gives you two soft pats on the side of your hip, voice a little more serious this time.

“no, baby. you’ve already missed patrol twice this week.”

you groan and hide your face in the warm curve of his neck, your voice turning sweet and innocent. “i don’t wanna go… please.”

joel chuckles, low and amused, hand brushing over your thigh.

“you never wanna go.”

“but today i really don’t wanna go.”

he sighs, but it’s not annoyed. it’s affectionate. he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers spreading wide across your lower back. “i can’t keep hidin’ you out here forever. someone’s gonna notice.”

you smile against his scruffy jaw, then kiss it gently. “you can,” you whisper. “just sayin’. and anyway… i’ve been feelin’ kinda weird lately. tired. and… i don’t know, i’ve had these weird cravings. might be pregnant.”

joel snorts softly, but his hand moves automatically to your belly, warm and protective. “yeah?” he says, teasing. “that what this is about?”

you laugh, but your breath catches just a little when his palm rests there, gentle and sure. it’s probably nothing —just a joke— but the weight of his hand sends a fluttery little thrill through you. something soft and nervous and almost too much to hold.

he leans in, presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re finishing the duck you promised?” you asked softly.

you’ve asked for a wooden-duck whenever you see him on his workshop upstairs. he’s always making these animals figures.

“yes, babygirl, it’s almost done.”

“you know… if we got a kid, you’re gonna make her toys.” you rubbed your thumb on his beard.

he chuckled. “yeah?”

“make her a little doll house,”

“that’d be cute,” he admitted. “but until that happens—“

“no, i don’t wanna go,” you mumble again, lower this time, like it’s a secret.

he pulls back a little, gives you that look — the one that says he hears you, the one that says he still won’t let you stay curled up in his lap all day. “you have to.”

you pout. really pout this time, big eyes and a tilt of your head, your fingers tracing lightly over his chest.

“what if i go only if you play me a song first?”

joel huffs a laugh and leans his head back a little. “you always say that.”

“because it always works.” you widen your eyes even more. “please?”

he groans, but it’s fake, his mouth twitching with a smile he’s trying to hide. “you’re evil,” he mutters. “can’t say no to those damn eyes.”

“i know,” you grin.

he shifts the guitar back into his lap without making you move, arms sliding around you with ease, fingers finding the strings like they belong there — like you both do. even with you on him, he plays effortlessly, picking something soft and slow, the kind of tune that sinks into your bones.

you don’t say anything for a minute.

you just watch him.

his hands, big and calloused and so good at everything they touch—the guitar, his weapons... your body. the veins that twist under his skin, the silver in his arms, the salt in his beard. his profile in the morning light — those soft lines around his eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the concentration, the quiet.

you love all of it. all of him.

and even though you’re supposed to be out there — armed, alert, moving — all you can think about is this. this moment. this song. this man you’d let ruin you a hundred different ways just to hear the sound of his voice when he calls you baby.

you swore you could control yourself, but not like this. not when he's practically poking on your slit. you wiggled your hips just a little, but enough for him to feel what you were doing, for him to know what you were doing.

he didn't stop you, though. if anything, joel loved when you grind your hips on him, he loves when you're the one who look for pleasure.

as he played, you kept griding your hips until you started to feel how something gets bricked up beneath you and his voice started to get more raspy. he left the guitar for a moment and moved his hands to your waist.

"you don't get enough, do you?"

"joel, please—" you plea.

his free hand slips to your inner thigh. "this isn't saving you from going to the patrol,"

you nodded. "yes, sir." you put your hand on his. "just touch me, please."

he wouldn't let you go. not alone. not if you don't want to. he would cover all your patrols if he has to, just to make sure you're safe without complaining—he never does.

it's not just about keeping you safe, though that's part of it. it's that he likes coming home and finding you there. barefoot in the kitchen, shirt way too big on you — usually his—sleeves rolled up while you bake something sweet, humming under your breath like you're playing house. like you're already his. and now that you told him you might be pregnant—whispered it with a soft laugh and your lips against his scruffy cheek—he can’t stop thinking about it. the image of you round with his baby, fussing at him to fix something while you stir batter with one hand and rest the other on your belly. the quiet, soft domesticity of it suits you. he can already see it—your sleepy smile in the morning, his hand drifting to your stomach like it belongs there, the life you’re building tucked warm between you. it doesn't scare him like it used to.

he can see you playing his little housewife and it suits you.

he was already moving your panties to the side, while the other hand was undoing his pants while you kept moving your hips. joel's grip on your hips tightens as you continue to grind against him, his eyes darkened with lust.

he moves one hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, teasing you even more. you sway your hips, this time, in order for him to touch you properly.

joel chuckles at your eagerness, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most.

"someone's impatient," he says, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks again.

"i could do this all day, you know. drive you crazy with just my touch."

"i gotta go on patrol, joel," you make a sound. "please, don't make me beg."

"aw, poor little thing," he knows what he's doing.

"please," you pout.

"oh, don't give me that look," he says, his voice a raspy of amusement and arousal. "you know damn well you don't have to beg. i'll give you what you want."

he slides his fingers between your legs, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric of your panties. you soft moan. he shifts underneath you, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against you.

joel watches your face as he slowly pushes into you, his eyes filled with desire and a hint of amusement even more when you whine.

he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one driving a moan from your lips.

joel's hands move to your hips, his grip firm as he holds you in place. he can feel your body against his, your thighs on either side of him, and he can't help but appreciate the view.

his eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of you, before they settle on your face again.

"you look so beautiful like this," he says, his voice low and rough. "sitting on me, taking me so well."

"don't stop," you whimpered.

his hands moves to your breasts, his fingers gently pinching and squeezing your nipples. he starts to move his hips in time with his fingers, thrusting up into you at the same time as he teases your nipples, sending shivers all over your body.

joel's fingers move faster, his touch growing more possessive as he continues to pleasure you.

he moves one hand down to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he thrusts harder, his pace increasing.

"and these," he says, his thumb circling your nipple. "these are so sensitive. you're right, maybe you are pregnant."

you chuckled, biting your lip. "shut up,"

"you and i both know you want that. you love playing house," he growled. "might as well just give you what you want."

joel's breathing becomes more ragged as he feels you getting closer to your release. his fingers continue to work your nipples, his thumb circling faster and faster, driving you closer to the edge

he freed your swollen breast to grip your hips with both hands, guiding you up and down his cock. he always manhandles his girl as he pleases. this time was no different, sepcially when he saw you coming, seeing your face full of pleasure was the most precious thing.

joel's control snaps as he feels you reach your peak, his own orgasm hitting him like a wave.

"fuck," he gasps, his hips stuttering as he thrusts up into you one last time. "i—"

his fingers move faster, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills inside you, his body shuddering with pleasure.

you’re exhausted, boneless, your body humming with the afterglow and the ache he always leaves behind. you don’t say anything. just sit differently and lean forward and rest your face in the crook of his neck, rubbing your cheek lazily against the scruff of his beard.

he doesn’t stop you — never does. you do it every time, like it’s instinct, like you’re trying to mark him back.

“mm,” you hum, barely audible, your lips brushing his jaw before you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. not sweet. not sappy. just… yours.

joel looks down at you. all flushed skin and heavy eyes, hair stuck to your forehead, mouth still parted a little from how good he just made you feel. you look almost innocent like this. tired and pliant and too soft for the world waiting outside.

he doesn’t say a word. just slips his arms around you again and lifts you with ease, your bare legs dangling as he carries you inside the house. holding you like something sacred

you don’t resist. you let your head fall against his shoulder, assuming he’s just trying to help. getting you to the bedroom quicker so you can pull on your clothes and grab your gear. always thinking ahead, always efficient. it’s what joel does.

but instead of setting you down, he nudges the door open with his foot and walks you straight to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with care like he’s afraid you’ll break.

you blink up at him, eyes still heavy, voice rough. “just give me five minutes,” you mumble, shifting to sit up. “i’ll be ready.”

joel doesn’t move. just stands there with his arms crossed, looking down at you like he’s already made up his mind. “you’re not goin’.”

you frown a little, confused. “but you said—”

“i know what i said, love,” he cuts in, voice low but firm. “but i’m not lettin’ you go if you don’t wanna. stay in bed.”

you pause. then your mouth curls, slow and smug like you just won something. joel rolls his eyes the second he sees it.

“don’t look so proud of yourself,” he mutters, tugging the blanket up over your waist. “this is the last time.”

you hum, already curling into the sheets. “mhm. it always is.”

he huffs a soft laugh and leans down to kiss your temple, scratching his beard against your skin on purpose just to hear you whine. but he still pulls the curtains closed, still makes sure you’re tucked in like you’re something worth protecting.

and you let him. because you know he’ll never really say no to you. not when you look at him like that. not when you ask so sweet.

♡｡ﾟ🐇｡⋆｡ ﾟ🧸⊹ ࣪ ˖♡

[punkshort]

Just This Once: Part Three

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You spend the night at Joel's house, but have a close call in the morning.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), language, unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), fluff, angst, they're catching feelings, jealousy/possessiveness, pussy pronouns, light spanking

WC: 5.8k

Part One | Part Two

Golden beams of sun bleed through the fluttering curtains, filling Joel's bedroom with a fresh morning breeze and the sounds of his sleepy neighborhood coming to life. It's a comforting scent — morning air — one you always savor when you get a chance. Considering it's a Saturday and Joel's face is buried eagerly between your thighs makes things infinitely better.

You simply can't think of a better way to wake up.

His hands wrap firmly around your legs, holding you still, right where he wants you. He looks lost in it — eyes slid shut, soft hums under his breath, practiced tongue gliding through your folds, scooping up your arousal with each pass. Seeing him take you apart with his mouth in the broad light of day has your legs trembling and your heart thundering in your chest. Like you're seeing something you shouldn't, yet you can't look away.

That is, until his lips messily suction around your clit. Your pussy clamps down around nothing and you throw your head backwards into his pillow with a strangled moan.

"Fu-uck, Joel!"

He sucks your clit harder and you see stars. Suddenly you're keenly aware that your skin is damp with sweat when his oscillating fan rotates in your direction, bathing you in that crisp morning air. You shiver and grab at his hair. Your hips begin to roll and Joel lets out a deep, satisfied groan.

"Yeah, that's it baby," he says, voice muffled. "Fuck my face, go on. Ain't gonna stop til you give me one more."

Heat crawls up your chest and neck. Each noisy lick and kiss he leaves at your center sends you higher and higher. The muscles in your stomach twitch and your breath begins to stutter — it's not even ten in the morning but between last night and now, you have no idea how you'll have the energy to get out of bed.

Something tells you Joel planned it this way. Planned on keeping you wrapped up in his bed all day, listening to the neighborhood outside go on about their lives while the two of you waste the hours in each other's arms. Given how difficult it is to find time to be together, you tend to make the most of it.

"Can feel you shakin', sweetheart," he growls in-between messy kisses, lips sucking and tugging at your clit. "Give it t'me."

You grind your hips upwards, pushing yourself firmly against his face. You can feel it, you're almost there, but the open window next to his bed has you distracted.

"J-Joel, the window—"

"Let 'em hear."

Christ, this is reckless. It's stupid and dangerous. Your father is right across the street. He could be watering the garden or getting his mail. But you can't stop, and neither can Joel. Your need for each other has grown so strong that it's blocking out all logic and reason. So you squeeze your eyes shut, drag in a lungful of air, and let go.

A shattered moan rips from your throat and your legs clamp down hard around Joel's head. His fingers dig into your hips and you feel him groan, the sound making your face flush with heat.

"Good girl," he mumbles around his tongue scooping up your release. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when he swallows it down, and only when your muscles finally relax and you feel boneless does he break away. His wet lips leave a slow trail along the inside of your thigh and a shudder shoots through your entire body.

"That's it. Just how I like you — all messy and fucked out." He smirks against your skin and plants a soft kiss on your knee when you breathe out a shaky version of his name.

He releases your legs and sits up. You peer up at him through a haze, just in time to see his eyes fall to the mess between your legs. His gaze darkens and he practically growls at the sight.

You're beginning to realize Joel has no shame about being vocal — it's so unlike anyone you've ever been with before. He wants you to know how much he loves this. It's becoming painfully addictive and you know you're getting in over your head with something that was meant to be a one-time thing, yet you stubbornly continue to push that thought out of your mind.

He pulls his white t-shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your breath catches in your throat at his bare chest in the morning light, but he doesn't notice because he's kicking off his boxers and already climbing on top of you.

His hips settle between your legs and he leans down, forearms holding his weight on either side of your head, and he grins.

"Still with me?"

You giggle and wrap your arms around his torso.

"Just barely."

Joel hums and brushes his lips tenderly over your own.

"Feel good?" he asks softly. He kisses you again and it's so gentle, you feel like you're melting into the mattress.

"Mhmm," you hum. Your palms slide up his bare back, over the muscles in his broad shoulders and down his thick arms.

He drags his lips lightly over your cheek, slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Even though he must be painfully hard, he's not rushing. He wants to savor it — savor you.

You sigh and tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck. He doesn't hesitate. His mouth is instantly there, tasting your skin and sucking a small mark right under your jaw. A quiet moan falls from your lips and you feel his cock jump against your thigh.

"Greedy little thing," he chuckles when you lift your hips, searching for him to relieve the empty ache between your legs. His mouth leaves your neck and he raises his head to look down at you.

The sunlight catches him just right — the gold highlights his dark hair, dusted with bits of grey. The silver peeking out on his cheeks shines and his deep brown eyes practically glitter.

He looks so stunning that it takes your breath away.

"What?"

He sounds amused. The corner of his mouth twitches as he scans your eyes for an answer, wondering why you're looking at him all dopey.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.

It catches him off guard. His expression freezes and he blinks before he can figure out how to react. Finally, he decides on deflection.

"Must've fucked all the sense outta you, huh?" he says, but you see the bashfulness in his eye. The way his cheeks turn rosy and his gaze drops shyly.

You shake your head and trace a finger down his jaw. It gets his attention and he locks eyes with you again.

"Nope," you say softly, "still got some sense up there. I know what I see."

In retrospect, it's probably too intimate. It's too real. Too close to something far from casual.

His throat bobs and you drop your hand, letting it rest gently next to you on the pillow. You're both quiet, searching each other's faces, lost in your own thoughts. It's just a minute, maybe two, but it stretches on forever. Eventually, Joel parts his lips like he's going to say something, then thinks better of it. His eyes shift, he gives you a smirk, and you know the moment has passed.

"Let's see if we can do somethin' 'bout the rest of that sense, hm?"

And then it's like it never happened. You giggle, his hand finds your hip, and he sinks inside of you with a heavy groan. You gasp at the fullness and tilt your head back. You've had sex a handful of times by now, yet the size of him still manages to steal your breath.

"Christ, honey — so fuckin' warm," he rasps when his hips come flush with yours. You're writhing underneath him, wiggling and panting for air as your body adjusts to the heavy weight of him inside you.

You whine his name and stretch to bite at his lower lip. You're still so sensitive from the two orgasms he already gave you but somehow still desperate for more. He makes a rough sound from the back of his throat and kisses you, but this time it's not as gentle. It's hungry and messy. His tongue pushes past your lips and dances with your own, licking feverishly into your mouth while cupping the back of your head to keep you still. You whimper and grab his shoulders when he begins to move, pulling his hips back just to slowly push forward again as deep as he can manage.

He drops his weight so his body is pressed against yours and it's fucking heaven — the full weight of him on top of you, inside of you, completely encompassing you in every conceivable way. Your legs wrap around his waist and hold him close, savoring every roll of his hips and every soft grunt that spills into your mouth.

"Never felt anythin' as good as you, y'know that?"

His confession rips through you and your chest immediately swells. Your pussy flutters around him and he groans against your lips. He pulls you even closer, wraps his arms around you and begins to move a little faster.

There's hardly any air between you. Your skin sticks to his, each of you coated in a thin sheen of sweat that the small fan on his dresser can't fix.

"So fuckin'—" Joel tears his mouth away from your swollen lips and buries his face against your throat, "—so fuckin' sweet 'n soft. Drives me crazy. Got me — got me thinkin' 'bout you all the time. Almost nailed my goddamn hand to a two by four yesterday."

You wanted to admit the same — that you found yourself daydreaming about him at work or thinking about him when you were cleaning up your apartment. Even at the grocery store, you found yourself wondering if he would like a particular cereal or snack before you bought it. But it's impossible to form a coherent sentence when he's fucking you like this, deep and steady, filling you so perfectly with each and every thrust. Your whole body is electric, entirely focused on the delicious stretch of his cock, but you manage to give him a broken moan in acknowledgment.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he goads, teeth grazing the column of your throat. "Like hearin' how fucked up you got me?"

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to fuck you harder. The tip of his cock is hitting the spot that makes the heat build at the base of your spine and your stomach muscles clench. Your fingers scramble to grip his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body jolts beneath him every time he slams back into you.

"Oh, my god—"

Your voice cracks, your vision swims. He's so fucking deep and he feels so good. The solid weight of him keeps you pressed into the mattress, unable to move, and it's everything. You don't want to move. You just want to take what he gives you.

"You feel how hard you make me? Feel what you do to me?" he growls, nipping at your collarbone. His voice sounds thick and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. Yet, despite how you feel like you're drowning in him, you still manage to hear something. Something downstairs, a firm rap on the front door. A familiar voice.

Joel doesn't hear it. He's still murmuring filth into your skin. But fear seizes your entire body when the realization dawns on you and the faint sound of Joel's front door swinging open hits your ears.

"Oh, my god!" you whisper scream before clapping your hand over your mouth.

"Gonna come f'me? Go on, lemme—"

"My dad is downstairs!"

Joel instantly stops moving. You both stop breathing. Then—

"Miller? Ain't you up yet?"

Joel quickly pushes himself up and both your hands cover your face, as if it could make you disappear. Your heart is racing so fast, you're convinced it's about to burst out of your chest.

"Uh, y-yeah, just gettin' outta the shower. Be right down!" Joel yells. A moment later, he roughly pulls out of you and you stifle a yelp.

"Sorry," he whispers, stumbling out of bed in search of clothes. You yank the sheets all the way up to your nose and watch as he hurries around the room. He's sweaty, his hair is damp and his skin is flush. He looks wrecked but he's still yanking on a pair of jeans before rushing to his bathroom to wet his hair at the sink.

"Stay right here," he says quietly when he steps out of the bathroom in search of a clean shirt. His voice sounds firm, confident, but his eyes look wild. You swallow the lump in your throat, bury yourself deeper under the covers, and nod.

Joel tugs a shirt over his head and whips around to face you. "I'll get him outta here. Don't make a sound. I'll — I'll be right back."

You nod again but he must see the fear in your eyes because he sighs and leans forward to kiss your forehead.

"It's alright. I'll handle it."

Then he's gone, closing the bedroom door shut behind him.

---

"Mornin'," Joel says breathlessly when he spots your dad in his kitchen. He's at the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. When he turns to raise the mug in greeting, Joel guiltily drops his gaze.

"Thought you'd be out mowin' by now," your dad says while Joel pulls down a mug for himself. He clears his throat and takes his time pouring his coffee.

"Woke up with a headache," Joel says smoothly, "thought the shower would help."

Your dad hums and wanders over to the kitchen table. When Joel hears him sit with a loud huff, he curses softly under his breath. This was no quick visit. He was getting comfortable.

Joel crosses the room to join him but his blood runs cold when he spots something by the back door.

Your shoes. They were abandoned right where you left them after sneaking in last night. At the time, he felt so stupid meeting you at the street behind his so you could park your car out of your father's view. It felt like he was in high school all over again, sneaking a girl into his room. But now he was eternally grateful you had gone to such lengths to hide your presence — but who would have thought to hide your shoes?

"Any, uh — any big plans for today?"

Your dad shrugged and sipped his coffee. "Just yardwork. Maybe hit the hardware store. Gotta replace a drill bit."

Joel shifted his weight so he blocked your father from spotting your shoes somewhere behind him.

"Weather's s'posed to be nice. Good weekend for outdoor work."

Your dad nods and sips slowly from his coffee again. Joel tries to casually lean against the counter while still blocking your shoes, but it looks awkward. Your dad frowns.

"Why don't you sit down?"

Joel takes a long sip from his mug to buy time, mind racing for an excuse. His eyes dart around the room searching for something — anything — to distract your dad for five fucking seconds. Then his eyes land on the front window and he spots it.

"Hey, did Marty get a new truck?"

Immediately your dad is on his feet and rushing to the window. Joel whirls around, grabs your shoes from the floor, and tosses them down his basement stairs.

"No shit, I think he did," your father says from the window. Joel wanders into the living room after him, heart racing in his chest but praying he appears calm.

"Must've set him back quite a bit. Look at that chrome edging," Joel says. Your dad tuts under his breath and shakes his head.

"The hell does he need all that fancy shit for? Havin' a shiny truck don't make a damn bit of difference when you're haulin' shit. Waste of money."

Joel murmurs in agreement and turns away. His eyes drift up the stairs, to his closed bedroom door, where you waited for him — naked in his bed. He swallows tightly and looks away.

"So, hardware store? Ace or Jeff's?"

He was hoping to remind your dad that he had errands to do, that he should maybe leave so Joel can go back to fucking his daughter senseless. Instead, your father says something that knocks the wind out of him.

"Jeff's. Hey, you hear his boy is back in town? The older one — uh, the hell's his name..."

Joel shrugs and waits. Your dad silently scratches his chin, brows furrowed as he tries to recall the name. Joel's eyes dart towards the stairs again.

"Luke! That's it." Your dad snaps his fingers and smiles. "Real nice kid. He's workin' at the store now, lookin' to take over the business when Jeff hangs it up. He's 'bout my daughter's age. Good lookin' fella. Was thinkin' of bringin' her with me."

Joel's throat goes dry. He blinks slowly, like he's still processing the information.

"Take her... with you?"

Your dad nods and strolls back into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Maybe they'll hit it off. He's a good kid, good head on his shoulders. She needs someone like that."

No she doesn't, she's got me.

Joel shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. He hears your dad open the fridge and Joel rolls his eyes before begrudgingly following him into the room. On the way, his eyes dart up the stairs. Can you hear them? Maybe the fan and the open window drown out their voices.

"You, uh..."

Your dad grabs an apple from the crisper and shuts the fridge before turning to top off his coffee.

"You sure she's lookin' for somethin' like that?"

"What'dya mean?" He rubs the apple on his shirt and takes a loud bite.

Joel shrugs and crosses his arms defensively, coffee cooling and abandoned on the kitchen table.

"Just that I never heard her talk 'bout, y'know... meetin' someone." He scratches his jaw and looks outside. His grass is too long, your dad's right.

"Why would she have said somethin' 'bout that to you?"

Joel's gaze snaps up to meet your dad's.

"No, I mean, just — whenever she's 'round. Like when we were puttin' the bed together. You asked and, and she said she wasn't seein' anyone. Didn't sound like she was interested to me."

He sounds like such a fucking idiot. Joel swipes his sweaty palms over his jeans and looks around the room, avoiding your father's curious gaze.

"She's twenty-five. She ain't gonna talk to her old man 'bout that kind of shit."

Joel swallows and nods. "Yeah. Probably right."

Your dad is studying him, peering at him from across his little kitchen. His mug is on the counter, forgotten. His brows furrow and his mouth turns down a fraction.

Joel's pulse skyrockets.

He senses something.

"You don't look so good, Miller," he says slowly.

Joel drags in a deep breath.

"Yeah, must be comin' down with somethin'. What with the headache 'n all."

Your father's brow relaxes. He reaches forward to clap Joel good-naturedly on the shoulder.

"Well lemme get outta your hair, then. Rest up."

Relief floods Joel's veins when your dad turns to take a final swig of coffee. He's leaving. He doesn't suspect a thing this time, but Joel has to get it the fuck together.

When your dad goes to put his mug in the sink, he pauses. A moment later, a low devious chuckle fills the room.

"You son of a bitch."

Joel's heart leaps into his throat.

"Wh-what?"

Your father puts his mug in the sink and lifts out a wine glass with lipstick smeared on the rim.

"You're so full of shit. You ain't sick. You had a woman over last night, didn't you?"

Shit.

"Uh—"

But he immediately cut Joel off.

"It's 'bout damn time!" your dad roars, grabbing his shoulder again to give him a firm shake. He laughs and puts the glass back in the sink. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? Who's the lucky lady?"

Joel's stomach churns. He coughs awkwardly into his fist to give himself a moment to come up with a lie.

"Someone Tommy knows. You don't know her. Was a blind date."

"Looks like it went pretty fuckin' good," he teases with a huge grin. Joel forces a weak smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Yeah."

Your dad waits for Joel to elaborate. His hands are propped on his hips, big smile stretched across his face, and he waits. But Joel remains silent, unable to think of anything else to say.

He can't. He just can't do it. He can't tell your father about the night he shared with you, even if he was pretending it was someone else. And he's so paralyzed that he can't think of another lie. So instead, an uncomfortable silence stretches between the two men, where the only noise in the room comes from the ticking of the analog clock above Joel's sink.

Finally, your dad breaks. His hands fall to his sides, he laughs a little awkwardly, and points to the door.

"Alright then. Well, happy f'you," he says, stepping around Joel and heading for the front of the house. Joel turns and follows, guiltily murmurs his thanks, and holds the door open while your dad slips on his sneakers.

"I'll give my kid a call, see if she's free to come with me to Jeff's," he says, reminding Joel of his idea to set you up. Jealousy flares hot in his chest again at the thought. He rubs at it absentmindedly and nods.

"Yeah. Okay."

"Maybe we'll see you 'round later. Throw some burgers on the grill if you're up for it."

"Sounds good," Joel says, watching as your dad pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He gives Joel one more wave over his shoulder, then he's bringing his phone to his ear, walking in the direction of his house. From upstairs, Joel hears muffled movement amongst the bedding and your voice quietly answering the phone.

He quickly shuts the door and makes sure to fucking lock it this time, then hurries back up the stairs.

"Maybe tomorrow," you're saying when he opens the door. He stays quiet, listening to one half of your conversation. Your eyes meet his and you offer him a small smile. "I promised Chelsea I'd help paint her new place. She's been looking forward to it all week."

The lie falls effortlessly from your lips and Joel grins. You shift a bit, still naked in his big bed and holding his sheets to your chest. He feels a stirring below his waistband at the sight.

"Oh, yeah, uh... I think I remember him," you say hesitantly. Your face falls and you glance nervously in Joel's direction. "He was kind of a douchebag in high school. Really... immature."

Your eyes find his while you listen to your dad's response.

"I just don't think he's really my type," you reply, then deliberately drag your gaze slowly down Joel's frame. All the blood from his head rushes south when you pause and bite your lower lip. His fingers twitch at his side. Then you take a deep breath, lock eyes with him again, and say, "besides, I'm — I'm kind of interested in someone else. Ye-yeah, I don't know — uh-huh..."

You trail off and drop your gaze to the bed. You nervously chew on your nail while you listen to your dad on the other end, but Joel's already mentally miles away. His chest feels like it might burst and he's got the stupidest smile on his face. You picked him.

"Yeah, so, why don't I call you in the morning? I'll stop by, we can do something?"

You're fidgeting under the covers. He can tell you're nervous — you can't look at him now and your chest is rising and falling faster than usual. God, you're so fucking adorable.

"Okay, Dad. Well, be careful doing yard work. Go easy on your back. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

You hang up your phone, toss it somewhere on the other side of the bed, and bite back a grin when you finally muster up the courage to look at him.

"He wants to take me to the hardware store tomorrow," you say, humor lacing your voice. "Says he'll just stay home today and work outside."

"Sounds like you're stuck here with me til the sun sets then." Joel grins and pops the button on his jeans. Your eyes immediately clock the movement and your lips part excitedly.

"Sounds like it," you answer breathlessly.

Joel lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Anythin' else?"

You lick your lips and watch as his jeans slip down his legs.

"He wants— he thinks some boy I used to know would be a, uh... a good match for me, or something."

"Yeah? And what d'you think?"

Joel drops his boxers next and your mouth goes dry as you watch him fist himself. It's just slow, measured strokes while he waits for you to answer, but it still has your mouth watering. You swallow and sit up a little straighter in bed.

"I th-think it's — stupid."

Joel's mouth curls into a devilish smirk. "Hands and knees f'me, baby."

A shiver shoots down your spine. You exhale shakily, drop the sheet from your chest, and do as you're told. You roll onto your hands and knees with your back to Joel and wait with bated breath.

The mattress dips behind you and suddenly his voice is closer.

"Why's it stupid?"

His hand slides up your thigh, slowly. His palm gently caresses your ass while he patiently waits for your response.

"'C-cause," you stammer, "I'm no-not interested in him."

"No?" he asks, voice light, "Why not?"

He leans forward. The tip of his cock nudges the inside of your leg and you whine. You arch your back and rock your hips, but his hand holds you steady.

"Asked you a question, sweetheart."

His voice is so thick and deep, it has your pulse galloping in your throat. This is exactly what you love the most about being with him — he can be so soft but also knows how to take control. It's a duality that can only come from experience and age.

"Because... because I only want — you."

His hand pauses. It's quiet for a moment. You can't see his face, can't gauge his reaction, and it has your heart skipping a beat. Maybe you said too much.

Then he exhales behind you, shifts forward, and glides his hand around. His palm skirts up your side and cups your breast. He gives it a gentle squeeze before rolling your nipple between two fingers and murmuring, "That's my fuckin' girl."

Your eyes flutter closed at the praise and you gasp when he drags the head of his cock through your folds. He inhales sharply, releases your breast, and grabs your hip.

"So fuckin' wet," he murmurs in awe. You jump when the fat tip of his cock nudges at your opening. The air around you thins, your head swims, and you hold your breath.

"You ever get this wet for anyone else?"

His voice sounds different. Harder. Your arms begin to tremble and you shake your head.

"No," you whisper.

He grunts softly, a pleased sound, and begins to push inside. You gasp and your head drops between your shoulders at the stretch, reveling in the now familiar and addictive sting of being worked open on his cock.

"Fuck," he groans, feeding you a few more inches. You whimper and arch your back. "F-fuck, darlin' — so goddamn tight. How's this sweet pussy still so tight when I was just inside her twenty minutes ago?"

You can't answer. You can't formulate a single thought. The only thing you can focus on is the way he splits you open and fills you up so perfectly, every single time. But that's okay, because he's not really looking for an answer.

Your hand shoots backwards to grab his wrist when he bottoms out. Your upper half collapses onto the bed. You're gasping, shuddering, rolling your head on the mattress and making sounds that cause Joel to grind his molars to dust in order to stop himself from coming too soon.

"J-Joel," you moan. He's so fucking deep from this angle, it's making you see stars.

"'S'right," he growls, sweat already dotting his forehead again, "say my name. My name. Not some—" Joel drags his hips back until he's halfway out of you, then slams back in. You yelp in surprise and your grip on his wrist tightens. "—Not some fuckin' kid who wouldn't— wouldn't know the first thing to do wi-with you."

Your skin feels like it's on fire. The rush you get from the possessive tone in his voice coupled with the deliberate, deep thrusts he's giving you is unmatched.

Every time he sheathes himself inside you, he reaches a spot you didn't know existed. It's an indescribable feeling, the way he is able to read you and tear you apart so quickly. Your cunt flutters and sucks him in with each devastating stroke and he groans your name, kisses your spine, squeezes your hips.

You're both on your knees but he's the one worshiping at your altar.

Joel's knee nudges your legs further apart. You make a pathetic noise and sink deeper into the mattress. He folds his body over yours, glistening chest pressing against your back, and continues to snap his hips ruthlessly against your ass. He kisses up your spine, his hand drags up the side of your thigh until it comes to rest on your ass. Your jaw drops and you cry out when his palm suddenly cracks loudly across your skin, then he chuckles darkly against your shoulder.

"She's squeezin' me," he teases, pace still relentless, skin slapping loudly against skin. "She liked that. You liked that."

You moan and your eyes roll. Your hands grab uselessly at the sheets, clawing at them, desperate for something to hold onto as you succumb to his punishing pace.

He does it again and you moan his name, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. His cock swells at the sound so he spanks you one more time, just to hear it again.

"Joel," you gasp wetly, "Joel, I'm—I'm—"

His teeth sink into your shoulder. Each thrust is paired with a deep grunt that you can feel reverberating through his chest and into your back. His arms are now braced next to your head and when you crack your eyes open, you see his hands are curled into tight fists.

"Go on," he pants. His face is pressed against your back. He leaves messy open-mouthed kisses against your sweat-soaked skin. His entire body is covering you. The heat is almost too much to bear but it feels so good because it's him. "Go on, let go. Give it t'me. Lemme — lemme feel it."

And you can't hold back any longer. You do as he says and you let go with a scream. Your vision whites out and your muscles seize up underneath him, clenching around his cock like a vice.

"Oh-h, f-fuck," he moans, hips stuttering. Your body sags and you sigh with relief, but you still manage to keep your hips up in the air. Joel is panting behind you, breath skittering across your skin, moans of your name mixed with curses float through the air until his body stills. You feel his warm release flooding your cunt and you sigh again. He grunts softly, pushes into you one last time, making sure to give you every last drop, then his body collapses on top of you, pinning you to the mattress.

It's quiet then. He lays on top of you, each of you catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. His hands find yours and your fingers intertwine wordlessly. His lips leave feather light kisses across your back and a shudder rolls through your body when the fan blows cool air in your direction once again.

"You— you okay?" he breathes, voice a little raspier than before. You nod, eyes closed.

"Yeah," you sigh. His fingers tighten around yours. Then a minute later, he slowly lifts himself off you. Your eyes open and you gasp in a full breath of air now that his weight isn't crushing your lungs, then wince when he gently slides his cock from between your legs.

Before you have a chance to move, Joel rolls onto his side and pulls you with him. He tugs you into his chest, circles his arms protectively around your waist, and sighs.

Across the street, you hear your dad's radio. He's playing classic rock in his garage. The telltale squeak of the hood of his truck tells you he plans on tinkering with the engine in the driveway for the next few hours.

"What're we gonna do all day?" you murmur sleepily.

"I'm gonna make you breakfast," Joel says with a kiss to your shoulder, "and you're gonna stay right here. If I got any say, you ain't puttin' on one single piece of clothing til nighttime."

You giggle and tilt your hips back to grind against him. Joel groans and his lips glide up to your neck.

"Gotta feed you first, baby," he warns. You pout, even though you know you don't have the energy to go again anyway. "You like eggs? Pancakes?"

"I like anything you give me," you say, making him laugh softly.

"Easy to please."

You hum, he gives you one more kiss, then he pushes himself up from the mattress. You roll onto your back and watch as he pulls on his clothes from before. When he turns around and sees your bare chest on display, his breath catches in his throat.

"Feel free to — wash up. If you like," he says, hitching a thumb over his shoulder towards the bathroom. You nod, then stretch and yawn. Joel watches for a moment like he's conflicted, then drags a hand through his hair, murmurs something under his breath, and leaves. You smile to yourself when you hear pots and pans clanging downstairs.

Today feels good. Today you don't care about the consequences. Today — you're just going to enjoy the time you have together.

[mushgloomz]

joel miller with glasses

joel miller, who gives you a crooked half-smirk whenever you speak to him, looking over the rim of his glasses and muttering “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

joel miller, who absolutely pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a single index finger when they slip down - real old man style

joel miller, who chuckles to himself as you try his glasses on for the first time, squinting at you to get a better look before declaring “lookin’ real nice, sweetheart”

joel miller, who is constantly misplacing his glasses when he needs them most - you can tell when it happens even if you aren’t in the same room; the sound of him patting his jeans and the subsequent goddamnit giving you all the information you need as the sound echoes from his workshop

joel miller, who goes to remove his glasses when he kisses you for the first time before you ask him to keep them on

joel miller, who gets the faintest flush to his cheeks when he realises said kiss has caused his glasses to fog up around the bottom of the lenses. the same flush that deepens as you tenderly pluck them from his face and clean the glass with the hem of your tshirt

joel miller, who near goes into cardiac arrest when his glasses give him a crystal clear rendition of you settling between his legs under his work bench as your hands trail up his denim-clad thighs

joel miller, who is eternally grateful to the patrol group that found the abandoned opticians lab as he drinks in the sight of your soft lips wrapped around his cock - so grateful, that he keeps one hand on the back of your head to guide you, and the other on the hinge of his frames for fear of losing them (and the glorious sight before him)

joel miller, who insists on you riding him that very evening. who, for the first time, is a lot less ashamed of the maroon plastic framing his eyes as he keeps his glasses on during the act - “Christ, you’re a fuckin’ vision, baby” is all he can muster between groans, barely blinking behind the glass as he palms at the soft swell of your tits

joel miller, who’s glasses creak a little as he buries his face in the crook of your neck when he cums deep inside you; shuddered breaths making the lenses steam up yet again

joel miller, who wakes up in the morning, swats at his bedside table and soon realises that instead of being on the nightstand, his glasses are in your grasps, being meticulously cleaned with a scrap of material - the same man who falls a little more in love with you when you admit that you’ve been doing it every morning for him before he wakes up

that’s all

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel make a mess of things—again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie. Age gap. Breeding kink. Period mishap / mentions of blood (!) Eepy Joel is eepy but always down to hit it raw 🤝 Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—for complete content warnings, please read this post!

Word count: 11.5k

Things changed.

You woke up snug in someone’s arms and didn’t move.

You couldn’t blame the warmth or the comfort of the bed—yours was a Twin XL, and your sheets were all tangled through your limbs in crude, haphazard fashion—for why you had. You just did. Like breathing, the decision not to leave this time around was as reflexive as it was freeing.

You buried your nose in an old, familiar neck and inhaled.

Joel.

Don’t go.

Please don’t go.

That voice was childlike and selfish: Don’t leave me here.

For once, you weren’t the one pushing him away; you were begging him to stay and let the scent of him linger on a little while longer in this too-small bed, in this too-cramped dorm, on this too-cold campus in a town over two thousand miles away from the one you called home.

He’d already spent every minute of the weekend here—Parents’ Weekend, of all things. After the initial shock and consternation of his surprise visit wore off and you’d finally had The Talk about what this thing between you was, you’d accepted that Joel loved you. You accepted that you loved him back. And not a second had passed since the end of that night where you didn’t want to be by his side. It hurt to think he’d be leaving you so soon, so of course, he’d offered to extend his stay to Monday.

The motel Joel had booked wouldn’t let him add an extra night, though, so that was how you ended up here: in the confines of your altogether new-and-nice-but-ridiculously-tiny dorm room that you shared with your roommate. Lucky for you, Aly had slept over at a friend’s. Unlucky for Joel, the only bed you had to offer him might as well have been built for a nine-year-old—his hulking frame nearly swallowed the whole thing, and his weight all but toppled the mattress off its risers. You’d only laughed your ass off a little when you saw it happen.

“Me and my old back need Tempur-Pedic, sweetheart,” he’d grumbled in your hair before drifting off to sleep.

“Tempur-Peepaw,” you’d murmured back, and could’ve sworn you felt his grip tighten while you nodded off too.

Now, your gaze was darting to the only source of light in the room—a digital clock between your bed and Aly’s.

5:11 A.M.

Why the fuck were you awake?

Your stomach hurt. Your head ached. You could’ve easily attributed both to the heaping plates of seafood you’d downed with Joel, Aly, and her family the night before. Dallas had picked the last place you went out to eat, and of course, his choice was fucked. While he swore up and down that this was the spot for him and his friends, the rest of you were wary of how hygienic the restaurant’s practices were. You all had felt a little queasy afterward.

But no, this wasn’t nausea you were feeling right now. It was worse, almost. There was a churning in your gut, an airiness in your head, and a searing warmth between your legs, too hot for even your box fan to combat.

You swallowed hard and stared into the darkness.

Were you…

No, no you were not.

No way were you horny at 5 AM.

But you most definitely were.

You hated yourself for it.

You kicked your foot in that muted self-loathing and huffed—you couldn’t move much else with Joel’s body blanketing yours. But you stirred what you could. It wasn’t fucking fair. You knew yourself, and you knew your body, and you would bet a million bucks that this feeling wouldn’t ebb until you’d thoroughly fucked yourself or someone else to a toe-curling, earth-shattering climax. In the next fifteen minutes.

Joel was fast asleep.

Your hands were currently plastered to your sides under the weight of one of the man’s big, tanned, hairy arms, and you didn’t have a hope of moving it more than an inch without waking him. Your gut twisted in despair.

I. WANT. TO. FUCK.

“Shut up,” you silently chided the fiend between your two shaking, slick thighs. And—oh fuck, were they wet.

This was like your own personal hell, not having access to the release you so desperately needed. Not having Joel to roll over with a knowing, crooked grin and a ‘Missin’ me already, honey?’ before a hand dove under the waistband of his boxers to retrieve what you wanted.

No, he needed to sleep.

He had a two-day drive back to Texas, and it would be unspeakably selfish for you to ask for dick right now.

But you needed reprieve from this awful feeling.

You’d rub your legs together. Dull the ache. Take a worn edge of your comforter and hump the thing like the world was ending today. That wouldn’t be weird.

It also wouldn’t be possible, you learned within minutes.

Try as you might to grind your hips and your desperate cunt through cotton without disturbing the man beside you, you quickly realized that the effort was fruitless: you couldn’t make a single seesaw motion back-and-forth without shaking the whole fucking bed. The old thing creaked and screamed worse than the one in the motel.

While need blossomed in your belly and your head swam with unsated desire, your mind hummed with new ideas.

Stupid ideas.

You shifted in place. Joel grunted and hugged you closer. Ordinarily, your heart would’ve melted at the gesture, but in your present bearings, with these pressing urges, you wanted nothing more than to push it straight off. The thought was slowly taking shape in your mind’s eye that maybe you could pull this off—perhaps you could get off without Joel’s noticing if you just…slid down.

If you slunk under his bicep and ever-so delicately pulled your right arm out from underneath his ribs, if you got his leg to stop draping so heavily over your thigh, you could slide down further. Try not to jostle him much.

It was doable.

With the right maneuvering, you could sneak off the bed.

Pleasure beckoned. Success was well within reach when you scooted your butt down the mattress and past the python-grip of Joel’s upper body. Before you knew it, your ass was gliding down, down, down, and then your torso was twisting, your knees shakily planting themselves closer to the foot of the bed. You sat up.

And as soon as you did, the first thing that greeted you through the darkened room was a wide, toothy grin.

“Climb on then, cowgirl,” came Joel’s gravelly invitation.

In the otherwise biting chill of the room, you felt your cheeks burn a hundred degrees. Your stomach flipped.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” you hissed back.

Those words were followed by a little smack to his arm. Joel took the hit in stride and simply stretched both hands behind his head on the pillow, eyeing you lazily.

“I was. ‘Til you started humpin’ my leg like a dog.”

“I did not.”

Your nostrils flared, and your words nearly rose to a whisper-scream. You still couldn’t make out Joel’s expression in the dark but sensed that it was smug.

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Baby, this was what the bed just felt like.”

To illustrate his point, Joel rocked his hips the tiniest bit. With the force of two thrusts, the whole frame screeched like a banshee. It seemed you’d been too horny to hear it.

“That’s not—” you started, voice tight.

“Just admit it. You needed to cum.”

He might as well have stuck his tongue out after.

You would’ve been irked beyond words if you’d had half a mind to channel the feeling. As it was, though, your brain was fried off a fucking need like no other, and your limbs were driven on pure impulse. You couldn’t be bothered to carry on this petty fight with your peri-geriatric partner right now; you needed release. So, hanging your head in shame for no longer than a moment, and working your panties down your legs while you did, you finally nodded.

The movement was slight. You’d only tipped your chin up once before those instinct-driven limbs were clambering quick to straddle Joel’s lap. He was lying supine on the bed, but you couldn’t see much else. You felt his smile stretch bigger as you lowered yourself onto him, though.

He was tired, you could tell. You normally weren’t one to rebuff an offer to have Joel inside you, no matter the hour, but this felt greedier than usual. You felt needy.

Which was why you didn’t immediately reach for the bulge in his boxers when you’d first mounted him.

Instead, you reached to touch yourself.

You were soaked as you’d ever been.

“I— I can get myself off in a minute,” you found yourself stammering out the second your index and middle fingers connected with your wet, throbbing clit.

And it was true. The sensations you felt were so sharp they almost stung, with sparks igniting across your lower half in just one brush against that pulsing bud. You’d scarcely completed one circuit with your fingers when Joel’s hands were gliding up to find your hips, grip firm.

He swiftly adjusted your seat. Made you rub him harder.

Amusement tinged his voice while he mumbled, low:

“Only place you’re gettin’ off is my cock, got that?”

You hated how quickly you nodded in response.

Okay. He was letting you be selfish. He wanted to help quell your thirst, no matter how early it was or how long of a drive he had. That realization only made you wetter.

You were practically dripping between the legs when Joel slid his boxers down and let his cock spring free.

You knew what to do. You didn’t need his assistance, but still, ever the caretaker, Joel palmed your backside with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He guided your heat to his tip, and in the dim, dull gloom of your dorm room, you could feel him watching. What his eyes couldn’t see his mouth elucidated in words.

“You ready for me, baby?”

He nudged just the head between your weeping folds and let you take the lead. You whimpered. “Yes, daddy.”

Desperate as you were, you didn’t wait for the right moment to move. You didn’t bother readying yourself, because you already knew what you needed. You sank down, and your walls parted without protest. You took him in and gripped him tight and all but choked Joel’s length with the soft, hot, and needy clutch of your body.

“Fuck, honey—”

“Feels so good,” you panted, lips parting as he filled you. You rolled your hips and whimpered again. “So— oh—.”

Your words split on a shriek. You hadn’t even meant to let it out, but the stretch of Joel’s girth felt unusually tough. It almost hurt. But, rather than shy away, you leaned into it. You braced your knees and bore down harder, relishing the sting of his throbbing cock as you slid up and then collapsed again. Pleasure surged through your veins.

The bed groaned and creaked. Your motions didn’t slow. Joel grunted, feeling you clench again, and in an effort to curtail his own need, evidently, starting kneading at the flesh of your thighs. He moved them inward, touch soft.

“Hon,” he breathed, tone just as gentle, “you’re soaked.”

You were restless, too. You anchored your knees a little deeper and leaned back, allowing Joel access to the space between your thighs that was sticky-wet with residue. He swept his fingers through your nectar and thumbed at your clit. You whined with hypersensitivity.

You felt delicate everywhere. Joel was so big inside you, stretching your most precious, sensitive parts and making room for himself. He was throbbing. Leaking. Reaching up and smearing your own wetness across your face while a grin no doubt spread across his own—‘There’s a good girl. Ride my cock. Take what you need, baby’—and you could tell he was just as invested in your pleasure as you were, if not more. He relished whatever remnants of your arousal he could find and praised you with it. You wished you could see him while he did it all.

If light wouldn’t allow you that view, you would take matters into your own hands, you quickly decided. Prying your lower half off of Joel with a grunt and a sigh, you squeezed his legs. You patted his thighs, gently.

“Need you closer,” you mumbled. Your hands slid up his front, and you smiled when you felt him snag your wrists.

Joel pulled you up. Kissed your palms. Kissed your cheeks. Drew you into his lips and, at the same time, flipped you over so that he was on top. His shaft was slippery as it bumped and rubbed between your folds, and you couldn’t help but let out a moan into his mouth.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he said, panting.

In answer, you took the base of his cock in one hand and guided it closer to your center. Joel rutted his hips, and his length pushed up—it glided across your lower belly, smearing the plane of skin with your combined fluids.

He was teasing you. Canting his hips as if fucking someplace deep in your cunt. Biting back a laugh.

“You dick,” you breathed out, both a warning and a momentary reprieve from the severity of wanting.

You gripped his cheek with the same hand that had just held his length and drew him closer to your face. You kissed him and wrapped your legs around his hips, knowing the effect it would have. Joel grunted.

And, though you knew it would amuse him to no end to have you begging for his cock, you also guessed that he wasn’t quite as resilient as he made himself out to be. He couldn’t keep grinning forever—the second your legs nudged him back and the tip of his dick notched in, again, he moaned in pleasure. It ended in a whimper.

Joel was just as fucked-out and desperate as you.

You couldn’t see his full expression, but you could sense it would show he was right on the brink, same as you.

You kissed him deeply. You let his length glide back inside your needy cunt, squeezing every inch of the way.

“Gonna cum for daddy now? Make a mess of this cock?”

In a breath, you could tell he was already there. His balls began slapping rhythmically against your ass, and his stomach muscles clenched. Tufts of grey and black in that thatch of wiry hair at his base kept rubbing your mound, prompting you to squirm and beg for more.

“I-I’m close, Joel,” you told him. Your toes curled.

The bed frame all but shrieked beneath the weight of your body and his, now that Joel was on top and delivering thrusts hard and fast. You braced yourself.

If the bed broke, it broke. You’d gladly pay to have it fixed. Explaining the unusual charge on your student account to your dad was a separate question, though.

“Fuck,” you keened, just as a stroke to your most sensitive spot inside had stars flashing before your eyes.

“Right there,” Joel grunted, going again. “Just like that.”

His forearms bracketed your head, and his face was close. His thrusts were relentless. The little tendril of pleasure coiling up through your gut was just then beginning to take root—two more thrusts and it felt fit to burst. Your arms wound around the back of his neck, and your breaths sped up while Joel kept plunging in and out

In and out.

In and out.

“Gonna let me cum inside?” Joel grit through his teeth.

You nodded, braindead as you’d ever felt before.

“Gonna let me breed this pretty little cunt?”

Oh, fuck.

You came. You didn’t have a say in the matter. It simply swelled and flowed and expelled like a water’s stream, coating the front of Joel’s stomach and your own as well. Your eyes rolled, stomach clenched, walls pulsed and squeezed and flooded your whole body with pleasure.

At the tail end of the sensation, and only dimly grazing your present cognition, you felt his spend unload in ropes. They painted your insides and sent your head spinning, half-feral with the idea of him marking you in this risky, forbidden way. You wanted him spurting so far up your body you could taste him in your mouth. Your hips rolled one more time and your lips brushed with his.

“I— I love you. Fuck, I fucking love you,” Joel groaned.

His cum continued to pulse out from his tip.

“I love you, too,” you panted back.

When Joel collapsed, you feared the bed might split right down the middle with the force of it. Dizzy with pleasure, bliss, and more love than you thought was possible for just one person, you didn’t worry for long. You stroked the back of Joel’s head, silently thanked the bed frame for lasting as long as it had, and inhaled the man’s scent.

It was gonna hurt like a motherfucker when he left.

You weren’t going to think about that now.

Instead, you locked your legs tight around his hips and held him as close as you could. The head of his cock nudged somewhere deep inside you, and his face tilted sideways. Joel nuzzled your cheek. He kissed it softly.

“You alright, honey?” he checked in.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It wasn’t a total lie.

You felt as content as you could be laying between the soaked sheets of your bed with Joel draped overtop. For several minutes, you did just that: laid back and emptied your head of any thoughts of leaving. You hugged him. Buried your face in the crook of his neck and sighed.

Alright, get up.

Go to the bathroom.

It’s 6 AM and you’re about to cry.

Attempting to get out from under Joel and off the bed proved futile—you would’ve had better luck punching a hole through a brick wall—but luckily, he eased up. He let you stand from the bed once he decided he’d doled out a sufficient number of kisses, then you rose on shaky legs.

You flicked on the light. You rubbed your too-tired eyes.

And just as you were about to scour the floor for some clothes and get ready to head outside, you heard a strangled sort of noise from the bed. You paused.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, honey…”

You turned.

FUCK.

Your bed looked like a crime scene. Joel was trying to sit up, though it seemed he wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands, as half the fucking mattress and sheets were all but soaked through with blood. Your stomach turned.

No. No. Your period wasn’t due for another two days. You hadn’t been caught off guard with a bloody mess like this in years. And in front of Joel? All over Joel, from his groin to his chest to his neck to his chin—you’d been touching him a lot in the dark—and now he was looking on at you in muted horror? You didn’t want to know what you looked like. You wanted to hurl yourself out of the window, if it meant you didn’t have to face the repercussions of this. Joel must be disgusted.

“I am…so sorry.” Your words came out mostly muffled through your fingers. Your hands shielded your face.

Before you could think, you were stumbling toward the sink. Your eyes were burning. He’s leaving. He’s leaving now, in an hour or two, and the last thing he’ll have to remember you by is your menstrual blood on his dick.

Just shoot me.

Make it quick.

���Sweetheart?”

Again, Joel’s voice was soft as he approached from behind. You had a hand towel thrust under a spray of water that was slowly going warm, and your bottom lip was clamped between your teeth. Your fingers trembled.

“Baby…” He said it like a harsher-spoken word might fairly split you in two. That only made you feel worse.

You still weren’t thinking completely straight when you yanked the towel out, wrung it once, and then turned to Joel, almost smacking him in the belly with it as you did.

Scrubbing his blood-smeared tummy seemed like the most logical course of action to take in the moment, so that was what you did. It was just that small matter of having your hands shaking so much you could hardly hold the towel that made it tricky. And Joel’s own warm, callused touch closing in over your fingers, squeezing.

“Hey, look at me,” he urged you gently. You wouldn’t, or couldn’t, so he tilted your chin up to his to make you meet his gaze and momentarily halt your motions.

His eyes were far too soft for a man drenched in blood and preparing to take a thirty-hour road trip that day.

The smile was too sweet for someone leaving you here.

“This is so embarrassing,” you blurted out, heart clenching. “I’ve— it’s never happened…like that.”

With a man, yes. On the person you love, even more so.

You were about to try and start scrubbing the blood again, wanting to rid yourself and him of this mess, when Joel’s smile stretched wider. It seemed almost like a grin.

“Honey, you’re fine,” he said, reassuring. Pressing at your wrist again. “It’s just a little blood. We can rinse off in the shower. Wash the sheets. No need to be embarrassed.”

Easier said than done.

Your brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

The man in front of you took the towel from you then. He tossed the rag in the sink and cupped your likely-blood-smeared cheeks in his hands before meeting your gaze. His palms were warm. His eyes, as usual, were soft. Kind.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly.

With words like those and a look as serious as his, you couldn’t help but relent. Your muscles relaxed. In the glance you stole toward your floor-length mirror, you might’ve caught a glimpse of your own tousled, bloodied exterior for a second, but that memory didn’t last long.

Joel was reaching for a bigger towel. Wrapping you up. Grabbing another for himself and then nudging you over to the door, where you knew you’d need to sneak out and down the hallway to make it to the communal bathroom. Silently, you cursed yourself for opting to live on-campus that year, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Behind you, Joel secured a bright pink, polka-dotted towel around his hips and tried not to smirk.

“Never thought I’d be doin’ this again,” he murmured.

You shot him a look over your shoulder.

“Sneak out of any other girls’ dorms lately, Miller?”

Joel eyed you right back, undaunted.

“Yeah. About a decade before you were born.”

And neither one of you possessed the sense to control it: you had to laugh, and Joel had to elbow you playfully and tell you to respect your fuckin’ elders, kid, and your amusement only grew as you approached the door. His arm hooked around your neck before pulling your back against his chest. Your giggles turned to squeals as he nipped the skin just below your ear and kissed you in a manner more akin to tickling. You begged him to quit, but the grin on your face said you wanted it. Joel gripped the doorknob in his free hand and was about to pull it back, when the thing jumped forward, at you both.

The door opened, and light from the hallway poured in.

“Wh- oh! Hey. Woah. Hey.”

Dallas Ingram’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but a smile was as quick to form. He eyed you both—up and down.

And almost as swift as his smirk was to appear:

“Gettin’ busy, huh?”

You stared back slack-jawed, covered in blood, and frankly wanting to die a little bit as your roommate’s brother looked on with the biggest, dumbest grin.

Evidently, your undercover skills needed some work.

Despite your best efforts all weekend, Dallas had come to learn that you and Joel weren’t actually stepdaughter and stepfather by the end of breakfast early Saturday morning, and it wasn’t because his sister had snitched. He’d seen Joel smack your ass en route to the bathroom in the dining hall and swiftly surmised that there was more to the story than either one of you were letting on.

He hadn’t been shocked to find you and Joel in your dorm that morning after Aly had asked him to stop by and pick up her gym bag, but he had seemed relatively intrigued by the blood. He’d asked if you and Joel had been fighting or fucking—or both—and you’d rolled your eyes so hard they’d nearly hit the back of your skull. Joel had looked like he either wanted to deck the kid or laugh with him. You suspected by the smirk that ensued it was probably the latter. His face had still flushed a little bit.

Now you were showered, dressed, decently groomed, equipped with enough tampons and pads to supply a city, and perched in the passenger seat of Joel’s Bronco.

“Take a left in half a mile. Onto Kirkland,” you dictated.

Joel squinted to see your phone screen.

“That ain’t right,” he replied.

He made a pass for the phone. You pulled it out of reach.

“I know where I’m going, Joel,” you said, directing his gaze back to the road. “I’m here every other weekend.”

“I’ve been here, too. You go straight on Prescott, take a right by the bank, keep going past the food trucks—”

“No, no, this is Putnam. You’ve got it all fucked up.”

You pointed out a street sign as if to say, ‘See?’

“That ain’t the same one we saw comin’ in.”

“It is. Open your eyes and maybe we’d—”

“My vision’s just fine, kid. Seriously—”

“Seriously? We’ve been circling!”

“It’s called finding the right—”

“—HERE, RIGHT HERE—”

“That ain’t th—”

“Miller!”

The Bronco barreled right past Kirkland Street, along with the diner the two of you had been trying to find for the last twenty minutes. Every time the navigation on your phone had directed you one step closer to the spot, Joel had insisted that his memory served him better.

It hadn’t.

You missed your turn for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, and you were one wide, jerky U-turn away from just throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle. That was how bad Joel’s navigational skills and your level of frustration were at the moment. Add to that a stabbing pain in your stomach and you were truly ready to jump.

Joel cut the wheel and headed back in that direction.

“‘M’sorry,” he said. He glanced your way, where your knees were pulling up to your chest on a particularly tough cramp, and he reached for you. Squeezed your leg. “I’m sorry. That was on me. I should’ve…listened to you.”

“No shit.”

You winced—in pain and in shame for sounding so mean.

“I mean,” you returned, quickly recovering yourself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

Watching Joel’s side profile, you saw his lips twitch.

“‘S’alright. I like you feisty.”

You bit your tongue.

Sure, he did.

You were just then pulling into the parking lot of your favorite brunch spot in town, and the air outside was cold. The tips of your toes still prickled at the memory of a crisp, frigid trek from your residence hall to the car, and for a moment, you dreaded going inside to eat at all. You wished your body had timed its monthly implosion a little better and your last hour with Joel wasn’t spent in half-agony and agitation, but that was life, you reckoned. With a resigned sigh, you reached for the door handle.

Your boots were back on the floor and about to heave your body out when Joel stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait here,” he murmured.

He motioned for you to stay.

You turned to ask why; the driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Through the windshield, you saw his broad, hunched form round the front of the car. He paused a moment to draw his jacket tighter about himself, and shortly sidled up and swung your door open.

He offered his hand to help you out of the Bronco.

Then, to your surprise, he retracted it even faster.

His eyes had just landed somewhere inside and flashed with recognition, as if remembering something big. Joel reached in, past you, mumbling softly—‘Shit, I meant to give you these earlier. Forgot I even bought ‘em’—and he looked contrite. He opened the glove compartment and tugged out a box. Before you could try and ask what it was, Joel had its contents out. He stepped closer, casting a quick look over his shoulder and frowning.

“Here, why don’t you scoot over? I’m gettin’ you cold.”

He gestured to the wind overhead and moved in nearer like he meant to climb in. You slid across the bucket seat, not entirely sure of what he intended to do, but let him shut the door after himself again and go in all the same.

Shortly, Joel held up what looked to be a heating pad.

His gaze flitted to your stomach, and he nodded once.

“When I first got here you mentioned you were expectin’ your— your, uh…time of the month soon, so I went out and got these. Forgot I bought the pack of ‘em. ‘M’sorry.”

Joel’s frown grew, as if chastising himself. You blinked.

“If you just lift your shirt a bit…maybe tuck it right—” He pinched a belt loop to tug the denim out from your waist. “—under the band here. I don’t know if it’ll stick, but—”

His words trailed off in your mind—you’d caught a glimpse of what was stuffed in the glove box along with the heating pads, and you saw a trove of other items: Advil, chocolate, your favorite trail mix, saltines, jerky, fucking chamomile tea, like he knew exactly what you needed. All because you’d said in passing—actually, right before you’d begged him to finish inside you Friday night—that you were going to be starting your period soon.

And you’d just chewed the poor guy out for his driving.

You blinked some more, not saying a word because you didn’t know what else to tell him, and your throat ached.

Thank you for being sweet.

Sorry I’m so damn mean.

Please don’t leave me.

Slow, steady breaths warmed your cheeks, and a hand tugged your shirt up. Another touch smoothed the heating pad over your belly. Joel wriggled your waistband a second, trying to fit the thing snug underneath it, and all the while, you said nothing.

“I had to text my brother. That’s how clueless I was.”

Joel breathed a laugh. It was soft and sheepish. In contrast to how taciturn you were, he couldn’t seem to keep quiet—like filling the silence with words might make him feel less nervous or awkward about this.

“He’s been seeing this girl, Maria. Well, Tommy’s always been better’n me—much better, I’d say—with, y’know, bein’ in touch with his feminine side, I guess. He’s had more girls than me, friends and girlfriends alike. Anyway, I just needed all the help I could get buyin’ this stuff, and he and Maria gave me advice on what to do. I hope it—”

“Miller,” you cut in.

“Yeah?”

Your breath hitched.

“Have you ever…had a girlfriend?”

The words tumbled out before you could rein them in. Joel had just finished pressing the heating pad flat across your stomach and was pulling your shirt back down when his gaze jumped to yours. For several seconds, it was his turn to be silent, staring at you.

Your insides burned like you’d doused them in kerosene.

“I haven’t…really…” he started again, speaking slow.

Why the fuck were you doing this? Why now?

“Would you…want me to be your girlfriend?”

For whatever reason, your voice cracked.

You hated the sound of that with everything in you, but it was too late to stop the surge of word vomit coming out.

“Even if I’m…mean, and I’m needy, and I— I— I can’t—”

“Sweetheart.” Joel’s expression visibly softened.

“And I can’t show love like a normal person should. I don’t…know how to be good like that. Or receptive to affection. And just knowing that pisses me off so m—”

“You aren’t.”

“What?”

“Mean.”

“Wh—”

“Or needy.”

Joel’s gaze skated from your eyes to your lips, and in a fraction of a second, you could see something threaten to tempt his own. He looked back up instead, smoothed your hair out of your face, and then cupped your cheek.

“Kinda thought you already were my girlfriend, honey.”

It sounded like a confession and a stunt, almost—how could the man be so assured when a reality like that scarcely seemed plausible to you? He was fighting a smile as if he knew something you didn’t. He had to.

“And I love you, you know that?” He said it gently.

You blinked.

You still weren’t used to hearing it.

“You do?” Your voice was small for some reason.

For some reason, it was like you were a child all over again, wishing your father would reach out and hug you sometimes. Approaching adolescence and missing your mother. You’d never felt it, much less heard it from the mouth of someone else in a way that seemed weightless. Joel said it like loving you was as easy as drawing breath.

Then he said it again:

“I love you, sweetheart.”

You said it back, and meant it.

You said it another time while strolling hand-in-hand into the diner. Felt it rumble through Joel’s chest when you took your spot beside him in a booth by the window. Heard it in his tone. Sensed it with his looks. Tasted it on his lips, if only for the briefest of moments while you sat and picked out breakfast together. Your knuckles brushed and your shoulders bumped with damn near every other bite of the meal, but neither of you minded. There was comfort and security in every touch. There was home, and then there was Joel—even though Austin would stay 2,000 miles away as long as you stayed here, he was all you needed to feel safe and content right now.

You didn’t want him to leave.

Back on campus, standing in the parking lot behind the dorms, you told him as much. You hadn’t cared how sad or desperate it made you seem—you were those things—and when Joel hugged you tight, you didn’t regret saying it. He held you close and kissed the crown of your head.

And when it was time for him to leave, you could tell he couldn’t help himself when he leaned down even lower, lips grazing the shell of your ear. Grinning. You felt him.

You heard the words he’d murmured but almost couldn’t believe what he said when he’d said it. You’d discussed it some over eggs and cheesy grits that morning, but still.

It was scary.

Unsettling.

Maybe exactly what you needed, judging by that smile on his face when he finally leaned back and pulled away.

“Just…think about it, OK?” he said, tone encouraging, “We can take this as slow or as fast as you wanna go.”

You nodded that you would.

You knew this could wait.

But still, as you headed back inside and waved the Bronco off for another long spell of time apart—your boyfriend was going home, and taking a piece of you with him—your muscles tensed. Your stomach stirred with uncertainty just shy of a pain, and it wasn’t your cramps that you could reasonably blame this on now.

Your steps were slower; your legs were leaden. The impression of Joel’s last words were still fresh in your mind, and though the prospect was thrilling in some ways, in others it chilled you to your core. While you walked, his words echoed again and again and again:

“I’m ready to tell your dad whenever you are.”

Time passed, and the days wore on.

One minute he’d had you wrapped in his arms, and now you were gone. Every day. It felt like a weight, though nothing, no one, was there, and Joel found himself loathing it more and more with each passing day.

He called your phone more often than he should.

Without a doubt, you had a busy life in college. Finals were drawing close on the horizon, you had at least five different projects and essays and whatever the hell else those fuckass professors decided assigning last minute, and Joel wasn’t too much of a jealous man, but he also craved your time. Your touch. Your voice. When distance deprived him of your presence, he sought any means to be with you, even if it meant looking lame and pathetic.

He was.

He worked evenings. Whenever he saw your name pop up on his phone screen, he’d walk out on just about any task he had and take your call. He kept the old device in his breast pocket just so he could feel you when you did.

Joel Miller was in way too fucking deep, and he knew it.

So, in an effort to curb the fixation, he took to housework during the day. Real, manual labor. It wasn’t for his own home but his granddad’s, and it had been something he’d promised to do for years—him and Tommy both.

The old man had been gone for over a decade now, but the home had stayed in the family. It was in a constant state of disrepair, rarely saw a hint of human life outside of the occasional visit from either brother just to ‘go and check the place out,’ but he and Tommy knew they’d have to do something about it soon. Inspiration just hadn’t struck for what that ‘something’ might be.

Today he was cutting grass. Cleaning out gutters. Pulling weeds—lots and lots of weeds, the sheer mass of which he hadn’t been able to fathom at first glance of the yard.

And he felt a little guilty for just how bad he’d let this place get over the years. The fact that it had taken him an all-out infatuation with a girl he couldn’t get his head or heart off of just to haul his ass over here and work.

Something rustled in the bushes. Joel groaned.

And just as he was about to cup his hands around his mouth and shout, ‘GET THE HELL OFF’A MY PROPERTY!’ you called. He picked right up.

But he couldn’t help the huff in his voice on ‘Hello?’

“Everything alright?” You sounded confused.

“‘M’fine. Just tired of fighting this beast.”

“Beast! What beast?”

“This fuckin’ rat.”

He heard you pause, as if trying to recall when the last time you’d seen a rat yourself, and then you laughed.

Joel momentarily brightened at the sound of it.

“Yeah? Is my big, strong man scared of Stuart Little?”

And then his frown was back. He nearly rolled his eyes.

“I am not,” he returned in protest. He stalked over to the bushes where the sounds had just come from, and he shook a few errant branches. Hard. “Go on, get out!”

“Alright, I’ll go.”

Joel could hear your chuckle through the line. He didn’t need to see your face to know it had broken into a grin.

“Funny. Y’ever consider bein’ a comedian, sweetheart?”

“I’ve toyed with the idea. Now what the hell have you got going on with a rodent on your granddad’s property?”

“It ain’t a rodent.”

Another pause.

“Well, what’s—”

Joel didn’t hear the rest. He’d just shook the bush as hard as he could, and out flew the beast he’d been after. It scrambled on its paws and hightailed it across the yard

“AND STAY OUT!” he yelled after it.

Now you were invested. Your stifled giggling had turned to queries—‘What the fuck are you doing, Miller? What is it?!’—and Joel scarcely had the energy to answer. His back hurt. Hell, it ached. And his knees weren’t doing so hot either. At length, he turned to face wherever that damn critter had gotten off to, and he squinted out into the mid-afternoon sun. It was cold, but his efforts had worn him out. Warmed him up. He’d broken a sweat.

“It’s just…a dog,” he heaved at last.

A little gasp sounded through the phone.

“A puppy?!” you squealed. “Joel, you bastard!”

Joel scowled. He wished you could see it.

“Why am I a bastard? She’s trespassin’.”

“It’s a goddamn dog, Miller! C’mon.”

The man wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Yes, it was a dog. A yellow blond beast of a thing that tore out and around the farmlands like he owned every acre of it and shit exclusively in his backyard. He’d stomped through four big, soggy gifts of this kind in the last week alone. He was sick of the thing, and determined to find out who she belonged to.

“Is she OK?”

Your voice was soft. Joel had to do a double take.

“OK? ‘Course she’s OK, she’s got a big, pretty yard to drop shits in, a loud and yappy bark to wake the whole—”

“Food, I mean. Has she eaten? Is she coming back?”

Now Joel really had to take a beat. Were you sympathizing with the beast he so despised?

He put a hand on his hip. He winced, instantly, feeling a strain in his back the size of Texas itself. He slowly lowered the hand and started off to the house.

“I don’t think you’re hearin’ me. This creature is ruining my property. My grandfather’s property—just soilin’ it.”

“Because you and your brother have done such a bang-up job of keeping that place fit for human habitation.”

“Hey,” Joel huffed, “I’m tryin’. Been here all week.”

“I know.” You took a second yourself. Probably smiled. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re out there to fix it up.”

Then, before he could reply, you were jumping back in:

“So, what are you thinking of naming her?”

By now, Joel was approaching the back porch. The toe of one boot had just struck the bottom step, all molded, old, and rotten straight down to the tufts of grass below. He halted in place and shifted his phone to the other ear.

He frowned deeply.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I naming her’?”

“All that screamin’ and hollerin’ you’re bound to do while you try and evict this poor thing from your property. Might as well give her a name if you’re gonna yell.”

“You yell at me plenty and rarely use my name.”

“That’s not true. I do use your name.”

“‘Dickhead’ doesn’t count.”

He was walking up the steps now. Hearing them groan and creak beneath the weight of his body and hoping the porch wouldn’t split in two before he reached the door.

“I’m serious, Miller,” you continued, unfazed. “Give her a name. Leave out some treats. Let her get comfortable enough to where you can check her collar, or else pick her up and take her to the shelter. See if she’s chipped.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that most dogs out here didn’t have little luxuries like microchipping, and the odds of finding this thing’s owner that way were slim to none, but he also just wanted to say something sweet. Ease your mind before changing the topic to more important things—like when you planned on coming home and how he could persuade you to make it a day or ten sooner. He heard the screen door slam shut behind him, and he was heading straight for the sofa. He sighed.

“Alright, sweet pea. Why don’t you think of some names for me, and I’ll start asking around the neighborhood if anyone knows whose she is. How does that sound?”

“I’ll need to meet her first,” you answered shortly.

“What?”

Joel dropped to the couch and kicked off his shoes. On the other end of the line, he heard shuffling, like you were preparing to relax a bit yourself. You cleared your throat.

“Yeah. Can’t fairly name a dog I haven’t even seen.”

“I’ll send you a picture if I catch the little shit.”

“Nope. Gotta be in person. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. And we ain’t keepin’ her.”

“We’ll see about that, dickhead.”

“Honey.”

That last word was both a term of endearment and a warning—‘We are not, under any circumstances adopting this dog.’ For some reason, as he said it, the protest already seemed futile on his lips. Like you weren’t hearing a syllable of what he was saying.

“Okaaaaay.”

“Sweetheart.”

Another warning. Another beat of silence.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his grip.

For a second, he was confused. Who the fuck would be texting him other than you? His brother and friends were all serial phone call fanatics—too Boomer-adjacent to use texts as a common form of communication. He pulled his phone from his face and put you on speaker. He swiped his thumb down to snag his new notification.

And nearly choked on the spit in his mouth.

You’d texted him. He’d opened it.

Attached to the message you sent were several different pictures of you, all in various states of undress. They were taken seconds ago, if Joel had had to guess.

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

His cock was already hardening in his jeans. He could hear you stifle a laugh across the line but didn’t care.

“Weird name for a dog, but I’ll take it,” you said.

Mutts were the furthest thing from his mind.

He wasn’t shy to tell you as much as his hand slid down to the button and zip of his pants and undid them both.

“Put on the…the…Face…book,” he muttered, low.

“The what now, Joel?” you cackled back.

“The Face-whatever. Video call. Wanna see your face.”

“FaceTime, Miller. FaceTime.” You were teasing now.

You should’ve known damn well a man as old as him wouldn’t know what the fuck a FaceTime was, but you poked fun anyway. Joel reminded himself to make you pay for that later, and then took his cock in his hand.

He let go to spit in his palm. He grabbed it again.

“Put those pretty tits on FaceTime or I’m tellin’ your old man all the sick, depraved things you’ve been lettin’ m—”

“You’re insufferable, Miller.”

He grinned to himself.

“You love it.”

He knew you couldn’t argue with that. In a minute, he heard you sigh, felt you betray a little smile of your own as you got to shifting around in place again. Preparing.

“I’ve got class in twenty minutes.”

“Won’t need but five, sweet pea.”

His phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime.

Today was the day.

Well, almost the day.

Tomorrow you came home, but it was close enough to midnight now that Joel could pretend that it was today.

He was seated at a bar, both elbows planted on the sticky wet surface of a tabletop that was rarely cleaned. By now, he knew Mando’s sports bar like the back of his hand, and he could tell when certain staff weren’t around to clean spills. He could smell it, with the stench of a coconut-flavored rum wafting up to his nostrils and invading his brain. It took him back to his college days. Meanwhile, a mob of plastered bachelorettes were gathered six stools down and only getting louder.

“Kill me now,” your father grumbled beside him.

Joel hadn’t meant to say yes when he’d invited him out.

In fact, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight, but your dad was unimaginably persuasive. He’d also offered to pay for Joel’s drinks at the bar, so really, this was just an opportunity to exercise his liver with an old friend, for free. Nothing dangerous about drinking with the guy whose daughter he was secretly dating.

Nothing dangerous at all.

Joel swallowed another draught of his jack and coke and stared harder at the wall of spirits in front of him, like a long enough look might save him from having to talk.

He’d never felt more awkward around his friend in his life. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to die or just confess.

Hey, man, I’m in love with your daughter, by the way.

We’ve been having filthy phone sex for weeks now.

Regular, old fashioned fucking for even longer.

“I need to take a leak,” Joel told him instead.

“Really? That’s your fourth piss in the last hour, Miller,” your father observed, almost clinically. He was drunk. “Sure you ain’t got one of them…UTIs, or whatever?”

The man had a smirk on his face when he said it.

He went on: “Catch a little somethin’ from whatever girl you screwed on vacation a couple weeks back, maybe?”

Of course, he meant the time he’d visited you at school.

Of course, he didn’t know it was you he’d gone to see.

He would, eventually. Not now. Not here. Not with eight of the most obnoxiously intoxicated women flailing limbs and lip syncing to Shania Twain just a dozen feet away.

When Joel returned from his bathroom break—another stupidly long pit stop like the last three taken before it—one of the octet had wandered over. She moved closer to him. Joel had only just slid onto his barstool and ducked his head to drink when a voice broke in, high and shrill.

He ignored her. Like the sound hadn’t even registered for him, he completely disregarded the wasted twenty-something, though it was obvious her eyes were on him.

“Ain’t feelin’ too friendly tonight?” his friend ribbed him.

Your dad didn’t seem to be seeing her either, while her fingers splayed over her hips and she slurred something more about needing some of that Southern hospitality.

Joel could smile. Nod his head.

That should get his friend off of his back.

But the moment he did, it was like a siren went off.

“Why don’t you buy her a drink, Miller?!” the man barked.

And Joel declined. Didn’t even lift his gaze in the girl’s direction and took another sip of his drink, hoping that she would leave. She did, eventually, but only after your dad had bought her and her friends a round of green tea shots, and the group had shrieked with satisfaction. His friend grimaced, but Joel could tell he was also amused.

“Never seen that before,” the man hummed.

“Seen what?” Joel took another swig of his drink.

“Never seen you so disinterested in gettin’ ass, Miller.”

Joel cringed hearing that. Not just on account of you, but knowing how crude your father could get when he was drunk. How forthright and unfiltered he’d become.

“Yeah. Just not that into…that,” Joel finished lamely.

“I’ll bet.”

His friend flitted a look from him, to the bachelorettes, to him once again. He seemed to appraise him in his seat. Then he leaned in closer and bumped Joel’s shoulder.

“Hear the way she screamed when I bought ‘em drinks?” His grin was smug. “Think she’d sound the same if y—”

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Joel said suddenly. He turned toward his friend, then nodded to the group. “Eager as you are to get some tail, go tell ‘em hi.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so abrupt. His tone was clipped, with an edge that said that he was annoyed with this conversation. Admittedly, he was, but he didn’t need your father asking why. He took a slow, steadying breath.

“Because I’m a taken man, Joel Miller. You ain’t.”

Right.

Right.

Fucking his ex-wife’s best friend was a real special thing. One could only imagine how well that would turn out.

Without thinking, Joel glowered down at his drink.

“Shit. You’re empty,” his friend slurred a little. “Sadie?”

Sadie, the bartender, had their drinks replenished in a second—she knew her regulars and didn’t talk much.

Your dad could learn a thing or two from her, Joel mused.

Then, as if reading his mind and deciding to push his luck even more for the hell of it, the man spoke again:

“Don’t worry, Joel-y. I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”

He was sneering faintly. His breath smelled of whiskey.

“Oh yeah?” Joel shot back. Sharp. “Get where?”

He couldn’t help it.

Too late to channel his own inner-Sadie now.

His companion raised his glass to his lips and smiled.

“A relationship, Miller. With the woman you love.”

“And here I thought you just liked fucking her.”

A silence stretched after he said that, and Joel couldn’t tell if it was his friend taking his time with his cocktail or really resenting his words. He hadn’t meant to be rude.

Well, no, maybe he had.

Maybe he was tired of talking about Helen like that ‘relationship’ they’d had wasn’t the reason his friend’s marriage had gone up in flames decades back and you’d grown up most of your life without a mother. Joel didn’t have the whole story—couldn’t fully gauge what had taken place all those years ago, or why she’d left—but he could guess that this wasn’t the right move for your dad.

Or for you.

Just knowing what he knew, and what he’d failed to do when his friend had first told him, was enough to piss him off. Which was why he went on, futile as it seemed.

“You really think it’s love…with Helen? I didn—”

“Yeah. I do.”

His friend’s reply sounded a little barbed, at last.

There it was. The first tinge of annoyance—a rare sight for a man as indefatigably cheerful as your father—almost made Joel smile. He could see how he really felt.

His friend was clearly drunk now.

As the man’s emotions had a tendency to take wild, arcing swings whenever the drinks had gone to his head, it appeared he was nearly there. He’d eased off on the nonsense about Joel’s hypothetical sex life and directed the discussion inward. Joel could handle these musings.

For the first time, he leaned in closer and spoke lower.

“Last time we talked, you said Helen Foley was a fling.”

His friend’s eyes widened the slightest bit. He swallowed whatever whiskey was in his mouth and shook his head.

“You don’t…Don’t even say that.”

“Say what? That was all you.”

Joel’s gaze goaded him on, and he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to. It felt like the right thing to do, though, given how otherwise tight-lipped his friend had been about his former mistress and the fact that he was flaunting it now. As drunk men often liked to do.

“I never said she was a fling, Miller. I just…”

Another shake of his head, eyes glazed.

“Just what?” Joel pressed.

“I just said I liked her. A lot.”

“You said you liked the sex.”

Joel was being crass. Crude, like his friend had been before. He knew it would provoke a reaction out of him.

And just moments later, Joel’s wish was nearly granted.

Your dad blinked. He cleared his throat and tapped his now half-empty glass on the bartop before peering up.

“You’ve got it wrong,” your dad said, low. Hoarse.

“You said—”

“I say a lot of stupid shit, Miller. You know that.”

He did.

“So what is it then? Is the sex that good that—”

“No.”

“And it wrecked your whole fucking marriag—”

“Don’t,” your dad cut in, again, harsher now than before.

His speech was slowed, sluggish, and palpably agitated. The whiskey had hit his brain. He wasn’t as in control of the words flowing out of his mouth; Joel could see it.

“So you don’t feel guilty at all for cheating with her—”

“Because I loved Helen first!”

In spite of the raucous din of the bar all around them, your father’s voice carried surprisingly fast. Loud. Sadie cocked her head from a sea of new patrons huddling in at the entrance, lifted one brow, and scanned them briefly, as if trying to tell if a fight might be brewing.

It wasn’t. Your dad just got loud when he was plastered.

And once he started something, he had to keep going. Joel was listening, but he had to admit that the drinks were beginning to affect him, too. He set his down.

“What are you talking about?” he asked him.

Your dad dropped his glass with a little more éclat.

“I’m saying,” he started. Pausing to swallow once more. “I knew Helen first. I loved her first. This was before…”

He swallowed again, and Joel could see the effort there.

“…before I ever even met Amy. I swear.”

Amy. Now that was a name Joel hadn’t heard in awhile. It had been mostly an unspoken rule between them both never to bring up his ex-wife’s name, much less mention her like this. But there he went. Six drinks in and he was reminiscing on your mother. Joel felt trouble simmering.

“But you and Amy were married—” he started, slower.

“Exactly eight months before our daughter was born,” his friend grit out. Something like ire flashed in his gaze. “How’s that for one big fuckin’ coincidence, huh, Miller?”

Joel hadn’t even thought about it. He hadn’t known your father or mother back when they were first married—though Tommy had worked with the former, and had been friends with the couple a bit longer than he had.

Joel had only seen the ugly end of the marriage. It never occurred to him to inquire when—or how—it had started, just that it pissed his friend off whenever Amy became a topic of discussion. Mostly, it was in the context of regret

He saw that again, presently.

“Nobody even knew that was a thing because we were…casual. And real private about it, for a little while. Then the pregnancy came outta left field and I thought I was doin’ the right thing, y’know? Gettin’ married and growin’ up and all. But Amy wasn’t ever really in it any more than me. She knew I’d always be in love with somebody else.”

Helen?

Her best friend?

“Then why weren’t you with her?” Joel couldn’t hope to control the fervor that warmed his tone. He was enrapt.

He’d never heard this side of the story before.

His friend shrugged like it was nothing to him.

“Timing. Life,” he answered, duller. “We tried it out for a little while when she was in college, but Helen was so…young. And full’a big notions of gettin’ out of town, doin’ something else and stayin’ someplace else. I didn’t fit.”

He sounded deflated as he said it. He went on.

“I was damn near ten years older than her. I didn’t know the first thing about keepin’ a girl her age interested, or givin’ her what she needed. Had me mad for the longest time— which was why…I guess…” his friend trailed off.

“Amy,” Joel answered for him.

“Yeah. Amy,” your dad confirmed. Something more passed behind his eyes, though Joel couldn’t quite tell what it was. If he had to guess, he would say it was guilt.

The man kept going, evidently emboldened by his present state of intoxication and ready to say the worst. He ground his molars and rolled his lips like there was something bad he was itching to say, and Joel could only stare back. Wishing he was a little more drunk himself.

“I never meant it to be serious, Joel. I was young and dumb and trying to make the girl who rejected me jealous by screwin’ her best friend, and Amy knew it just as well. She knew I was sleepin’ with other people, too.”

His words were coming out quicker now. He planted one hand on the tabletop beside him, but he was facing him.

“Amy and I were both sleepin’ with other people, Joel.”

Then he paused a moment, and Joel wasn’t sure what the man was trying to say. Shortly, it dawned on him.

His eyes widened.

“You mean…?”

Your dad swallowed. Then shrugged. Then looked away, like he was suddenly ashamed of what he’d said. Knowing what it implied for himself, his ex-wife. For you.

“I’m— I’m almost positive she’s mine, there’s just…”

What? A possibility that you weren’t his daughter?

How could the man live with something like that?

Joel’s heart thudded a little louder in his chest. He wasn’t sure why; it just felt like something strange and momentous and bizarre for him to know before you.

Did you know?

“Does she…” He found it harder to finish his sentences.

Your dad’s eyes darted back to his. He blinked rapidly.

“No, no. God, no. I’d never tell her somethin’ like that,” he answered, fast. “It— it don’t even matter now, she’d always, always be my little girl. I just found out years after there was a chance she might be…someone else’s.”

Someone else’s.

Suddenly, Joel didn’t feel like he was fit to be told any of this. He felt like he was intruding. For your father to confess all of this—sharing such heavy news—it was all he could do to keep his blinking and breathing in check.

“See, Helen was never ‘the other woman.’ Amy and I were long checked out of our marriage before we ever split, and we…I mean, I went back. To Helen. I loved her.”

Your father paused again.

“I still love her, Joel. We tried making things work again, back then, too. We’d grown up a little bit. But my divorce was too new, my daughter was too young. It— it just didn’t happen. But now she’s here, and she wants to try again. I want to try again, and see if maybe— I dunno.”

“But then…” Joel thought of you. “Your daughter.”

“She thinks I’m the piece of shit who blew our family up on account of some affair. And I’m fine with her thinking that, if it keeps her from diggin’ into the past and learning her mom and I weren’t— that I might not be…”

Joel closed his eyes a moment. He sucked in a breath.

This was the last thing he needed to learn the night before you were supposed to be coming back home.

How could he tell you something like this? Should he?

It almost seemed as if the walls were closing in, and he was faced with the same dilemma as he had before—cope with a lie or cause more pain by telling you the truth. But now it really didn’t feel like his place to tell. It felt heartless and cruel to even bring it up, and somehow worse if he didn’t. If he withheld the truth from you again

And just as he’d endeavored to get his head around the idea, to try and make sense of it, a new bomb dropped.

“But if she ain’t mine, at least I’ve got an…idea of who the father might be. Silver livings an’ all,” his friend said. The smile he flashed him was as weak as it was sardonic.

“Who?”

“There were a few—rumors, I mean. Nothing for certain. Just heard she was seeing Dave York and Javier Peña…”

Those made sense. Joel knew the guys from work.

“Marcus Pike and that dude who used to live a little ways out of town—Ezra something, I forget. You remember?”

He didn’t.

Joel was racking his brain for names, and the last two sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place their faces.

“Dieter Bravo, that actor guy…Reed Richards—shit, it’s been a minute since we talked to him, ain’t it? Damn.”

Your father kept rattling off names like this was the most normal thing in the world—he’d probably done it often over the years—but with each new pronunciation, Joel felt himself growing sicker. He didn’t want to hear more.

But he’d have to, unless he made up an excuse to leave.

Another bathroom break might do the trick.

Okay, he could slip out easily that way.

Just as Joel was clearing his throat and preparing to make his fifth restroom announcement of the night, he had to stop. He heard another name drop from your dad, and he almost choked. Then he did choke, in a second.

“And Tommy, maybe…”

“Tommy?!”

The lone word punctured the air like a strangled breath—it came from the labor of his own two lungs, at hearing his brother’s name raised in connection with all of this.

What could Tommy have to do with any of that?

“Yeah,” your dad answered, nonchalant at first. Then, seeming to recollect his senses as he realized what he’d said, he smiled sheepishly. “I mean that’s—that’s a long shot, Joel. I heard some whisperings Amy and him might’ve gotten on and hooked up once or twice back then, but it was nothing serious. The odds of him bein—”

“Your kid’s father?!” Joel spit the words out like poison. He couldn’t help it. His heart had jumped to his throat.

He couldn’t be hearing his friend correctly.

He had to have been mistaken with that.

Joel’s brain short-circuited momentarily. It felt like his heart had leapt from his throat to his head and he could sense every sick, throbbing pulse of the thing thrumming sporadically through his skull. It was deafening to him.

Your father was continuing on, but it was hard to hear.

“…Tommy must’ve been, what, twenty-two? Same as Amy. I think they had some mutual friends besides me—must’ve been a casual thing. I don’t think he even knew we were hooking up back then, too. I don’t blame him…”

The man might as well have been speaking French, because Joel didn’t understand the first fucking thing coming out of his mouth except ‘Tommy’ and ‘Amy.’

His brother and your mother.

Having sex? When the fuck had that happened?

There had to be some misunderstanding. No way could his baby brother have done something like that and not…

Fuck. It had been twenty-two goddamn years since then.

What if he didn’t remember?

What if he couldn’t remember?

What if—oh, fuck, there was no fucking shot.

“Don’t look so shocked, Miller.” Your father grinned, and for the first time in a while, through the bulk of this whole conversation, it was genuine. He thought this was funny. “You know Tommy got around back then. Shit happens.”

Then, as if to rib him again:

“What, you scared of bein’ my kid’s uncle or somethin’?”

Joel was ready to throw up.

No, not ready—he was going to retch.

Jack and coke could’ve easily taken the blame for that, but anyone with half a brain and an ability to see the situation for what it was would’ve known better.

Joel knew better.

He had to shake his head. Say something. Otherwise he would be stuck, staring at his friend and looking as if he might spew chunks all over the front of his shirt at any given moment. There was no way you two were related.

“Hey, if you are, I’d say you’d make a damn good uncle anyway. You and her have been close for awhile, right—”

Time to vomit.

Time to leave.

Time to abandon any scant sense of self-respect and simultaneously lose the last six drinks he’d consumed into the closest sink or toilet. The room was spinning.

‘Gotta…piss’ was all he remembered saying. That should’ve been enough. If it wasn’t, well…that was no longer his problem. He was gone in the next second.

In his semi-drunken state, it amazed Joel just how far he was able to disgorge his dinner. As he expected, it was mostly liquid. It was like the second he stepped into the bathroom, all bets were off, and he was heaving like he was on the brink of death. What the fuck was all that?

This didn’t feel real. Wiping his mouth, running the sink, watching the liquid trail down, down, down until there was nothing left for him to see but a concave block of porcelain staring back. Its surface was surprisingly bright, shiny, and slick. It made him want to barf again.

But this was no time for fucking around.

If anyone needed to be spilling their guts now, it was someone else. Joel couldn’t rest until he reached him.

So, pulling out his phone with sweat-damp, noticeably shaky hands, he blinked harder. He focused his gaze. For the first time in what now felt like years, he turned the device on without the intention of texting, calling, or FaceTiming you. He scrolled through his long list of contacts until he reached the name, then winced.

This wasn’t real.

This wasn’t real.

He dialed the number and grew nauseous all over again.

Tommy Miller, answer your motherfucking phone.

[pascalxp]

Sweet & Protective Joel in TLOU2

I LOVE HIM

[maiamore]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

Masterlist | Joel miller x F!reader | 18+ | 4.5k wc

Summary: A one-sided crush was all it was. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel a little better about the fact that your orgasms always ended with his name.

Tags: f!masturbation, joel is grumpy as always, fingering, pinv intercourse, unprotected pinv, couch sex, tinge of voyeurism, mention of body hair, Joel struggling with reader being younger than him, unspecified age gap, instances of ambiguous consent

𐙚 resurrected due to my the carnal need for Joel, after clint blessed out lives. also this took fucking weeks with my flimsy ass drive to write, fingers crossed i don't dip again!

"...What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye. Or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed?"

It’d been nearly three hours since the power went out for the entirety of your neighborhood. The house was essentially a humid tomb by 2pm. Sweat accumulating in the worst places, like the back of your fucking knees. When did people start sweating there? At this point, you’ve stopped caring. You’d succumbed to stripping down to a cami top and boxers an hour ago–sprawled onto the ground like some civil war widow in front of your patio doors.

You were halfway through fantasizing freezing to death in a 7-Eleven beer fridge when three loud knocks had you begrudgingly lift your head to look at the front door. Whoever it was could wait till next week, you were not getting up. Well, that was until the lock clicked and your door creaked open.

“Don’t shoot,” Joel called out. “Brought somethin’.”

“If I did have a gun, shoot me with it instead.”

He grunts in response, signalling that he’d already been over your dramatics, even when he’d quite literally just arrived. There’s the thunk of something heavy being set down on the floor. You tilt your head off the ground just enough to see Joel setting a large grey box next to the backup generator he’d dragged in.

A portable AC unit. A real one, not the janky oscillating fan you whipped out of your dad’s attic.

Joel had a penchant for showing up at the slightest signal of your distress. As if you’d shone out a bat-signal that summoned him. Without asking or waiting for a call, he’d just show up with his tools. Last month, he’d fixed your garbage disposal. And the month before that? The creaky porch step he insisted you’d probably trip over and fall three steps to your ‘death’. It bordered on suspicion how quickly he finds out whenever you’re in trouble, but you were starting to think he just knew. 

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, curiosity getting the better of you as you squint at Joel. He's still fussing over the plug. Utterly oblivious to how you were staring holes into him. He looked...clean. There’s a fitted grey henley under a flannel that looked like it’d been worn less than twice—which said a lot considering he explicitly wore the ones that had holes and limestone chalkdust on them. Even the grey collars were left unbuttoned, enough to see the slope of his collarbone and speckled skin. And his curls, usually unruly, were brushed back. Neat. Intentional.

"You look good," you blurt without really meaning to, your voice slightly thick from the relentless heat. Your words hang awkwardly in the air. Joel stills for just a second before he goes back to wrestling with the cord.

"That so." he echoes skeptically, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips at your praise. "What, I usually look like shit?"

"Yes. Obviously." He doesn’t bother looking up, knowing you probably looked damned smug at your quip. “So? Why are you trying all of a sudden?”

Joel clears his throat, wanting nothing more than to avoid answering entirely. “…Had to.”

Your interest flares immediately and you sit up. Pulse picking up a little faster. “Hell does that mean?” 

What came in return was a deep sigh, as if he were about to admit to some crime rather than reveal something as trivial as his afternoon plans. “Tommy set me up on one of those damn blind dates.”

Something twists sharply in your gut. A strange and unwelcome ache that spread in you like venom. "Seriously?” You manage to sputter out your next few words with barely contained disbelief. Joel. Joel fucking Miller. A man that shot down gorgeous hedge-fund-botoxed bitches for a living, and even you on occasion when you dared to flirt after just having moved back into your dad’s place. “You? On a date?”

Joel gives another hum, a non answer that was…answer enough. You frown lightly, forcing a casualness into your voice you didn’t feel in the slightest. "And?"

"And what?"

"How was it?" you press. Unable to mask the edge in your tone. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans, visibly uncomfortable. "Wasn't much of anythin’. She spent half the time talkin' about how I should care more bout’ aging. Takin’ pro-robotic sup-lee-ments n’ whatnot."

“You mean probiotic.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

You snort, masking your amusement with an ill-timed cough. Ignoring just how relieved his miserable little recap made you feel. "Joel, she sounds delightful. Please tell me you're seeing her again."

He ignores your jab, focused on fixing up the conditioning unit. But you’re still staring, unable to stomp away at the vivid images of Joel at whatever bar Tommy fancied them to go to. Flashing that reluctant lop-sided smile he wasn’t aware of how much it made women swoon. Or maybe he was aware. What if it had gone well? Would he be driving her home in his truck? Walk her to her doorstep, try to be a gentleman, give her a kiss goodbye–or would he have gone in? Walk her backwards with a desperate kiss, fuck her nice and slow deep into her bed? 

You flop down onto the cooled floors with a thud, staring at the ceiling again, swallowing hard around the strange tightness in your throat–he'd clearly made an effort. How for someone else tonight, Joel tried. And in the next few dates, the chances of him taking one of those old floozies home grew more likely. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it had.

Joel flicks the switch on the AC, effectively sending you out of your spiral. You hear the machine hum to life, a gentle whisk of cool air brushes against your skin–instantly giving you pure relief. He glances back at you, and his mouth goes dry. He eyes the way you subtly roll your shoulders against the ground, rubbing the back of your neck in the barely there top of yours. It made his mind go to places he didn’t want to admit. "....Better?"

"Yeah," you softly exhale, eyes fluttering shut, "much better."

Joel nods, taking your approval as his cue. He gathers himself and starts coiling the leftover cords. Your chest squeezes with panic then when you see pack up from your peripheral. “Joel?”

He makes a noise. It could mean what, or what now. It’s hard to tell. You forge ahead anyway. “My shower isn't giving me cold water anymore.” When he looked over, it was an instinct to vomit more bullshit out. “Like, it starts scalding hot and just…stays that way.”

Joel considers calling you out on your excuse. Your shower all of a sudden not working? With the way you were fumbling about for something to say, it tugged the strings at his heart. You wanted him to stay. It dipped into territories he locked the vaults to, but he’d humor you. For now. The heel of his boot knocks against the AC unit. “‘ve already hooked this up for ya.”

“Uh huh.”

“An’ last week I changed out that socket of yers that damn near lit the wall on fire.”

“Correct.”

“...Replaced the hinges on yer doors.”

“Also true.”

Joel pushes himself up to stand up with a grunt. Leveling you with a look that could very well wither a plant. “You little shit. Do I look like Bob the fuckin’ Builder to you?” His hands falls to his hips and you swore you could see the gears turning. Like he’d been calculating how many more times you’d try to get away with this before he finally starts saying no to you for once.

You tilt your head. “C’mon.” Voice dropping to a lilt, meeting his gaze dead on, pairing it with a sad sheepish smile. It was your final card to play—you realised the effectiveness of it after the door-hinge-replacement saga that this particular ruse worked. What was it? Triangle Method? Whatever Vanity Fair said, really. “You want me to boil alive in there?”

He exhales long and loud, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were a migraine that wouldn’t go away. 

“Fine.”

You sat on the edge of the tub with your palms gripped around the porcelain, watching him work. It’s strangely comforting, the sound of metal against tile. His occasional grunts, and the way he keeps his curses low but audible enough to let you know he wasn’t all that pleased about doing this.

“Christ. Goddamn oven in here.”

In fairness, the bathroom was damp. All the steam from your shower earlier before the power went out somehow sunk into the grout. But seeing Joel now, his flannel discarded on the towel rack, with the sleeves of his henley rolled up his forearms–sweat glistening at the nape of his neck, some locks perfectly dried in a little loopy c. 

Yeah. You’d deal with the heat. 

He starts fiddling with the knob, taking it apart in a practiced rhythm that makes it obvious this wasn’t his first rodeo. 

“Before you say anything, yes, I tried turning it all the way to the cold side. And yes, I let it run. Even kicked the knob to make sure it really didn’t work.” Of course, you knew it didn’t work. Your dad told you that before he’d left for his vacation with his new wife—calling the plumber was long overdue on your list. 

Joel huffs. Not a laugh, not quite. “Don’t think yer s’posed to be kickin’—...” He doesn’t get to the end of that futile sentence. Because why the hell wouldn’t you? He crouches down by the faucet, before settling back on his heels to decide just how deep of a problem this was going to be for him. “M’gonna hafta pull this thing off.”

You nod along, staring at the shower tap with a faux-worried look as if it was going to inconvenience you more than him. “She’s all yours.”

Joel starts work on it without further complaint, which was when you could usually tell when something was broken broken. You watch him dig around in his tool roll of his, prying at the panel behind the knobs. Something rattles loose, and falls into the tub with a loud metallic clang.

You jolted. “...Should I be concerned that things are falling off?”

“It’s not fallin’ off. I took it off.” He doesn’t look at you, “it was already halfway rotted through.” Another minute goes by and with a deep sigh, Joel backs up slowly with his palms on his thighs. 

“Well?” 

He wipes off the sweat accumulating on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Valve’s shot. Rusted out. Yer lucky yer gettin’ any water at all, let alone hot.”

You lift your eyebrows, toeing at the edge of your bath mat. “So…you’re saying I should be grateful for my sad lukewarm and/or scalding drizzle?”

“M'sayin’ you should start savin’ up for a real plumber if you keep breakin’ shit like this.”

“Or, I could just keep calling you.”

Joel shoots you the nastiest side eye paired with a slow head turn. Ah yes. The look of a man who’d regretted every decision that led him to this exact point in his life. He grabs a rag from the counter, wiping off the rust stains on his hands.

“I gotta run to the store,” he mutters, to himself mostly. “Pick up a new stem and a couple washers. Maybe a new handle too if they’ve got a set that’ll fit.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of plumbing words I don’t understand.”

Joel reaches for his keys in his flannel pocket,  glancing over where you perched all nice and polite on your bathtub. He looks away before the feelings bloom in his gut. “An’ that’s exactly why I ain’t leavin’ you t’do it without me.” You watch him head down the hallway, the distant jingle of his keys echoing back as your front door creaks open.

“Get me some peach rings while you’re out!”

“Not yer fuckin’ errand boy,” came his reply, not as convincing as he thought it was.

You slumped onto the couch shortly afterwards. Arms limp, hanging off the edge. The back of your thighs peel off the vinyl cushion with a soft, wet pull. You groan into the crook of your elbow, regretting the movement. The AC whiiirs faintly in the corner, wheezing out mildly cooled air. 

The living room still smelled like Joel. It wasn’t his cologne, or his soap. It’d just been…Joel. A warmth, the scent of clean laundry, sun dried and soft. Old Spice mixed in with the aftershave he used. All in all, it was a you-wanted-to-bury-your-face-in-his-shirt-and-stay-there sort of scent. It was annoying. And distracting. And very much not helping your body cool down.

The silence that followed his departure was thick. Dangerous.

You exhale roughly through your nose, flipping onto your back. Your top rode up with your movement, sticking to your ribs. An easy blame to all of this would probably be the heat, frustration, or the gnawing restlessness between your thighs that grew potent. But that would be dishonest.

Because it wasn’t just the heat. It was him.

The way he’d crouched by the tub, how his shirt tugged taut across his shoulders. The sound of his voice, low and steady, talking about broken valves. And how the veins on his forearms became prominent when he twisted the wrench. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, curling your fingers around it. Kiss the pretty curves of his lips when he said he’d be back. Words he uttered that hinted underlying care and attentiveness. And it was all for you.

God, you were pathetic.

If your estimations were right, it’d be what? 5? 6 Miles? Joel wasn’t going to be back for at least half an hour. You mindlessly lifted your hips to inch closer to one of the cushions. Just needed to see if it helped at all. It’d be quick. If anyone knew better on how to get you off, it’d obviously be you.

You slink out of your shorts, toeing the fabric off your ankles before fully committing & grabbing the cushion. Shifting over to your side, you aligned yourself to trap the softness between your thighs. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you notched the seam of your cunt onto the cotton piping. Notching yourself to angle it just right. 

“..Fuck..” 

The fabric eventually gives you just enough stimulation and your hips grind against the seams. It felt good. How it brushes just right against your clit. It was short lived. The sensation quickly fades after your hair gets caught behind your shoulders. You attempt to reposition yourself, combing it away from you. The heat wasn’t helping in the slightest, so you closed your eyes. Focusing. Your palm slides beneath your camisole, brushing over your nipples enough for them to stiffen.

Joel would’ve taken his time, you thought.

Your brows furrowed in concentration, two fingers dragging the wetness of your folds down before you ease a finger into your pussy, the softness sucking them in. 

It’d be way bigger to have his fingers in you. 

Swallowing the dryness of your throat, you slip another in. Nudge upward and deeper into your walls in a slow, rhythmic motion.

He’d stretch you out. Nice and slow. Probably would love how your hips would jump when he swipes against your clit. And he’d keep going, exactly the way you liked if he knew whatever he was doing was getting you to cum on his fingers alone. 

A breathless moan slips when you increase the intensity of your motion with your hips moving in tandem. The illusion would be enough. Thinking about riding him was enough. Your rolled your shoulders back, the knots in them easing when the fantasy had your cunt fluttering & squelching in pure pleasure. Ankles arched against the vinyl as your thumb circles around your clit, the cushion falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

“...O-h.. Joel.”

“Mhm.”

You huffed out in confusion when a foreign sound breaks your peace. Turning your head towards your kitchen, your heart sinks. 

Joel, with his arms folded against his chest—casually leaned up against your countertop. Behind him, the backdoor that opened directly into your kitchen left ajar. 

You sat up straighter, blood pounding in your ears as you attempted to make sense of it all. You couldn’t get a read of his expression. It wasn’t disgust, that’s for sure. You managed to somehow squeeze your thighs together on instinct. “W...when did you….”

“'Bout ten minutes ago,” he says with a seemingly composed tone. 

“...You...didn’t say anything...”

Joel shrugs, “didn’t wanna interrupt.”

You don’t know where to look. At him? Away? “I didn’t think you were—I..I thought you left.”

“I did.” His eyes flicker over your face, lingering on the heat blooming in your cheeks. “Came back. Forgot t’get the measurements.” Then, his voice drops, a thumb swiping over his lips. “Door was open.” 

Which was just another way of saying—you didn’t even lock it. I could’ve been anyone.

“Joel…I just—”

He doesn’t let you finish, the wood creaking underneath his weight. “That work f’you, hon?” Your brows knit in confusion when he approaches you. You’d attempted to scoot back into the couch. Not that you had anywhere else to go. Joel’s shadow quickly looms over you entirely, his palm resting on the vinyl rest next to your head. “What?” Your voice comes out breathless, too quick. His scent practically warms you further, inciting the dull ache between your thighs that border on unbearable.

“Fuckin’ yerself on that.” He nudges his head to the abandoned cushion on the ground. You could barely dignify him with an answer, and you hear him take a tone you’d never heard from him before. Like he’d been angry. You shudder from the graze of his fingers when he lifts the loose strap of your cami from your arm, back up to your shoulders. “Asked you a question.” He’s close enough and you can see the muscles that tick in the right side of his jaw. 

“What I do in my own house—”

There you’d gone, giving him an answer he didn’t want to hear. The couch dips in his weight, and he settles down next to you. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the jump. “Don’t give me that.” He harbours a pained expression. Gaze tearing away from the sight of your slick smeared around your thighs. “Moanin’ pretty goddamn fuckin’ loud earlier, my name at that.”

You bite down on your lips hard enough for the skin to break. Fighting against the embarrassment and hot flush that took over. Joel, on the other hand, drags a hand down his jaw, elbows resting on his knees. As though battling with his own sanity. The latter ends up taking precedence. 

“What yer gonna do now. Is put this shit back on.” He grabs your shorts that were left abandoned, tossing it back onto your thighs. “N’ we’re gonna move on.”

“We clear on that?”

“....No.”

He turns to look at you over his shoulders. Expression incredulous. 

“No?”

“You heard me.” You don’t give Joel time to react when your palm presses against his chest, pushing him flat back onto the couch. Your breath catches in your throat when the looming suspicions prove to be right. The unmistakable bulge in his jeans. 

“I’m done with you playing the fucking saint. Done with wanting you and getting jack shit from you, even when this is how you feel!” You gestured pointedly at his erection, though you’d awkwardly balled it up into a fist, retracting it when you realised how stupid you looked doing that. 

The rise in your voice seems to catch him off guard. The way his brows twitch slightly, he’s offended that you dared pin this on him. As if he was the one making things complicated. You force yourself upright, gathering whatever shred of dignity you had left. 

Because despite the urge to crawl back into your skin, you knew it wasn’t one sided. You’d seen it, in the way his gaze always lingered too long. And how he’d always come back to you. He just kept showing up for you, over and over, offering pieces of himself without ever letting you in.

“Go fuck the next withered old cunt for all I care.” You drag the cotton of your tank top down to shield your bits and pieces. Hell if you were gonna put on your shorts in front of him. Turning heel, you do your best to get the hell out of there as quick as you could’ve.

Joel lets you get a couple steps away before you feel his arm hook around your waist to lift you, fairly easily, positioning the both of you onto the couch. Leveraging your shock and lack of defense to hike your thigh over his hips. Your shoulder finds the back of the armrest, and you look up at him in confusion. He looks down briefly where your wetness dampened his jeans. You could feel how he was throbbing even through the thick denim. It was clear, he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“You mean that?”

“What? That you should fuck a withered old cunt?”

He sighs deeply. “You wantin’ me, you-fuckin’-donut’.” He corrects with a tinge of annoyance.

“I’ve never hidden it.” You snapped defensively, squirming in his hold. The heat of him permeated into you. His palm spreads around the span of your hip, thumb smearing the slick around your thighs. As if he was considering. 

“I know.” A pause. “Just ain’t feel right.”

“Because I’m younger.” Your voice is steadier.

And he affirms. “‘Cause you’re young. Big fuckin’ difference.”

You thought about pushing him off, doing what he told you to. At least that way you could recover this ‘friendship’ between you two. But you don’t do that. Your hands wrap around Joel’s wrists instead and you lock your gaze with his. Guiding his palm against your pussy, nudging two of his fingers in. He curls his fingers in you instinctually. A shaky moan from you breaks the silence between you two and Joel fucking breaks.

He groans, head slumped down to look at your glistening cunt, where his palm lay flat against the soft, cropped hair of your pubis, sticky with your arousal. He pulls his fingers out only briefly to tease your outer folds, smearing the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath. “So fuckin’ soaked.”

Joel lets out a strained exhale before lifting his head, his expression bordering on desperate. He thrusts his fingers into you, moving it in a come hither motion into your warm, snug walls. Leaning in to place a chaste kiss onto your lips, stifling your mewls. Over, and over until the both of you groan into each other's mouths. 

He pulls out of your cunt, leaving you clenching around nothing. You hear the clank of his belt and zipper as he deepens the kiss, distracting you from the heavy warmth that bobs against your abdomen. “Gone for barely ten fucking minutes. And you up n’ do this shit.” 

Joel tuts at your attempt to feel around for his cock. You let out a grumble at that, looking down anyway and immediately regret it. Joel was big. You’ve seen big before, but not nearly as thick and…frankly–pretty as his. The tip slightly curved, milky pearlescent droplets streaked down the vein that travelled to the base. Joel senses your apprehension and nudges your face back up with his knuckles.“Easy. Don’t go scarin’ yerself.” 

He hikes you up with ease, the length of his cock wedged between your puffy folds. Rocking his hips against you, coating his cock with your slick. Gently, he kneads around your tits to ease your anxieties. “We don’t hafta do anythin’. Promise.”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, shaking your head almost immediately. Your hand holding over his assuredly as he rikes your top above your chest. Squeezing, rolling the softness in his palms. And god did it feel good with how rough his fingers felt on your skin.

His thumb swipes around your nipples, admiring the sight. “Tried to be the bigger person. I did.” He begins. Angling the tip of his cock into your entrance, soaked from your slick. You whine shakily, pussy fluttering, needing more.

“Told myself…you were outta bounds.”

He sighs, “yet you fuckin’ push…and test me.” 

“You aren’t all that inno—“ His palm slips to hold your jaw up firmly, and with calculated shift, he bottoms out in you fully. “—nhhhnnt!” Your thighs instantly tenses around his hips, nails digging into his shoulder. You claw around his back, pulling him closer. Your whines grow louder against his neck, the dull ache from the stretch blurring into pleasure with his slow, deep grinds.

Joel steadies himself on the armrest of the couch, doesn't waste any time before his hips snap into you with a steadied pace. Fucking his thick cock in and out of your pussy. The intensity of his gaze intimated you. Deep brown eyes admiring just how well you were taking him. He needed to see the exact look on your face when you’d finally broken your strong willed self. 

Broken and melted into him. 

“Jo—el!”

He presses his body weight into you, thrusting you into the couch. Grunting into your ears with every snap of his hips. “Fuck…fuck…pussy’s fuckin’—” And he lets out a rough exhale, he was close. So goddamn close. “—chokin’ my cock…” You couldn’t manage anything more than garbled noises. Uhn-uhn-uhns muffled against his shoulders. 

Joel brushes the sweaty strands of your hair away from your cheeks, peppering desperate kisses up your neck and jaw. He lowers his head to suckle around your nipples, fucking you slow and deep when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut crept up. In a desperate attempt to buy himself some time, he squeezes around the base of his cock, painfully, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours.

You weren’t sure if you’d come either, the feeling felt foreign—your mind practically a puddle with the noises you weren’t even certain you were making. Joel leans down to slot his lips with yours, moaning lowly into it as his pace turned frenzied. The stifling weight of his body on yours tips you over the edge, your thighs quivering when the near white flashes draws out a choked moan out of you. Joel follows closely after, managing to pull his cock out in a moment of clarity, painting your tits with ropes of milky white.

He slumps next to you, forehead pressed against the side of your head. The kisses he presses by your jaw and cheeks drag you back to reality.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Think the AC’s busted.”

The both of you look towards the temporary unit that he’d fixed up earlier, the machine sputtering and eventually whirring to imminent death. 

“…Fuckin’ hell.”

[junojoel]

Slow Like Sunrise

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel try for a baby.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected piv, breeding kink, they are making a BABY, mentions of infertility/not being able to get pregnant, mostly fluff though, sickly sweet

i want joel miller's babies SO BAD GUYS also there will be a part two

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The sun is still warm even as it starts to dip below the treeline, casting a honey-coloured glow over the soccer field. The hum of crickets is just beginning, mingling with the sound of kids laughing, cleats pounding turf, and the occasional bark from a dog tied to a tree near the bleachers.

You're sitting on a folded blanket, your sandals kicked off, feet curled beneath you. Joel’s beside you, one arm braced behind him, the other draped casually across your shoulders like it’s second nature now—because it is. His thumb traces slow circles on your arm, absentminded and soft. You glance sideways, catching the way he’s watching Sarah with that quiet pride that always makes your chest ache just a little.

She’s all grit and joy, her ponytail bouncing with each sprint. When she scores, she turns toward the sidelines, looking right at the two of you with the biggest, toothy grin. You both clap and cheer, but Joel’s voice is loudest, that unmistakable “That’s my girl!” carrying across the field.

You lean into his shoulder. “You know she’s a little superstar, right?”

Joel chuckles, low and proud. “Got her old man’s determination and your good looks.”

You laugh, turning your face into his T-shirt, breathing in the faint scent of sweat, laundry detergent, and the spearmint gum he always chews when he’s nervous.

“She’s not mine,” you say softly.

He looks down at you, eyes warm, unwavering. “You’re hers. She knows it. I know it. Don’t need blood for somethin’ to be real.”

Your heart twists, full and aching in the best kind of way.

After the game, you all stop for ice cream—Sarah insists, claiming it’s a post-victory tradition now, and Joel doesn't put up a fight. You get sprinkles; he gets chocolate and pretends not to steal bites of yours. Sarah chatters the whole way home from the backseat, swinging her legs and describing every move she made like she’s narrating a highlight reel. Joel listens with that soft half-smile, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your knee.

By the time you get home, Sarah is crashing fast, sticky with sugar and sunshine. She hugs you goodnight—tight and lingering—and Joel presses a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring something about letting her sleep in tomorrow. The door to her room clicks shut, and the house settles into that comfortable, post-bedtime quiet.

Joel finds you in the kitchen, barefoot, sipping water from a glass. The overhead light casts a soft glow, and when he walks in, his eyes catch yours like gravity.

“You tired?” he asks, voice low, thick with something that’s not quite exhaustion.

You shake your head. “Just warm. Full. You know that feeling?”

He nods, coming closer. “Yeah. Been feelin’ it a lot lately.”

You don’t move when his arms slide around your waist. You just melt into him, hands coming up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his T-shirt. You stay like that for a long moment, swaying a little, like there’s music neither of you can hear.

“She loves you,” he says suddenly, quietly.

You lift your head, looking up at him. “I love her.”

His gaze softens, thumb brushing over your cheek. “And I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it—but this time, it lands heavier. It settles into the spaces between you, into the years you’ve both lived before this, the losses and the late nights and the quiet dinners and the laughter that’s become the soundtrack of your shared life.

Joel draws in a breath, almost like he’s steadying himself. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he says, his voice a little rough now, “watchin’ you with her… seein’ you here, in this house, in this life…”

You lean in closer, heart fluttering. “Yeah?”

He kisses you—soft, unrushed, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I want more,” he whispers. “I want it all. With you. A life. A family. Not just me and Sarah, but… you. Us. Maybe even a little one. Someday.”

Your breath catches in your throat. His hands slide down to hold yours, fingers intertwining.

“You’d want that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“With you?” he says, his smile tilting, eyes shining. “I’d want that yesterday.”

You laugh, tears springing to your eyes even though you’re smiling, because it’s everything—him, this house, the kid asleep down the hall, and the dream of another one. A tiny one with Joel’s eyes and your smile, maybe. The kind of dream that used to scare you because it felt too fragile.

But now, wrapped in Joel’s arms, it just feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I want that too,” you whisper.

His hands cup your face, and he kisses you again, longer this time. The kind of kiss that promises a thousand tomorrows. The kind that feels like home.

And when he pulls you close and walks you toward the couch, tucking you beneath his arm like you’re something precious, you curl up against him and realize that you’re not just building a life together.

You already have one.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s only the beginning.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The house is quiet, the only sound the hum of the ceiling fan and the distant chirp of crickets outside. Joel’s fingers trail lazily up and down your arm as you lie tangled together on the couch, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You tilt your head up, catching the way the lamplight softens the lines of his face, the way his eyes—always so watchful—linger on you like you’re something sacred.

“You thinkin’ about it?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip.

You know what he means. A baby. A little one. Ours.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice hushed. “A lot.”

His hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you—slow, deep, like he’s savoring the taste of you. When he pulls back, his breath is warm against your mouth.

“Me too.”

His palm skims down your side, settling at the curve of your waist, and you shift, straddling his lap. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, but his touch is reverent, like he’s memorising the shape of you.

You kiss him again, fingers working the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric aside to press your palms against his chest. His skin is warm, his heartbeat strong beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “So damn beautiful.”

You shiver, arching into his touch, his body covering yours. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then lower, lips grazing the swell of your breast through your shirt.

“Joel,” you breathe, fingers threading through his hair.

He looks up at you, eyes dark, full of want—but something else, too. Something tender, something achingly hopeful.

“I wanna make love to you,” he says, voice rough. “Not just—not just to try. But because I love you. Because I wanna feel you close.”

Your throat tightens. “I know.”

He kisses you again, unhurried, his hands working your clothes off with a patience that makes your pulse flutter. When you’re bare beneath him, he pauses, just looking, his gaze tracing every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory.

“You’re everything,” he whispers.

And then his hands are on you, his mouth following—slow, worshipful. Every touch is a promise, every kiss a vow. When he finally slides into you, it’s with a groan that’s half pleasure, half prayer, his forehead pressed to yours.

You move together, slow and deep, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that’s as familiar as it is intoxicating. His hands cradle your face, your back, your hips—like he can’t bear not to touch every part of you.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and when you do, his eyes are wet, his voice breaking. “I love you. God, I love you.”

You cling to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingers digging into his shoulders as pleasure builds, sweet and slow. When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, his body shuddering against yours moments later.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, your bodies still tangled, still connected. His lips press to your temple, your cheek, your mouth—soft, lingering kisses that say more than words ever could.

You drift like that, wrapped in each other, in the quiet and the warmth and the love.

And when Joel’s hand settles low on your stomach, his fingers splaying possessively over your skin, you don’t have to ask what he’s thinking.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It happens slowly, quietly, like most of the beautiful things in your life with Joel.

No big declarations. No calendar apps or morning alarms. Just a soft, shared decision sealed with a kiss on the couch that night—an unspoken “we’re ready” that settles into your bones like sunlight through curtains.

You don’t tell Sarah right away. It’s not a secret, exactly. It’s just yours for now. A dream you and Joel hold between you like cupped hands around a candle flame.

Some mornings, he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind while you’re brushing your teeth, press his lips to the slope of your shoulder, and murmur something like, “Think this might be the month.”

Some nights, you’ll find yourselves tangled in warm sheets, laughing between kisses, whispering things neither of you ever thought you’d say out loud. “What if it’s a girl and she has your smile?” “What if it’s a boy and he’s got your stubborn streak?”

And sometimes… you don’t talk about it at all. Sometimes you just try, with nothing but the soft rhythm of love between you, skin against skin, hearts pounding in quiet sync.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It’s not always romantic.

Sometimes it’s disappointing. You curl up on the bathroom floor one morning, silently willing that pink line not to be alone. But it is. And when Joel finds you there, he doesn’t say anything—just sinks to the floor beside you and wraps you in his arms like he can carry the sadness for you.

And in a way, he does.

“You ain’t broken,” he whispers into your hair. “And neither is this dream. We got time, sweetheart. I got you.”

You cry, but only a little. Because he's right. You do have time. You have him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The sweetness doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens.

There’s Joel making you breakfast without asking—eggs a little too firm, toast just slightly burned, but he kisses your forehead like he’s serving a gourmet meal.

There’s the way he’ll tuck his hand over your stomach at night without thinking, even though there’s nothing there yet. Like he’s leaving space for someone who’s on their way.

There’s the list you start scribbling in your journal—baby names and paint colors and Joel’s sleepy mutterings of “What about that one, the one like your eyes?” when he sees you flipping through swatches.

There’s Sarah, watching you both curiously, starting to ask little things like, “Are you two keeping secrets?” and “Why are y’all bein’ so mushy lately?”

You just smile.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

One evening, you’re folding laundry together—Joel’s T-shirts, Sarah’s little soccer socks, your favourite sweater with the hole in the sleeve. The sun’s pouring golden light through the living room window, and everything feels warm and good and yours.

“You ever think,” you say, “about what kind of dad you’ll be? Like… with a baby again?”

Joel glances at you, a half-folded towel in his hands. He shrugs, but his smile gives him away. “All the time. Think about the first time they’ll hold my finger with that tiny hand. Think about the way they’ll cry at 3 am and you’ll be fast asleep, and I’ll go get ‘em and just… rock ‘em a while. Sing somethin’ soft.”

You blink back sudden tears, something tight in your throat.

He reaches over, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t gotta rush it. But I want it. Every part of it. Even the diapers.”

You laugh wetly. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Probably,” he grins. “But I mean it. I want the messy parts. The loud parts. The parts that make us tired and cranky and deliriously happy. I want all of it with you.”

One night, a few weeks later, you’re lying in bed, your fingers tracing the faint freckles on his chest.

“What if it takes a while?” you whisper.

Joel shifts so you're looking eye to eye, his hand finding yours under the sheets.

“Then we take a while,” he says. “And in the meantime, we keep lovin’ each other the way we already are. We already got a family, darlin’. We’re just makin’ room.”

You close your eyes, feeling his lips brush your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

And as you drift off to sleep in the arms of the man who makes the world feel steady, you believe it—fully and truly.

You're already a family. You're just waiting to meet the next piece of your forever.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Not me admitting I go back and reread my own stuff. <- lol most of us writers do this, in case you didn't know.

ANYWAYS, I reread this early this morning because I am VERY in my feels about this man and season 2 tomorrow. Can we all just pretend this is Joel's future? Anybody else? Y'all should self rec you're nothing bad ever happens to Joel Miller fics plz.

Harvest Moon

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,100 Summary: It's Joel's birthday and you're going to make sure he has a good one. Warnings: smut, fluff, dancing in the kitchen to neil young, unprotected p in v, public-ish sex (but under a blanket), talking to neighbors while sitting on joel miller's cock, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), fingering, riding, joel has a filthy mouth, no use of y/n, not beta read.

A/N: I spent most of tonight adding 2,500 words to this barely written piece. Now it's two hours past my bedtime, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOEL MILLER!!! This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but, this is yet another singular smut entry for my Elks babies. This was originally going to be posted as a birthday celebration chapter for that, but I really wanted to give Joel his gift on his actual birthday. Happy birthday you gorgeous old man, you. Hope you like the porn I wrote about you. ❤️🥴

Masterlist

🌕🌕🌕🌕

You’ve been looking for the CD since you learned of Joel’s love of the song. Tommy did it, he actually did it. Somehow by some miracle he found the CD. 

“Not a problem,” he gives you that same shy Miller lopsided grin. “Milt had it. Told me to tell you it’s yours to keep… said he owes you since you were his daughter’s favorite teacher ‘n all.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you say, barely being able to contain your excitement, “this is going to be amazing.”

“Of course. Should be thanking you really,” he shrugs. “It’s about time he had a good birthday.”

—

Joel said he’d be helping fix one of the greenhouses today, but you’re still scared to ruin the surprise as you unlock his door. 

“Joel?” you yell out into the quiet, seemingly empty house. 

No answer. Perfect.

Quick steps lead you to his CD player, the same one he first showed you how much he cared for you with. Now, it’s your turn to show him just how much he means to you. The disc tray opens and you place the CD into the system, you can’t wait to surprise him. 

—

“More coffee?” you ask, holding up the percolator.

He nods and smiles, happily sitting at the table full from the steak, potatoes, and cornbread you made him. He had insisted on sharing the meat, but you refused, happy to let him enjoy the first taste of steak in over twenty years.

Your friend Helen got her boyfriend Greg to cut a small filet of steak from the newly butchered cow. She handed it to you with a knowing smile. It’s nice to see everyone accept yours and Joel’s relationship. 

You lean over his lap, and top his coffee cup off. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you in a dress? Can’t believe you got yourself all dolled up for me.” He surprises you by pulling you onto his lap. 

“Careful!” you shriek, quickly placing the carafe on the table. “Yes, you have… many times. That's why I wore it.”

“Hmph,” he hums happily, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you. “Thank you for dinner–and everything sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. 

“That’s not all,” you giggle as he nips at a sensitive spot under your chin. 

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so good to me.” 

You clutch his chin tilting his head up to meet your eyes. “You deserve a happy birthday.” His big brown eyes search yours, like he’s forcing himself to believe it. “Joel, you do.” 

He rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he sighs warmly.

“I love you too. Now, I have something else for you,” you slip off his lap and head towards your backpack. “It’s something small, I promise.”

You return with a bundle of fabric held behind your back. 

“Remember when you tore your favorite flannel and you tossed it in the rag bag?”

You place the flannel in his hands.

“Well, a certain girl named Ellie grabbed it for me. I mended it, reinforced the buttons, and sewed up a couple holes. It’s not perfect, but it’s fixed.”

He holds the flannel up and inspects it. “This is–wow–this–I can’t believe it.” He looks up at you, his eyes wide with adoration. “I was wearing this that first day I saw you, y’know? This is so sweet sweetheart, thank you.” 

He likes it, you thank your lucky stars. Your handsome Joel, here with you on his birthday, allowing himself to be taken care of. 

You know the story of his birthday, you’ve retold the tale to yourself every night as you anticipated this day. Afraid to upset him, afraid to cross a line, but all you’ve wanted to do is give him the world he so deserves. 

It wasn’t just you who thought of him today. It’s Tommy finding the CD. It’s Helen getting you the steak. It’s Ellie grabbing the flannel from the rag bag. He deserves all of it. 

“You’re welcome,” you say with a kiss to his forehead. “Now, put it on. I have one more surprise.”

He slips the flannel on as you head to the living room. The CD waits in the stereo. You turn it on.

The soft guitar and brushes of a drum fills the air as you turn the volume up.  

Joel’s huge smile greets you when you walk back into the kitchen.

“You– how?” he asks, unbelieving. 

“Asked Tommy and he found it for me. Milt had his greatest hits. Now,” you reach your hand out to him, “may I have this dance birthday boy?”

He chuckles and takes your hand, pulling you into him. The two of you sway along to the music, his strong arms enveloping you as your cheek rests against his warm chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. Your hands slip around his broad back, one of them trailing up to play with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He sighs deeply before placing a tender kiss against the top of your head. 

“This is my favorite song,” he murmurs.

The sun has long since set, the singular lamp above the sink casts a warm dark amber glow across the kitchen Your shadows dance across the walls as you sway. He smells of coffee and sweet corn bread, like home and comfort. 

He starts to hum then softly sing along. His deep voice reverberates through your ear, pressed against his heart. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”

You can hear the contentment in his voice as he holds you closer. Moving in synchronicity with each other, gently stepping across the small kitchen as the harmonica solo plays. If you could stay in this moment forever you would.

You tilt your head up, and his eyes meet yours. The smile he gives lights his face. Lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes, dimple sitting deep on his cheek, mustache curving with his plush upturned lips. He serenades you with the same lyrics as before, looking deep in your eyes. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”  

His lips meet yours, thanking you with a gentle kiss. The man you love and adore, feels good on his birthday all because of you. 

The song plays on repeat, the two of you dance together, Joel gently hums and sings along as the harvest moon rises above the mountains. 

You gently pull away, unclasping his arms from around you.

“Come on birthday boy,” you say with a playful smile, “let’s go watch the stars.” 

—

You and Joel sit beneath a large plaid comforter on his porch. The early fall breeze that rolls down the mountainside leaves a chill in the air. The night sky is lit bright with the orange full moon. Most of Jackson is at the Harvest Moon Festival tonight, you can just make out the distant sounds of laughter and music flowing through the air from the main street on his porch. Ellie was especially thrilled about the teen sleepover happening at the Bison tonight, giving you both this rare moment of solitude in his backyard. She told Joel she knew he was in good hands with you for his birthday. 

And he is–or at least you’re in his good hands. 

“Oh, god,” you softly whisper into the night, you’re so tense from keeping yourself quiet. The stars are a little harder to see tonight thanks to the ambient glow of the bright moon, and yet you see stars whenever you squeeze your eyes shut while fighting the urge to moan. Joel’s deft, large thumb rubs circles against your clit while you ride two of his thick fingers. 

He’s driving you crazy like this. His large body and the blanket wrapped around you, overheating all of your senses in this chilly night. You’re completely covered, nobody would know that your legs are spread wide, one draped over his thick thigh while his hand is stuffed up your dress making you quake as he finger fucks you.

“Easy now, easy now,” he says nuzzling against your neck, his large nose charting a course across the sensitive skin. “Gotta remember where we are. You're the sweet, innocent teacher 'n librarian here. Lotta people look up to you, can’t have them knowin’ what my girl really likes when she’s with me.” Your hips slow their movement, he makes up for it by pumping you harder. “See, I can help, just gotta let me know you want it baby.” 

“Want to take–neyugh–care of you,” struggles out of your mouth. 

“You’re taking care of me right now, sweetheart, touching you is my favorite thing to do.” 

“Want to go inside… w-want to–want–to, want to feel you in my mouth,” you grip the straining bulge underneath the fly of his jeans. 

“Not yet,” he sighs deeply when you squeeze harder. “Like seeing your skin glow in the moonlight. What you’re doin’ now is enough, want to enjoy my night with you.”

Your hold tightens around his cock as you fight harder to suppress the urge to scream into the night. His fingers angle up hitting your most sensitive spot and you feel like you could explode. You’ll be the fireworks to celebrate Joel’s birthday. A whimper is fought by biting your lip, it’s so hard to not scream. His brown eyes look almost black in the low light as he watches you struggle and blink rapidly. 

“Shh baby, you’re doing so good, bein’ so quiet, don’t ruin it now. If anybody was out right now they could walk right on by and they’d have no idea what I’m doing to you under here.”

You’ve never done anything like this, so out in the open. Jackson is a peaceful town full of law abiding citizens, and right now you’re sitting on the back of the porch of Joel’s house getting felt up by him. 

“Joel… I–I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me baby.” His hot breath hits your lips before sealing his mouth against yours. Your cunt spasms against his thick fingers, you feel set alight by your orgasm, overheated and burning. Maybe you’re glowing just as bright as the moon. His tongue dances with yours, swallowing all of your gasps and cries. You’re sure at this point, anybody that walked by would know exactly what was happening between the two of you. You don’t care, all you want is to feel Joel’s cock inside you.

“Want you, Joel, want you so bad,” you mew as his fingers rub against your sensitive folds. 

“Okay baby, okay.” His fingers slip from your warmth before he brings his soaked digits to his lips. His eyes flutter shut when he tastes you. 

“Sweeter than birthday cake,” he declares before raising his hips and pulling his jeans down with a grunt. “Come here. Come sit on me.”

Your legs spread wide as you straddle his large lap with your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. He grips himself and moves the half hard heft of his cock against your soaked core, swirling his tip back and forth across your clit. 

“Tell me you want my cock,” he whispers against your neck, licking a line up to your ear. “Tell me baby.”

“I-I want your cock–I need your cock Joel,” you beg. 

“I know you do darling,” he chuckles deeply, lining himself up to your entrance.

The sounds of the festival go silent and the bright orange moon fades as you slowly sink down on his cock. Taking all of him, thick and throbbing into your tight cunt. 

“That’s my good girl,” he grits. “Your sweet pussy is taking me so well, isn’t she?”

Clutching your bottom lip tightly between your teeth, you try to fight the moan his words bring up.

“Oh, you must like that. You’re squeezin’ me so hard sweetheart.” 

You set a pace, riding him gently under the moonlight, his fingers gripping your hips tight. 

His hot breaths hit the back of your neck as your back molds even tighter to his front. His hand snakes down to rub your clit, small circles making your body meld even more against him.. The rhythm of his fingers and cock spearing you pulls another orgasm down from the ethers of space. Shivering, sweating, and stuttering Joel’s name, you’re trying to be good for him, trying to not scream into the night. 

“That’s my girl, grippin’ my cock so good, cummin’ all over me. Getting yourself nice and slippery so I can fuck you real good, huh?” 

“Mmf,” is the only response you can muster. Your cunt flutters around him, and he doesn’t relent, slowly fucking into you while his finger pulses against your clit. 

The sound of two people conversing approaches. Your movements come to a halt, Joel stays still, his finger still resting against your sensitive bundle of nerves and his cock sitting deep inside you. Hank and Billie, the nice couple that lives three houses down from Joel, walk past the porch. Both look over and wave a greeting. Fuck.

“Beautiful moon, isn’t it?” Hank says with a smile. 

“Quite.” Joel responds. The rumble of his loud voice radiates through you.  

“You guys get any barbecue tonight?” Hank asks. “It was really go–”

“We stayed in,” Joel gruffly responds. He subtly knocks his hips into you causing a wave of sensation to hit against your already cock-drunk pussy.

Your nostrils flare with a deep exhale.  

“Oh, well, there will probably be leftovers tomorrow,” Billie offers. “Tell them I sent you and they’ll give you the good stuff.”

“Thanks Billie,” you breathlessly reply, wishing on every star you’ve seen behind your eyelids, they’ll leave. “We appreciate it.”

“Best be getting home,” Hank says, grabbing Billie’s hand. “We both had a bit too much to drink!” 

Oh thank god.

“Enjoy your night,” Joel says plainly as he starts to slowly rock into you once they turn away. 

To the eyes of your neighbors, you and Joel just look like a normal couple enjoying the night sky cuddled together under a blanket… little do they know he’s filling you with his thick cock under the shield. 

“That was close,” he whispers against your ear before nipping it. 

Your giggle is cut off by a moan when he fucks into you harder. 

“Guess we shouldn’t take our time, don’t want to get caught, now do we?” he asks. 

“We can just–nyuh–go inside,” you plead, wanting to be able to moan and scream Joel’s name in the comfort of his home. 

“Gimme one more baby, gimme one more,” he grunts against your neck. “And then I’ll take you into my home and fuck you.”

His hips pound against your body, his thrusts bucking into your core harder. “That’s it baby, you really want me to take you in and lay you down ‘n fuck you, don’t you?” 

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your stomach tightening and thighs trembling as the universe splinters around you. Your orgasm rockets through your body. Color turns to black and white, noise falls silent. All that exists is Joel Miller and his big cock shattering you into a million pieces like your own personal big bang on the back of his porch. 

“Good girl,” he groans, “let’s take this party inside.”

—

The plaid comforter is laid out on the kitchen floor. Your wobbly legs move your still blissed-out body to Joel’s stereo, starting “Harvest Moon” on repeat all over again. 

You lean against the kitchen entrance, admiring Joel as he rests atop the blanket, naked and supporting himself on his elbows. No man over fifty should ever look as good as him. Broad shoulders frame his strong arms, his chest has a smattering of dark hair that trails down to the slight bulge of his stomach. His cock rests in between his legs, still hard and shining with your slick. He’s so gorgeous, and he’s all yours. 

“Come here sweetheart,” his voice is gruffer. “Lay down next to me.”

His dick twitches as you walk to the blanket and settle beside him. 

He moves over you, covering you with his warmth as he engulfs himself in your slick heat. Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist allowing him to take more. 

“Joel,” you moan. The angle allows his cock to push farther in and your walls to tighten harder against him. 

“Ooh, you’re so fucking wet, you hear that?” he asks incredulously. The squelch of your pussy soundtracks along to the song quietly playing in the background. “Sounds so fucking good baby.” 

He gasps when buries himself to the hilt, soaking the curly hairs around the base of him with your wet.

Your body trembles as your hips meet his, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace. 

He takes no time to own you now behind the walls of his home. Your hands clutch at his wide back, sobs and screams of his name echoing out into the air as Neil Young softly sings in the background. 

You’re so full of him. His body surrounding you, his lips against yours, his cock pounding into your accepting cunt, his name chanting out of your mouth. 

“You want it baby?” he growls against your neck, his cock pumping in and out of your hole at a speed no man over fifty should be able to ever reach. “You want my cum?” 

“C-cum Joel,” you cry, tears sprouting from your eyes as your fourth orgasm launches through you. 

He gasps your name, pulling out of your tremorous pussy and shooting thick white ropes of cum across your pussy and stomach. 

His sweat is slick against your overheated body, you’re a mess of sweat, orgasm, and love. 

He kisses you, his tongue licking against yours before he rolls off you. His chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Fuck,” he pants, stretching his limbs out. “Gonna feel this tomorrow.” 

“Well, you are another year older, old man,” you tease, curling up next to him. 

“Yeah,” he turns his head to look at you. “I guess I am,” he sighs. “Thank you for–my birthday and–all of this. I can never put into words how much it all means to me.” 

“So I guess you’re still in love with me?” you tease.

“Always. Especially on this harvest moon,” he returns your smile. 

---

Tagging a couple people who had asked about this piece earlier this month: @almostfoxglove, @sawymredfox, @burntheedges, and @littlemisspascal 🩷🌝

[pedge-page]

Joel Miller loves fucking married pregnant women. Its his kryptonite. Every time he tells himself it's the last time, that being a home wrecker wasn't worth the fallout, another beautifully fertile and bred woman appears across the room, accompanied by her shitty husband who doesn't pay two seconds of attention to her needs. Hes passed his prime now, but the rush of pleasure he gets from them is unlike any other. They're so desperate, so needy, and so much more willing to take a spin. They are less likely to get attached too, meaning more fun for him. He licks his lips like an addict, already plotting how to get her moaning from his tongue, her belly in his grasp, and her much deserved orgasm clenching around his dick. The fulfilling thrill of taking care of their neglected needs leaves both of them satisfied. Its almost a free service he offers at this point.

It all works, no strings attached, until you reappeared in his life: the crazy little single mink he hooked up with 8 months ago on a drunken whim, now coincidentally 8 months pregnant and ready to flaunt that pregnant pussy at his weakened soul.

[joelsdagger]

homeland || one shot

joel miller x reader

special thanks to the lovely @5oh5 for providing me with plant resources many many many moons ago and to @phoeberidgers for lending me her eyes. ily both sm <33

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary:  joel gets you ready for a day of horseback riding. warnings: jackson era, joel being his typical acts of service type of man, pet names, implied age gap, established relationship, angst, glimpses of domesticity, sliver of reader having anxiety [see: angst], horses [i feel like they need their own warning yk?]. joel is a big ol’ teddy bear, brief mentions of grief, referenced character death, reader is described of having hair long enough to braid, smidgen of a size kink. no smut – only fluff, rated E for everyone! **should also be noted this takes place years into their shared life together and they’re very much in love. SUE. ME. word count: 2.3k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

“You doin’ your walk of shame, cowboy?” You half-shout from the porch when his tall form materializes down the street, the sun still rising on the horizon behind him. You know he’d headed out to the stables before first light, but you can’t deny you get a kick out of pulling his leg. 

His head drops, a slight shake at the pavement, and when he meets your eye again, a soft smile sprouts on his lips. “Needed to check on Callus, make sure he’s good to go,” he says, striding up the porch stairs.

You turn to meet him, railing pressed to your stomach, coffee mug in one hand, the other reaches for his chest, and you press your lips to his warm cheek. “Let me grab my boots and I’ll be right out,” you say mindlessly as he settles himself on the rickety chair. 

You crack open the front door, place the mug of coffee you’d been nursing all morning on the entry table, pick up your cowboy boots and Joel’s guitar leaning against the wall, and shut the door behind you. When you turn to face him, Joel pats his thigh, beckoning you over. You set aside the instrument and place yourself on his lap.

As you shuck off your slippers, his large hand comes up to brush your hair away from the nape of your neck, he lays a featherlight kiss there. “You got one of them hair ties on you, sweetheart?” 

You giggle at the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck, “I do.” You drop your boots down beside your feet and reach into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a finicky black elastic.

He gathers your hair into his hands, dividing it into three large sections. After a few light pulls of each section, you realize he’s braiding your hair.  Warmth blooms in your chest at the feel of his thick fingers meticulously braiding one section over another with practiced ease. Like he’s done it a million times. 

“Last time it was flappin’ around in your face. You can’t see where you’re headed like that,” he murmurs. You close your eyes and hum, lose yourself to the therapeutic pull of his fingers through your hair. 

“Did you do her hair? Sarah’s?” you ask somewhat absentmindedly. 

You don’t hesitate to bring her up in conversation. Joel has talked about her, shared pieces of his life with you, bit by bit. The first mention of her seemingly on accident, only a fleeting moment, but after the second time, you deduced he fully intended on letting you in, on his life before.

“Used to braid her hair for her games. Horse riding too,” he says faintly, tone seeped in affection.

You smile softly, prideful. It took him years to get here, but Joel slowly realized his grief was the unexpressed love he’d always have for his little girl — love that had nowhere else to go. He found that in the missing, he’d grown closer to her. He’s since filled an emptiness he once knew with little moments that honor her life. 

Lost in the slow rhythmic movement of Joel’s fingers in your hair, in the comfort his touch instantly provides, your mind wanders; imagine Joel — many years younger, frantically getting his little girl ready. Threading that golden hair into an elastic, vibrantly colored and a charm dangling from the band, perfectly on trend for young girls in that era. You even picture little Sarah putting hair ties in her dad’s hair, if he ever grew it out as much as he does now. You smile to yourself, an ache in your chest flares; it’s not hard to picture, but it’s not easy to think about what could have been. 

The deep bass of Joel’s voice pulls you from your reverie. “Took a few times, but Tommy n’ I figured it out,” he says simply, his words slipping into a light chuckle. 

He holds out his hand, palm up, and you drop the hair tie in his hand. The elastic snaps as he ties off the braid. And when he’s finished, he presses a palm to your lower back, and mutters a low, turn around.  

You oblige and twist to face him; the corners of his eyes crinkle as they dance across your face, and his fingers tug gently at the curved bowl of your ear. “Beautiful,” he marvels, his lips connecting with your forehead, laying a long kiss there as he inhales the berry scent of your hair.  

“Almost forgot,” he mumbles and leans back in the porch chair as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. Pinched between his fingers is a small flower, one with dazzling bubblegum pink petals and a splash of gold at the center — an aster flower. 

You bite back a grin. “Where’d you get that?” you ask him pointedly. 

He avoids your gaze, slips one finger through a loop of the hair tie, threads the dark green stem through with gentle care. “Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “plucked it on the way from Mrs. Doyle’s yard.” 

Your mouth pops open, feigning surprise. He’s quick to defend himself, already sensing your disapproval. “What she don’t know, won’t kill her,” the right corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk, and he releases your braid. 

You mirror his smirk, and you scoot up his thighs. Firm hands find your hips, anchoring you in his lap, and you interlock your fingers behind the nape of his neck as you lean closer. “You know, Mrs. Doyle told me once that all plants have meanings,” you say against his mouth. 

He hums. “She tell you what they mean?” 

You peck just beneath the plush of his bottom lip, and his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes crease. “Mmm. Perhaps.” Your mouth drifts to the corner of his, the silver hairs on his mustache tickling your lips. 

“What’s this one mean, sweet baby?” he asks softly, his fingers coming up to toy with the loose strands at the end of your braid, glowing adoration in his gaze as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes.  

You know what it means. Mrs. Doyle, who ran an apothecary before the outbreak, practically gave you a rundown of what she likes to call A Beginner’s Guide to Floriography. She never fails to jabber your ear off every time she supplies you with herbs. In the beginning, for your period cramps, and then some odd years later, when you and Joel started messing around, in which she was the first to catch on, she supplied you periodically with plants for an herbal tea to avoid any unwelcome surprises. 

You’re silently thankful for her. You know exactly what it means, and you certainly know that Joel knows what it means. The observant man that he is, his every move is intentional; he wouldn’t just pick a flower amongst the many simply for its beauty.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t mess with him a little. “If you had been patient instead of sneaking off while she wasn’t looking, maybe she would’ve told you,” you goad. 

“Oh, I reckon she would, after she’d tell me her whole life story.” 

“That’s cruel, baby.” 

He tuts. “I’m cruel? I ain’t the one withholdin’ information.” With a light yank to the end of your braid, a smirk quirks his lips. 

You shrug, feigning seriousness, “It’s gotta be one of those poisonous flowers used in witchcraft and hexes.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?” 

You nod. “Something about calling upon evil spirits. Wishing ill upon me and everyone I’ve ever loved. That sorta thing.”  

He snorts and shakes his head, murmurs something under his breath that you can’t quite make out; you think it’s something about giving him more grays.

You smirk and unhook your arms, twisting your body around in his lap to pull your boots on. And Joel runs the palm of his hand down your back, stopping at the base of your spine; his other hand reaches down and tugs the top of your cowboy boot, assessing the fit of them. “These the ones I brought back?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. 

“Mhm. Finally get to break them in,” you start and pat your hands on your denim-clad thighs before standing up. “Alright, ready?” 

He nods, groaning as he stands to grab his guitar, looping it over his shoulder, and walks in tandem beside you down the porch and onto the street, arm over your shoulder the whole way. 

—

There’s a cool breeze in the air as you and Joel reach the stables. You stand idly at the gate while Joel steps in and walks Callus out of his stable, both of your backpacks already saddled on either side of him. 

You turn, give two of the men manning the wall a firm nod, and they open the gate. You step out of the settlement and make your way down the trail; the east gate groans as the men on guard promptly close the barrier between the living and the dead. 

Minutes pass, and you reach the clearing. Joel releases the reins and beckons you towards him with a flick of his head. 

Joel strokes over Callus’ mane. “Figured you should be up front this time, get you used to it,” he says. 

Panic settles in your stomach, Joel sees it threaten to spill across your face. He steps forward, squeezes your hand in his. “S’okay, you can do it, baby,” he says softly. 

You hesitate, feel Callus nudge his muzzle into your palm, your eyes flitting between him and Joel. “Joel. I’ve never–” 

“Hey,” he starts, taking your face in his calloused hands, his head dipping to meet your eye line, “you can. We all start somewhere.” You glance into his eyes, the flecks of amber swimming in his hazel irises, and somehow it brings you at ease. Slightly. 

He pecks your lips twice in quick succession. “Better?” he asks. You nod numbly, tossing him a weak smile. 

Joel bends, puts one hand over the other, and you place a wobbly foot up into his hands. With one hand gripping the horn of the saddle and the other on the seat, you throw your other leg over Callus. Joel grunts a low, there you go, as he boosts you up.  

“Attagirl,” he praises, patting the small of your back before swiftly hoisting himself up behind you.

Your back is flush to his chest; he loops a hand around your front to settle on your stomach. You sense he can feel your uneasiness, your muscles tensing beneath his hand. “Remember what I said last time? He can sense your fear. Have faith in the fella.”  

His words fall on deaf ears, and you let go of the reins, the leather already hot and damp in your sweaty palms. You wipe your hands on your denim-clad thighs, cursing yourself under your breath, knowing you’re burning daylight. 

Your shoulders tense at the realization, expecting to hear a low huff of contempt or a quiet sigh of frustration from behind you.

But nothing comes of it. 

Joel moves his hand up your stomach, follows the slats of your ribs, and whispers softly against the shell of your ear, “Close your eyes f’me.”

You obey, eyes fluttering shut. “Now deep breath in…hold it...” His hand steady as your diaphragm expands, your lungs filling with air. “Now breathe out. Slow. Slow.” 

And you do, matching your breathing to his gentle instructions, feeling the anxiety wring itself out from within. 

Until Callus moves slightly beneath you, strong hooves that thump in place. Your eyes tear open, a freakish whimper slips past your lips, your feet lock in the stirrups.

“Easy. Easy. I gotcha, baby. You’re alright, darlin. C’mon, one more time for me.” 

His other hand squeezes your hip, a gentle command. “Stay with me. In and out, you got it, honey.” 

Your stomach settles, and Joel tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, careful fingers running  down your braid. “Helps me sometimes,” he says simply. 

You frown, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Joel stiffens behind you. “You don’t gotta do that.” 

“I feel stupid. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long…to get used to it.” 

You can feel Joel shaking his head. “Look at me,” he urges, his voice low and firm.

You peer behind you, meet the hues of concern in his eyes, the twists of his brows. “None of that, we’ve got time. I’ve got time.” 

Your eyes flit to the collar of his shirt, suddenly interested in the faded neckline. He senses you’re not convinced. “Listen here, you say the word ‘n we quit. We head back ‘n forget it. S’your call, baby.” 

Something pulls at you. Maybe it’s his unwavering patience and attentiveness. Maybe it’s the moment from earlier that loops back in your head. Joel’s expert fingers threading through your hair while talking about his daughter. The reminder of his and her shared love of horses. Maybe it’s the reminder that this moment, with you here, keeps her memory alive. Maybe it’s an urge to further crack his stony walls. That urge to know her and him through this. And you think it’s why he’s so adamant to see this through. You see it in the real joy it brings him every time he takes you beyond Jackson’s walls. See it when the sun sinks behind the hills, cotton candy weaving through the sky. My Sarah would’a loved this, he’d say fondly, with an adoring smile so big his eyes gleam. Teaching you not only lets you know this part of him, but it also allows him to strengthen his connection to her, to reach out to her, twenty years later. 

It all melds together and it nudges you on. You manage to mutter a feeble, thank you. 

He kisses the nape of your neck and readjusts your braid down the line of your back. “You got it, baby.”

Your head turns to face the horizon, the burst of persimmon that spills across the sky. You hesitate to click your tongue. And Joel’s hand retakes its place over your stomach. “S’okay. M’right here, darlin’. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

[worlds-we-write]

Sweet on You

Chapter 1: Bread and Butter

pairing: Jackson!joel miller x baker!reader

Summary: You spend most of your days elbow-deep in dough, trying to stay invisible in a town that’s only ever half-safe. But when a snowstorm traps you inside the bakery — and Joel Miller comes back to check on you — the walls you’ve built start to crack. And Joel? He’s more than willing to crawl through them.

WC: 7.4K

Rating: Explicit (18+) MDNI

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson Era, Age Gap, Bakery AU, Snowed-In, Protective Joel, Abusive Ex, First Time, Oral (f receiving), Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Aftercare, Soft Dom Joel, Emotional Tension, Smut & Comfort

The first light of morning bleeds through the frosted bakery windows, casting long shadows across the flour-dusted countertops. You’re already elbow-deep in dough by the time most of Jackson is still stirring under blankets. Your hands move on instinct — knead, fold, turn, press — the motions steady, repetitive, almost comforting. Almost.

The radio in the corner crackles with the latest weather warning. Snow’s rolling in faster than expected. Maria’s voice, stern and clipped, advises nonessential workers to stay inside.

You keep working.

The heat from the ovens hasn’t fully kicked in yet, and your fingers are stiff with cold. You blow into your palms, flexing them as pain stabs through the joints. The skin on your knuckles is raw — half from the dry air, half from where your ex’s grip had been a little too tight last night when you tried to walk away.

You’d brushed it off. Said something about catching your hand on a doorframe. You lie easier than you used to.

You glance toward the window, hoping no one will come by this early. Hoping he won’t come by. He’s unpredictable that way. But even thinking about it makes your stomach churn.

Instead, you focus on the one thing that helps: work. Baking. The soft resistance of dough, the smell of rising yeast, the way cinnamon sticks to your fingertips like sugar-slick sin. It’s your rhythm. Your armor.

The door jingles at 7:32 a.m. sharp.

Your heart skips. You freeze, hands full of dough.

But then—

“Morning.”

His voice. Warm gravel. Low and rough like coffee at sunrise.

Joel Miller.

You don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. He always comes in at this time on Thursdays. Like clockwork. Orders the same loaf of sourdough. Pays in full. Sometimes talks. Sometimes doesn’t. Always looks at you just a little too long.

You wipe your hands on your apron, trying not to notice how your pulse jumps. “Hey. You’re early.”

He tilts his head slightly, mouth twitching. “You’re open early.”

“Some of us don’t like to sleep in,” you mutter, reaching for the wrapped loaf already waiting for him. You’d made it automatically. Without thinking. That part makes your cheeks burn.

Joel steps up to the counter, wearing that damn brown jacket that clings to his shoulders too well. Snow dusts his hair. His glasses are fogged slightly, and you swear he lowers them to peer at you over the rim — just to mess with your head.

“Cold in here,” he murmurs. “You alright?”

You hesitate.

You could say yes. That you’re fine. That the cut on your wrist is from the oven. That you’re not shaking because of him. That Joel’s eyes on you don’t make it worse and better all at once.

But instead, you just nod. “Yeah. Cold front’s coming in fast.”

Joel takes the loaf, but his gaze lingers. Like he knows there’s something unsaid. His hand brushes yours when he takes the bread. It’s nothing. Barely a second.

But it sets your nerves on fire.

You avoid his eyes. He doesn’t push.

“Be careful out there,” he says.

You don’t reply. Just watch him go.

As the door swings shut behind him, you whisper it too late:

“You too.”

You think that’s it — just another Thursday morning, another few seconds of Joel Miller brushing against the edge of your world before disappearing back into his.

But fifteen minutes later, the bell above the bakery door jingles again.

Your brows pull together. It’s too early for your regulars. And Joel? He never comes back the same day.

You wipe your hands on your apron again — a nervous habit you haven’t been able to kick — and turn toward the counter just in time to see him step back inside.

His hair is a little more damp than before, snow melting against the curve of his collar. His jacket’s still zipped up, and he’s carrying… what looks like a small crate of canned goods.

You blink. “Did you… forget something?”

He shrugs, but his eyes scan the room, lingering on the prep table behind you, the woodpile beside the stove, your thermos of half-drunk coffee. He takes his time.

“Figured you might need this,” he says casually, setting the crate on the edge of the counter.

You glance down — it’s stacked with preserved fruit, two bags of flour, and a few canned items you’ve been out of since last week’s trading haul. It’s the kind of stuff you usually have to beg Tommy to scrounge up for you.

“I—Joel, I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know.” He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, eyes never leaving your face. “Heard you mention last week you were running low.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. No one ever listens that closely. Not unless they want something.

Joel doesn’t say anything else. Just watches you, waiting.

You force a smile. “Thanks. Really. That’s… sweet of you.”

His brow ticks up. “You don’t gotta call it that.”

“What? Sweet?”

“Yeah.” He looks down, almost self-conscious. “Ain’t a word most folks use for me.”

You stare at him. At the way his jaw tightens slightly. At the soft crease in his brow. He really doesn’t know how he sounds when he says these things, does he?

Your fingers twitch at your sides. You want to ask him why he came back. Why he’s really here.

But instead, your mouth betrays you. “You didn’t need to bring this.”

“Didn’t need to,” Joel agrees. “Wanted to.”

Your throat goes dry.

The silence stretches for a second too long. You reach to move the crate off the counter, but when you do, the cuff of your sleeve pushes back just far enough for the healing bruise on your wrist to show.

Joel notices.

You see it the moment his eyes drop to it — the way his expression stills. Sharpens.

You yank the sleeve back down quickly. “Banged it on the oven door.”

His voice is quiet. Careful. “That so?”

You nod, too fast.

Joel doesn’t press. Doesn’t call you out.

But he lingers.

“You staying here through the storm?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “I usually do when it’s bad. Easier than trying to haul everything back and forth in the snow.”

He’s still watching you like he’s trying to read between the lines. Like he knows there’s more to it. Maybe he does.

“I’ll come by later. Check in,” he says finally. Not a question. Not an offer. Just a fact.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

And just like that, he turns and walks out again — boots heavy against the wooden floor, the door closing behind him with a gust of cold air that feels far too empty once he’s gone.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Your fingers graze your wrist, brushing over the dark mark that’s just starting to fade.

You’re not sure which man scares you more.

The one who bruises you in the dark. Or the one who looks at you like he already knows — and gives a damn anyway.

The bakery is quiet again after Joel leaves, but the warmth he brought with him lingers in the space. You can still feel it in your chest — the way he looked at you, the way his voice softened when he asked if you were okay. He doesn’t ask like other people do. He actually wants the answer.

You try to shake it off.

There’s dough to shape, pastries to glaze, loaves to prep for the lunch crowd that may or may not come with the snow already starting to fall. Your hands get back to work, but your head is still replaying that moment — how close he stood. How easily your wrist fit in his hand. How badly you wanted him to pull you in and stay.

The bell over the door rings again.

You freeze.

That’s not his walk. Joel’s heavy but measured. This is lighter. Quicker. Familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist.

You don’t turn around until you have to.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

His voice is low and syrupy. The pet name lands like a punch.

You force yourself to look at him — your ex. Smiling like he owns the room. Like he still owns you.

“Didn’t realize you were open this early,” he says, stepping up to the counter, hands stuffed in his coat pockets like he’s just passing through. “Thought maybe I’d stop in. Say hi.”

You grip the edge of the counter tighter than you mean to. “I’m busy.”

He leans in slightly. “I can see that. Must be a lot of work keeping this place going all by yourself.”

You nod once. Don’t give him anything more.

There’s a long pause. He doesn’t leave.

You know this game. He’s waiting for you to break the silence. To give him space to wedge something sharp between the cracks. You focus on the cinnamon rolls instead — brushing them with egg wash, pretending he’s not watching the way your hands move.

Then he does it.

“You and Joel Miller seem real friendly lately.”

Your body stiffens.

He notices.

“Saw him bring in some supplies earlier. Thought that was sweet.” He cocks his head. “You baking him something special?”

You don’t answer.

“I mean, I get it,” he says, voice dipping lower, a sneer barely hidden under the sweetness. “Big strong guy like that. Bet he knows just how to handle a woman like you.”

Your chest tightens. “You need to go.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Relax. I’m just saying — wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. People talk.”

You finally look up. Your voice is calm, but shaking underneath. “Leave.”

Something flashes behind his eyes — something darker.

And then, too fast to stop, he moves around the counter.

Your heart kicks into overdrive. You step back, but he grabs your arm, fingers digging in too tight, his breath hot and sour against your cheek.

“You really think a man like Joel wants someone like you?” he snarls. “With those thick thighs and soft arms? C’mon. You think he’s not just playing the long game, waiting for something younger, tighter?”

You wrench your arm away, voice low and panicked. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “You don’t belong with someone like him. You belong with someone who knows how to handle you.”

Your blood runs cold.

He leans closer, his voice a whisper now, just for you. “You’re lucky I still care enough to keep you in line.”

You shove him — hard. He stumbles back a step, startled.

“Touch me again and I’ll scream.”

He looks at you for a beat, and something in your eyes must finally register — that you mean it this time.

He straightens his coat. Smiles like it’s all been a joke.

“See you around, sweetheart.”

And then he’s gone.

The door closes softly behind him, but the tension stays — soaked into the floorboards, the walls, your skin.

You lean against the prep table, shaking. Your wrist aches where he grabbed it, and you rub it with trembling fingers.

You stare at the cinnamon rolls, now cold and glossy, untouched.

Your appetite’s gone. But your rage is just starting to simmer.

The snow starts falling harder by midafternoon.

It comes in slow at first — thick, drifting flakes that cling to the bakery windows like static, soft and silent and deceptively gentle. But you know better. Jackson winters aren’t subtle. When the storm hits, it hits hard.

You hear Maria’s voice come through the town radio again, clear even through the walls: “All residents are advised to head home and stay in for the night. Scout patrols will halt after sundown. We’re expecting a full whiteout.”

You don’t respond. Don’t call in. Don’t leave.

You pull the blinds instead. Turn off the storefront lights. Lock the front door even though it’s hours before closing.

The kitchen stays lit, oven humming quietly behind you. You move through your routine like a ghost — stacking trays, folding dish towels, setting out a cot in the corner you keep hidden behind the supply shelves. It’s not the first time you’ve stayed here overnight. Probably won’t be the last.

You tell yourself it’s the storm.

Not the bruise on your wrist. Not the echo of his voice in your head. Not the fact that the apartment you live in is only two doors down from his, and you haven’t slept soundly there in weeks.

You pour yourself a mug of chamomile tea and sit at the tiny prep table, trying to ground yourself. The cup trembles faintly in your hand, and you stare at it like it might give you something solid to hold onto.

He touched you today.

He grabbed you.

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

The bruise is blooming slowly — deeper than the last one. You know how this goes. He pushes until you flinch, then smiles like you’re the one who started it.

You could tell someone. You could tell Maria. You could… tell Joel.

Your stomach flips at the thought.

Joel saw it. The bruise. You could see the tension in his jaw. The way his gaze dropped to your wrist and lingered. The way he didn’t believe you when you brushed it off.

But he didn’t push.

God, you wanted him to.

You finish your tea. Try to distract yourself with prep work — organizing supplies, checking your limited pantry. The crate Joel brought sits near the corner of the kitchen like a quiet promise. You glance at it more than once.

He came back for you today.

No one does that. Not for you.

The wind picks up outside. The walls groan softly. Somewhere far off, a patrol dog howls and the sound is swallowed up by the snow.

You light a few candles when the power flickers — just in case. There’s a thick blanket tucked under the cot, and you pull it around your shoulders, huddling on the small bench by the fire oven.

You don’t expect company.

You definitely don’t expect him to come back.

So when the knock comes — three quick raps against the bakery door — your heart lurches in your chest.

You’re halfway across the kitchen before your body even catches up with your brain, pulse racing, feet bare against the cold wood floor.

You unlock the door, pull it open a crack.

And there he is.

Joel Miller. Covered in snow. Brow furrowed. Eyes locked on you like he’s been waiting to see your face again.

Joel stands just beyond the threshold, snow clinging to his hair, his shoulders, the folds of his coat. His scarf is half-soaked, pushed down around his neck, and his gloved hands are tucked into his jacket pockets like he had to stop himself from knocking again.

You blink at him in the cold air spilling into the bakery.

“You came back.”

His brows lift, like he’s surprised you’re surprised. “Told you I would.”

You step aside silently, letting him in. The moment the door shuts behind him, the sound of the wind fades, replaced by the warm hush of the bakery — the soft crackle of the fire oven, the faint clink of mugs on the drying rack, and the flutter in your chest that just won’t stop.

He stands in the center of the kitchen like he’s unsure where to go, snow melting off him and pooling beneath his boots.

“I was just… checking supplies.” You gesture vaguely toward the pantry shelves, your voice quiet. “Didn’t want to risk walking home.”

Joel’s eyes trail over you — not in a leering way, but like he’s taking inventory. Making sure you’re whole. Untouched.

His gaze drops to your wrist for half a second. You feel it like a spark.

“You didn’t call in,” he says finally. “Maria’s been tellin’ folks to stay in.”

“I’m in,” you say simply.

He hums low in his throat. Removes his gloves, tucks them into his pocket. “You eaten?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Joel looks around the kitchen, then back at you. “Mind if I sit?”

You gesture to the bench near the prep table. “Go ahead. Want some tea?”

He nods once. “Yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.”

You busy yourself with the kettle, grateful for something to do. Something to stop your hands from shaking now that he’s sitting barely six feet away, his big frame hunched slightly from the cold, elbows on his knees. Watching you.

You pour the water slowly, grab two mismatched mugs, and hand one to him.

“Thanks,” he mutters, fingers wrapping around the cup like he hasn’t felt warmth all day.

You sit across from him in silence, both of you nursing your tea. The bakery glows softly in candlelight, the fire casting long shadows on the flour-dusted walls. You can hear the wind howling again just beyond the windows, but in here it feels quiet. Tucked away. Like a snow globe, sealed off from the rest of Jackson.

Joel shifts, finally breaking the silence.

“You ever stay here before?”

You nod. “Couple of times. Storms like this, I’d rather not risk the walk. The apartment’s drafty anyway.”

He eyes you for a moment. You wonder if he knows the truth — that it’s not the cold you’re avoiding, but the man who waits two doors down.

He doesn’t ask. But something in his expression hardens just slightly.

“Wasn’t sure you’d want company,” he says.

“I didn’t,” you admit. Then, softer: “But I’m glad it’s you.”

That gets his attention.

His head lifts, and for the first time since he walked in, his eyes meet yours fully. There’s no heat behind the stare — not yet — just a deep, quiet focus. Like he’s listening to more than your words.

“Earlier today,” he says, voice low. “When I came in. You looked... shaken.”

You go still.

“I’m fine.”

“You keep sayin’ that.”

Your breath hitches.

He sets his mug down carefully. Leans forward. “You want me to leave, I will. But if you’re scared of somethin’, someone—”

“I can handle it.”

His jaw ticks. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just don’t think you should have to.”

The words land heavy.

You look away. Down at your hands. “He was here today. After you left.”

Joel doesn’t ask who. Doesn’t need to.

“He grabbed me,” you whisper. “Said some shit. About you. About me. Made it real clear he’s still watching.”

Joel is quiet. Too quiet.

Then: “He touch you again, I’ll break his fuckin’ hands.”

You look up sharply.

He’s deadly still. Not posturing. Not trying to be dramatic. Just stating a fact — calm, final, and terrifying in how much he means it.

Your chest tightens. Something behind your ribs begins to unravel.

“I don’t want you to get involved,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to you.

“Too late for that.”

He stands, slow and deliberate, walking around the table until he’s standing in front of you. Not crowding. Not threatening. Just there — solid and steady and burning at the edges.

His voice softens. “You don’t gotta tell me everything. But if you’re gonna stay here tonight… you shouldn’t have to stay alone.”

Your breath catches.

He reaches down, fingers brushing your blanket-covered arm. “Can I stay?”

The wind howls again outside, but in here — it’s warm. And for the first time all day, you feel like maybe you’re allowed to exhale.

You nod.

Joel doesn’t smile. But something in his shoulders eases.

He pulls up a chair beside you, and the silence returns — but now, it feels like safety.

Like something’s shifting.

Like tonight might change everything.

The heat of the tea fades, but neither of you reach for more. The mugs sit forgotten on the table, half full, as you and Joel fall into a heavy quiet. Not uncomfortable — just charged. Like static building in the air before lightning strikes.

Joel sits beside you now, not across from you, close enough that his knee brushes yours every time he shifts. He’s peeled off his coat and scarf, now just in a henley and worn jeans, both still clinging to the chill he brought in with him. You can feel the warmth starting to return to his skin — slow and steady, like everything else he does.

You glance over, catch him watching you from the corner of his eye. Not in a hungry way. Not yet. Just… studying. Like he’s learning something he’s never been allowed to look at this long.

You feel his eyes trace the curve of your cheek, down to your collarbone, then flick quickly away. You swallow.

“You always show up like that?” you murmur. “Right when I need someone?”

Joel huffs softly — almost a laugh, but not quite. “Wasn’t tryin’ to time it.”

“But you did.”

He looks at you now, fully. There’s something behind his eyes — something heavy and unspoken, just waiting to be said.

You press your lips together, turning your mug in slow circles between your palms. “You don’t have to keep checking in on me.”

“I know.”

“You barely know me.”

He shifts in his seat. His voice is low, thoughtful. “I know you get here before sunrise every damn day, even when there’s snow on the ground and half the town’s still in bed. I know you’re polite to everybody, but you don’t really talk to most of ‘em. I know your favorite apron’s the one with the little burn hole on the hem. And I know you flinch when you hear a certain man’s voice outside the window.”

You blink. The air leaves your lungs like he knocked it out of you.

“I know enough,” he says, quiet but firm.

You set the mug down. Slowly. Your hands have started shaking again, and you hate that he can see it.

Joel leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, his voice gentler now. “You ever talk to Maria?”

You shake your head. “I can’t. I mean, I could. But if I do, then it becomes real. On paper. Everyone will know. And he’ll know I told.”

Joel watches you. Not pushing. Just there.

“I don’t want to be a problem,” you whisper.

“You’re not.”

“But if you’re seen with me more…”

“I don’t care.”

You blink up at him.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care what he thinks. He lays a hand on you again and I won’t be talkin’ about it — I’ll be dealin’ with it.”

Your throat tightens.

You look down at your lap. Your voice barely makes it out. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Because I’ve been where you are.”

That surprises you. You glance sideways, catch the shadow in his expression — the weariness in his shoulders. Like he’s carrying things he never let anyone see.

“And because,” he adds, clearing his throat, “I look at you, and I don’t want to look away.”

The silence thickens.

You exhale shakily. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll start believing you mean it.”

Joel shifts closer. Just enough that you feel the heat radiating off him now. His knee brushes yours and this time he doesn’t pull away.

“Maybe I do.”

You look up, eyes locking with his.

The moment stretches — long and loaded, heartbeats rising, breaths catching in the quiet between you. You can smell him now: woodsmoke, clean cotton, snow and earth. His hands are resting on his thighs, strong and calloused and so close. You wonder what they’d feel like on your hips. On your waist. Between your—

You stop yourself, but the thought lingers.

Joel’s voice drops, deep and low. “You cold?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m—fine.”

But your voice betrays you.

And Joel? He hears it. All of it.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

The tension turns molten.

He leans in, just a little.

And you don’t move.

Not away.

The space between you shrinks by the second.

Joel’s gaze is on your mouth — heavy, deliberate, and hungry. He hasn’t moved more than a few inches, but it feels like gravity is tilting the entire room, pulling you into his orbit. And you… you don’t want to stop it. You don’t even try.

“Joel,” you whisper, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea.

His voice is rough when he answers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You don’t.

Your breath catches as he reaches up — slow, like he’s afraid you’ll spook — and brushes his knuckles along your cheek. They’re warm now, calloused, trembling just slightly.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he murmurs, “every goddamn time I walk past this place.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “Why?”

He huffs out something close to a laugh. “Why?” he echoes. “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

You can’t answer.

Because the truth is: you’ve felt it too. Every lingering look. Every “just checking in.” Every time his voice dipped a little lower when he said your name. You just never let yourself believe it meant anything.

Not when he’s him — older, guarded, heavy with grief you don’t have the right to touch — and you’re… you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, voice small. “Not really.”

Joel goes still.

His hand drops from your cheek, only to settle at your waist instead — big and warm and grounding.

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean—look at me.” You gesture weakly at your body, your soft curves wrapped in a worn sweater and flour-dusted leggings. “I’m not like the women here. I’m not— lean. Or… easy.”

Joel’s expression darkens, but not with anger. With something else. Something possessive.

He leans in slowly, until your noses nearly brush. His breath ghosts over your lips, and his hand on your waist tightens just enough to make you shiver.

“Baby,” he growls, “you think I don’t notice you? You think I don’t lay awake some nights wonderin’ what you taste like?”

Your breath stutters.

“You think I don’t look at those pretty thighs and imagine ‘em wrapped around my head?”

A sound escapes you — half gasp, half whimper.

Joel smirks. Barely. But it’s there.

“You think I haven’t fucked my hand thinkin’ about how sweet you’d sound moanin’ my name?”

You feel heat rush to your core, thighs clenching instinctively.

“Still think I don’t want you?” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle.

Not rough, either — but there’s no hesitation. No uncertainty. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s been waiting far too long and won’t waste another second. His hand slips to the back of your neck, holding you still while he devours you slowly, thoroughly, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips.

You moan into him — soft, needy — and he groans in return, pressing you back against the prep table without breaking contact. You don’t even remember moving, but suddenly you’re sitting on the edge of it, legs parting instinctively as Joel steps between them.

His hands settle on your hips, warm and possessive.

“You feel this?” he mutters between kisses. “How fuckin’ hard I get just touchin’ you?”

You do.

God, you do — the ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing right where your body is beginning to ache for friction.

You whimper. Joel swears.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he rasps, voice raw. “Tell me now.”

You grab his shirt and tug him closer.

“Don’t you dare.”

The kiss leaves you breathless.

Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling like he’s holding back everything — every word, every groan, every instinct that’s telling him to lay you down on the prep table and wreck you.

His thumb brushes your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod, lips swollen, head spinning, heart doing somersaults.

But then it hits you — hard and cold, like a bucket of ice to the chest.

The kiss. The way he touched you. The look in his eyes.

It felt real.

And that’s what scares you.

Your hands slide to his chest, lightly pressing — not to push him away, but to breathe, to make space, to speak.

“Joel,” you whisper. “This is probably… a mistake.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

You look down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Because you’re—you’re you. And I’m…” You gesture vaguely at yourself. “I’m not what you want. I’m not what makes sense.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I’m younger—way younger. And not in a fun way, in a why-is-he-looking-at-her kind of way. People in this town already talk about me. You really want to give them something else to whisper about?”

Joel says nothing, but the air around him shifts — sharpens.

You press on before you lose your nerve.

“And it’s not just the age. I’m not… easy to love. I’m not quiet. I’m soft and curvy and I overthink everything. I cry too much and I shut down when things get hard. And you—”

Joel cuts you off with a hand on your jaw, gently forcing you to look at him.

“Stop.”

You blink up at him, stunned into silence.

“I don’t give a single fuck what anyone in this town thinks,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “You hear me?”

Your throat tightens. He continues.

“I’ve had enough years and too much loss to waste time worryin’ about gossip. I don’t want some perfect little thing with nothin’ to say. I want you.”

Your lip trembles.

“I want your messy feelings and your soft thighs and your smart fuckin’ mouth. I want the way you light up when you’re talking about bread and the way you shake when you’re scared and still get the job done.”

You let out a shaky breath, and Joel steps in closer, crowding into your space with purpose.

“You think I look at you and wish you were someone else?” he growls. “Fuck no. You walk around this bakery like you don’t know what you do to me.”

His hand slides to your hip, squeezing gently.

“You got no idea how many times I’ve had to walk out of here before I said somethin’ I couldn’t take back. But tonight? I’m not walkin’ away.”

Your heart is beating out of your chest.

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “You don’t need a boy who flirts with you. You need a man who knows how to make you feel.”

Your thighs clench. You can’t help it.

He pulls back just far enough to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he says, voice ragged. “Do you want this?”

You don’t speak — you grab him, dragging him back into a kiss that’s messier this time, desperate, all teeth and tongue and years of longing collapsing into one breathless collision.

Joel groans into your mouth, like he’s finally letting himself feel it.

You barely register it when he lifts you off the floor, your legs wrapping around his waist, the prep table bumping against your lower back.

“I’ll show you how wanted you are,” he mutters against your throat. “Every goddamn inch.”

And you believe him.

God help you, you believe every word.

Joel lays you back on the prep table with careful hands, like you’re made of something breakable — but his eyes say otherwise. His eyes say he’s wanted this. Planned for this. His pupils are blown wide, jaw tight with restraint, and his voice is already dropping into something darker, deeper.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, hands coasting down your sides, fingers squeezing just a little too firmly at your hips. “And you don’t even know it, do you?”

You try to sit up, but his hand on your sternum stops you — firm, grounding.

“Stay there,” he growls. “Wanna look at you.”

Your breath catches.

He starts slow — tugging your sweater up over your head with practiced ease, tossing it aside like he’s done this a thousand times. But his eyes stay locked on your skin like it’s the first time he’s seen anything worth touching.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. His palms skim the curve of your belly, not rushing. “Soft everywhere.”

You flinch slightly — out of habit. Out of shame.

Joel notices.

“Uh-uh,” he says, firm. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you whisper.

“Shrink.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “Not when I’m about to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

Your pulse stutters. His words — slow and deliberate — feel like a weight settling between your legs.

He kisses down your neck, unhurried, dragging his scruff along your skin until you’re squirming. Until your thighs are rubbing together on instinct.

“Joel—”

“Shhh.” He kisses along your collarbone, nips at the skin just hard enough to make you gasp. “I’m takin’ my time. You’re gonna lie there and let me enjoy what’s mine.”

You whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

“That’s it. That’s what I like.”

He pops the clasp on your bra like he’s done it blindfolded before — pulls the straps down your arms slowly, watching your chest rise and fall.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”

His palms slide over your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaked and aching, the heat in your core building to something unbearable. But still — he doesn’t go lower.

“You ever been taken care of properly?” he asks, not unkind, but rough with intention. “Or just used and left?”

You can’t answer. Not out loud.

But your silence is telling.

Joel’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Then his hand dips — finally — to the waistband of your leggings, and his tone shifts.

“Gonna ruin every memory he left behind.”

He peels your leggings down, slow and steady, eyes locked on your thighs as they spread for him — unthinking, eager.

“Mm,” he hums. “Just like I fuckin’ dreamed. Thick little thighs I can sink my teeth into.”

You whine.

“Joel—”

“Oh, now you’re impatient?” He grins, leaning over you, one hand still gripping your thigh. “You wanted a man, baby girl. Not some boy who comes in two minutes and apologizes for touchin’ you too hard.”

His fingers slip under your panties. You arch.

“And this?” he rasps, rubbing gently over your soaked core. “This is mine now.”

You can’t breathe. Can’t think.

“Say it.”

You shake your head, too shy, too overwhelmed.

“Say it,” he demands again, voice low and commanding. “Say it’s mine or I’ll take my sweet time and leave you beggin’.”

You bite your lip. Whimper.

“Yours,” you whisper. “It’s yours, Joel.”

He groans.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

And then he drops to his knees.

As Joel peels your leggings the rest of the way down, his breath hitches — not in lust, but something sharper.

His hand stills against your hip.

You follow his gaze and feel your stomach drop.

Bruises.

The ones you thought were fading. The ones you tried to cover. But in the warm glow of the bakery light, there’s no hiding them. Faint finger-shaped marks blooming along your upper thighs. A deeper one on your hip. And the fresh, angry purple smear still curling around your wrist.

Joel’s whole body shifts — tightens, coils.

“Who did this?” he says, voice low and dangerous.

You open your mouth. Close it.

His fingers ghost over the mark on your thigh, gentle, reverent, as if afraid he’ll hurt you further just by looking.

His other hand curls into a fist on your knee.

“Tell me.”

You swallow, throat dry. “You already know.”

Joel exhales slowly through his nose. His jaw flexes so hard it looks painful.

He stands, just enough to lean over you, one hand still braced on the table beside your head.

“You listen to me,” he says, voice barely a rasp. “That man ever touches you again, I don’t care who he is in this town. I’ll put him in the fuckin’ ground.”

You don’t answer — you can’t — but something in you cracks open. Not in fear. In relief.

Because finally, someone’s seeing it. All of it.

Joel lowers his forehead to yours, breathing hard, shaking with the effort it’s taking not to act on what he just saw.

“I wish I could go back,” he whispers. “Wish I could’ve stopped it before it ever touched you.”

Your lips tremble.

“You didn’t know.”

He pulls back just far enough to cup your face in both hands. His thumbs brush away tears you hadn’t realized had started to fall.

“I know now,” he murmurs. “And I’m gonna take care of you, baby. However you need.”

You nod, barely.

“I want you,” you breathe. “I want this.”

Joel’s eyes darken again — the hunger returns, but now it’s laced with something deeper. Something devotional.

He kisses your inner thigh — right above the bruise — soft as a secret.

“Then let me show you,” he whispers, sinking slowly to his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

“Let me make it better.”

Joel settles between your thighs like he’s meant to be there. Like the space was carved out for him and no one else.

He kisses the inside of your knee first, then lower — dragging his scruff over sensitive skin and watching the goosebumps rise in his wake.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and hunger. “Ain’t even started yet.”

Your breath hitches as he hooks two fingers under your panties and pulls them down — slow, deliberate, savoring the way you squirm and bite your lip. When the fabric slips past your knees, he tosses them aside and stares down at you like he’s been starved for years.

“Look at this,” he growls, eyes locked on your soaked core. “Drippin’ for me already. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You try to close your legs, overwhelmed — but Joel grabs your thighs and holds them open with both hands, firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare,” he says, voice gone ragged. “You let me see you. All of you.”

Your body obeys him before your brain does.

Joel leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above a bruise, then another — and another. His hands trail up, warm and rough, one settling on your belly, the other resting possessively over your hip.

And then his mouth finds your cunt.

You gasp.

His tongue parts your folds like he’s memorizing every line, every texture, every breath you take. He moans into you, low and deep, like you taste better than anything he's had in years — and maybe you do.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans against you. “You’re better than I ever imagined.”

You whimper, hips twitching, but he holds you still.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse. “Let me take my fuckin’ time.”

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance up to your clit, then flattens his tongue and drags it again. Each pass is slower. Wetter. More intentional.

Then he starts talking.

“Gonna eat this pussy ‘til you can’t remember your own name.”

You cry out, grabbing a fistful of his hair — not to pull him away, but to ground yourself. To remind yourself this is real.

“Joel—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Say my name while you soak my fuckin’ face.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking just right, and your hips lift off the table. He growls again — this time into you — and you nearly scream.

He pushes two fingers into you without warning — thick, slow, curling deep.

Your back arches.

“Oh my god—”

Joel laughs softly. “Ain’t even close to god, sweetheart. But you keep makin’ those noises and I’ll do my best.”

His fingers fuck you slow while his tongue circles your clit, every movement precise — like he’s listening to your moans, cataloging them, using them as a map.

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans. “Could spend the rest of the storm right here. Let you ride my tongue ‘til you’re cryin’.”

You already are.

Your body’s trembling, vision blurring, muscles tightening around his fingers.

Joel lifts his head just long enough to rasp, “C’mon, baby. Let go for me. Show me what a real man can make you do.”

Your whole body locks — and then breaks apart.

You cum with a sob, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the table.

Joel doesn’t stop.

He keeps going — licking you through it, fucking you slow with his fingers until your legs are shaking and you can’t breathe.

You whimper something close to “too much,” and he finally slows, easing you back down, licking you gently until your thighs fall open again and your body goes slack.

Then he kisses the inside of your thigh, right where the bruise blooms.

He looks up at you — flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide.

“Next time?” he says, voice wrecked. “I want you on my face. Gonna make you cum so hard you forget you ever let that piece of shit touch you.”

Your throat works as you try to speak. You can’t. You just nod.

Joel stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He kisses your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — everywhere healed.

You’re still trembling.

He kisses your lips and whispers: “You did so good for me, baby.”

The storm rages outside, but inside the bakery, it’s quiet. Soft.

Safe.

Your body feels like it’s floating — half air, half jelly, skin still buzzing with the ghost of Joel’s mouth, his voice, his hands. You’re vaguely aware of him moving, but you don’t open your eyes. Not yet. You’re still too overwhelmed, too raw.

And he seems to understand that.

There’s no rush. No awkwardness.

Just the sound of running water.

You blink your eyes open slowly to find Joel back by the sink, damp towel in one hand, the other wiping down the prep table like it matters to him — like cleaning up the space where he touched you is part of how he honors it.

He glances over when he sees you stir.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Still with me?”

You nod, cheeks flushed, voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. Just… floatin’.”

A flicker of a smile ghosts across his face. “Good.”

He walks back over, towel now warm and wet in his hands. He pauses, waiting — not assuming. Always waiting for your yes.

You sit up slowly, and Joel eases between your knees, lifting your chin with two fingers. “Can I?”

You nod.

He starts gently — wiping between your thighs with slow, careful passes, his touch clinical but tender. Like this isn’t about sex anymore. Like it’s about you — your comfort, your body, your trust.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he murmurs, eyes searching yours.

“No,” you breathe. “God, no. You were…” You trail off, biting your lip. “Perfect.”

That look in his eyes — soft and unreadable and so full — it makes your chest ache.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then gently lifts your sweater from the floor and helps guide your arms back into it. He helps you off the prep table like he’s afraid you’ll break, one arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You don’t let him go.

He hesitates — like he doesn’t want to move too fast — but then you lean into his chest and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all night.

Joel wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest.

“You did real good for me,” he says quietly, voice thick. “I hope you know that.”

You nod into his shirt. “I do.”

He strokes your back for a while, slow and steady, like you’re something worth calming, worth keeping. You don’t realize how tense you still are until the shaking in your limbs finally starts to ease.

“I don’t usually let anyone see me like that,” you admit, voice small.

“I know.”

“And I’ve never…” You pull back just enough to look up at him. “No one’s ever touched me like that. Not like I mattered.”

Joel’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “They didn’t deserve you.”

You look at him, searching his face.

His voice softens. “But I ain’t makin’ that mistake. Not once.”

You exhale shakily, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

Outside, the wind howls, rattling the windows.

Inside, Joel holds you like he isn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time in a long time… you believe him.

AN: this was supposed to be a slow burn and then joel said “you don’t need a boy, baby—you need a man” and suddenly we’re feral in the bakery 💀

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist so you don't miss future updates! 💌

[stylesispunk]

"Blind faith | part vi"

Priest! Joel Miller x night club dancer! reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: The aftermath of Joel knowing part of your "secret" and everything falling apart between the both of you. w.c: 10k warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), angst, forbidden love, betrayal, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of guns. Reader is latina. English is not my first language. a/n: chapter six is here and first, excuse the amount of stupid things that have happened to me. Also, excuse me if this chapter seems to be overdramatic at times but is part of the story. Thank you so much for reading and sharing. Reblogs and comments are always so so appreciated. dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel was drowning into his third glass of whiskey. It was one a.m, everything felt silenced by the defeated sound of his own heart trying to find an answer amidst the chaos of his own thoughts echoing through the walls of his house.

He couldn’t sleep, still thinking on the fool he has been made by you. He had told you the truth no one knew about him. About his beloved baby daughter, he hadn’t had the chance to pour all his love to. He had broken his vows for you.

His fingers trembled around the glass as he stared at nothing. Just the floor. Just the night.

God, he had sinned.

And you?

You were in everything.

The curve of your smile in the edge of the wine glass. The shape of your hips still ghosting his palms. Your breath still warm in the hollow of his neck.

He hated it.

He hated that he loved you. Hated how fast you had carved yourself into his bones. Hated that he had told you everything.  He had broken every vow stitched into his skin. Every sacred promise. He had let you lay your head on his shoulder. Every time he had let his lips touch yours. Let you lie beside him in the dark. Let you wrap your fingers around his, not knowing you were already holding a knife.

Joel had never seen himself as a human. At least not ever since he had sworn his vows and he had given himself to God and his faith.

For him there was nothing else in the world that could make him feel like he belonged to the simplicity of being a human. There were not feelings, not reasons why he would make that effort again. He was a simply a God machine giving people advice and helping them to figure their guilt, sins and shit together with words that would soothe their minds.

But what about his mind?  

Where was the guidance when he needed it the most?

Where was the guidance when he felt love was making him weak?

Where was the guidance when you were his answer and the one making him weak?

“God…” he breathed, voice cracking, head tilting back to the ceiling as if the cracked beams above would give him answers. “God, I have sinned.”

A knock on his door woke him up from his own misery. He feared it was the same man as before. The only looking for you.

Gabriel.

Gabriel, your fiancé.

Gabriel, the man who had claimed you.

His heart and mind reeked with jealousy. God, he felt miserable.

He didn’t stand up, not even opened his eyes until he heard the soft voice calling him

“Joel?”

The moment he heard your voice, rage bubbled up. Rage and tenderness because you were still here, you were still his baby, his darling.

Your voice lingered in the air like a ghost he wasn’t ready to face, sweet and trembling and familiar in a way that hurt more than the whiskey in his veins.

“Joel… please.”

That please cracked something in him.

He opened his eyes slowly and stood up, taking a few seconds to sober up. Finally walking towards the door as if waking from a dream he’d tried to bury. He opened with such a pain on his bones it almost killed him.

There you were standing in his doorway, damp from the night, face pale under the porch light, eyes red-rimmed.

“Thank god” you said, throwing yourself to his arms instantly.

He didn’t know how to react. He debated between push you away from his life or letting you stay on his arms as long as you wanted. As long as he could hold you while during the time he had left.  The seconds felt long enough for you to notice the hesitation in him. The way his arms hovered before they finally wrapped around you.

And when they did, you melted into his chest after holding your breath for hours.

Joel held you tight, tighter than he should’ve, maybe. Like you were the only thing keeping him sane and mad at the same time.

He closed the door behind you with one hand, the other still wrapped around your back. The click of the lock echoed through the silence, making you feel like nothing could ever catch inside this place.

You were shivering in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. He guided you toward the couch, but you didn’t want to let go. And he didn’t force you to.

So, you stood there for a moment longer, wrapped in something too complicated to name.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked after feeling the scent of whisky everywhere.

Joel let out a low breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. His hand was still on your back, fingers twitching like they couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or finally let you go.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough, like gravel soaked in guilt. “Does it matter?”

You leaned back just enough to look at him, eyes flicking over his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the redness lacing the whites. He looked tired. Like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Like someone who’d been drowning quietly in his own thoughts.

“I guess not,” you murmured, and your voice broke a little at the end.

That broke something in him too.

Joel cupped your face gently, thumbs grazing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks still cold from the night. He studied you like you were a puzzle he’d already solved but didn’t want to believe the picture it formed.

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?” You asked in a whispery tone, eyes searching doubts on his face.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His silence stretched long between you—long enough to feel like a lifetime, short enough to make your heart pound harder.

He was staring at you, and this time you could see the war behind his eyes. The love and the betrayal you were too naïve to see. The need and the ache. All of it, cracked and bleeding, tangled into something too human to name.

You feared it. What if he had regretted everything, he had done with you.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. Just once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Of course you can stay.”

He stepped back only slightly, just enough to take your hand in his. His palm was warm, calloused, and trembling. He led you toward the couch, and when you hesitated, he looked at you again.

“Do you want the bed?” he asked, like it would make a difference. Like you hadn’t already shared a bed before. Like you hadn’t once laid beside him with your hand on his chest after making love like it belonged there.

“No,” you whispered. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

That did something to him. He didn’t show it much—Joel was too used to hiding things deep—but his jaw clenched. His fingers gripped yours a little tighter.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Joel asked, gaze still ahead, not looking at you.

Your lips parted, but nothing came. You couldn’t lie to him again, but the truth? The truth might ruin everything you had shared.

“I can’t,” you said at last, barely a whisper. “Not yet.”

Joel nodded slowly. Not in acceptance, but defeated.

“Then I won’t ask anymore.” He said, plainly, locking eyes with you again.

You woke up at three a.m., the world outside cloaked in silence, the kind that only settles over small towns and broken hearts. You thought you had been able to sleep only for a reason.

Joel.

Even when your worst nightmares had been coming to catch you in the form of Gabriel. You had been able to pretend nothing was different from when he wasn’t in town, when he hasn’t found you. Pretending you weren’t restless because of it.

The room was dark, save for the moonlight spilling in through the window, washing everything in silver. You reached across the bed instinctively—searching for warmth, for Joel—but your hand met only the cold press of empty sheets.

You sat up slowly, the ache in your chest louder than your breath.

Joel wasn’t there.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself and padded quietly through the hallway, the wood creaking beneath your feet. You found him in the living room, exactly where you'd feared—on the couch, asleep, or maybe just pretending to be. His body was curled slightly to the side, one arm hanging off the edge like he had fallen into that position after hours of unrest.

The bottle of whiskey still sat on the table beside him, almost empty now, the amber liquid glinting under the moonlight. The glass next to it held the dregs of another pour he hadn't finished.

Your eyes wandered to his face. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed, as if some burden followed him into his dreams. You noticed how his lashes twitched every now and then, how his lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.

It hurt.

God, it hurt to love him this much.

You sank to your knees beside the couch, blanket pooling around you. And for a while, you just watched him—memorizing every line of his face, line and shadow, like maybe if you memorized enough, the truth you carried would become easier to bury.

Like you were never to see him again.

You leaned in.

And kissed his temple.

Soft. Lingering. Like a confession you were too much of a coward to speak out loud.

His skin was warm under your lips. Too warm.

You stayed there longer than you should’ve, breathing him in, willing his pain into yours, hoping maybe he could feel what you meant, even if you didn’t say it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, so softly it barely left your throat.

He didn’t stir but you almost wished he had.

But as the connection you both shared seemed harder to ignore. Harder to fight. His breath hitched. And then, slowly, he turned his head.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your eyes locking in the dim light of the room. There was a storm behind his eyes, rage, grief, longing, but beneath it all, the love you thought you’d lost. The kind of love that made you ache to your bones.

He reached up, fingers brushing your jaw like he didn’t believe you were real.

Then he kissed you.

Not out of desire, but because he had to. Because something inside him cracked open and your name fell through. His lips found yours with a painful kind of tenderness, slow and aching and full of everything he was saving up to say. A kiss laced in apology, in heartbreak.

Your hand found the side of his face again, grounding both of you in that one fragile moment. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t erase the lies or the truth you hadn’t told, but it was honest. It was him. It was you.

You both were real and he was the realest thing to love you had ever met.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

His breath caught, and you felt it, right there, between you. The way he tried to hold himself together. The way he always did. But this time, it was slipping. He was slipping.

His hands trembled where they cupped your jaw, and you felt the warmth of his tears mingling with yours on your cheek, falling quiet and slow like the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

“Joel,” you whispered again, barely able to breathe with the closeness. “What’s wrong tonight?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, trying to hold back everything breaking inside him. Then, finally, his voice came out, hoarse and cracked.

“I don’t know how to carry this,” he rasped. “This love I feel for you… and the price of what it cost me.”

Your lips parted, your heart twisting. His voice was so full of sorrow, you could feel it like a bruise spreading through your ribs.

“I swore I’d never—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I swore I’d never cross that line. And then you walked into my life and I didn’t even hesitate. I just let it happen. And now every part of me wants you, even the parts that were never supposed to.”

You touched his cheek, gently brushing away the tears there. “You didn’t do this alone,” you whispered. “You didn’t fall alone.”

He gave a shaky laugh, low and bitter.

Your eyes filled again, because you couldn’t stand to feel like he seemed to be ruined tonight. It felt almost destructive and poetic at the same time. “Joel,” you said, soft but certain, “you are worth loving. You always were.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red, raw with emotion, and his voice broke completely when he whispered. “I would love to believe you.”

And you didn’t know how to answer anymore.

A few hours later, the morning sun spilled in through Joel’s kitchen window like it had no regard for sorrow. The kind of morning light that was supposed to promise hope, but only reminded you of everything that was slipping through your fingers.

Even the day didn’t feel as warm as always.

You sat at the edge of his bed, still wrapped in the blanket from the night before. Your hair was a mess, your throat tight from unshed tears. You hadn’t slept after you kissed last night. You had returned to his bed silently, curled into the space he used to fill, and stared at the ceiling while the weight in your chest pushed heavier and heavier.

You couldn’t shake the image of him asleep on that couch, face twisted in pain, like even his dreams knew what you were hiding.

You rubbed your palms over your knees. Tried to ground yourself. Failed.

This town was supposed to be a temporary sanctuary, a borrowed illusion to buy you time until you could find a place to plant roots and start again. And Joel—God, Joel—he had become your whole heart.

You’d told yourself this was only for a little while. That you could leave before anyone got too close. Before you got too close.

But you were already in too deep. Too in love with him that the thought of leaving him behind shattered your heart into pieces unable to get together again.

You would walk on fire for him. You would let other throw bricks at you, only to be with him.

And God, last night you had wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: the truth about Gabriel, about why he had found you, why you’d run. About the whisper of your name on a list you weren’t supposed to be on.

But fear had made a home inside you. And now? Now Joel was tangled in it.

You stood slowly and walked to the window. The sun was rising over the fields outside, light stretching long over the earth. You could see the church from here. You remembered sitting there in silence beside Joel, hands brushing innocently.

You had ruined his life.

You pressed your fingers to the glass like you could stop time if you touched it softly enough.

You heard a soft rustle from the living room. He was waking up.

And soon, you'd have to look him in the eye again.

Would you lie?

It was spring when everything fell apart.

You remember the way the city felt, after time was holding its breath. Like everyone had started speaking in code. Streets that used to pulse with life felt quieter, even when crowded. Eyes darted faster. Names dropped from conversations like broken like delicate porcelain.

You were coming back from rehearsal, your toes still pointed in your worn ballet shoes, your muscles aching from hours of movement. The theater had always been your favorite part to be at—your escape from the noise outside. The only place where you didn’t have to choose sides.

Until that day.

You still remember the look on Mariana’s face, your best friend, your partner on stage, your sister in everything but blood. She’d waited for you by the back door of the studio, her cloth wrapped tight around her neck, eyes wild in urgency.

“Don’t go home,” she whispered.

You laughed, because what else could you do?

“I’m serious,” she hissed, gripping your arm. “Your name was mentioned. On a list.”

That stopped your heart. You thought you’d hidden it well. Your conversations, your meetings, the way you stayed after shows to pass messages, to deliver notes, to make your voice heard when the world was determined to quiet it. You thought you’d danced your way around it all.

You didn’t speak. You just nodded. And she kissed your cheek like it was goodbye.

You never saw Mariana again.

Later that night, Gabriel had shown up to your house where you’d gone. His eyes were frantic, his military jacket soaked with droplets of a spring rain “They came to your apartment,” he’d said. “They tore it apart.”

Your breath stopped. “My brother? My parents?”

“They weren’t there.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Gabriel had begged you to leave with him. To disappear. “I’ll find a way” he said. “There are people across the border—friends. We just need to get out.”

But something in your gut told you not to go with him. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were already half a ghost.

Like you were already death.

So, you ran. Alone.

………………………………………………………………………………..

You stood in the doorway, watching him as the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor. Joel was still lying on the couch, his body curled into a tight ball as if the night had pressed him down, heavier than it should have. His eyes were half-closed, groggy from sleep, and his hair was mussed, falling in wild, dark strands around his forehead.

When his eyes finally met yours, there was a faint, almost apologetic sigh that escaped his lips. “Sorry,” he muttered, blinking like he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

You didn’t move from where you stood. Your feet were frozen, almost like you couldn’t bring yourself to step any closer to him.

“You drank too much,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. They hung in the air between you like a reminder of the distance that had been created, like a wall that neither of you knew how to tear down.

Joel rubbed his face with his hands, his expression tightening for a second before he relaxed again. He was tired. You could see it in the lines of his face, in the way his shoulders slumped. But you could also see something else. Guilt. Pain. And maybe a little bit of regret.

“Yeah…” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly, like even that small movement hurt him. “I know. I don’t... I don’t usually drink like that. I never do, actually.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, still standing by the door, your eyes not leaving him. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating.

“Is there something bothering you?” You asked, fearing the worst. Fearing he had regret loving you, that his love to God and his faith was bigger than you.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours at the sound of your voice, but there was something distant in them. Something that made your heart sink. His gaze softened for a split second, but he quickly looked away, like he didn’t want you to see what was going on behind those tired eyes.

God, he wanted to hate you.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to massage away the tension that had built up there. "I don't know," he said, defiance in his voice, also thick with exhaustion. "Maybe it's just—everything. Everything that happened... that I've let happen." His eyes finally met yours again, but this time they seemed a little more guarded, a little more distant.

"I don't regret loving you," he lied, almost as if he was reassuring himself that was partially true “But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost myself” He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “What’s right, you know?”

Your heart twisted at his words. You wanted to rush over to him, hold him, tell him that it didn’t matter, that whatever doubts he had, you were here, right here, willing to stand by him no matter what. But something in his expression stopped you. Something told you that even though he loved you, something deeper—his faith, his sense of duty, something you couldn’t quite name—was pulling him in another direction.

“I just… I don’t want to be the reason you lose your way,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion you didn’t know how to hide. “I know what you believe. And I know I don’t fit into that life.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like your words hit him harder than he expected. He stood up slowly, walking toward you, but the gap between you felt just as wide as it had before. He stopped a few steps away from you, standing there as if he was weighing everything in his mind.

“You’re right” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was intense, full of things left unsaid. “And I don’t know how to make it work. And maybe I don’t have the strength to fight for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words hit you hard. You hadn’t realized just how much you were holding in until they started to fall, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the aching in your chest as the weight of what he was saying settled over you.

“Joel…” Your voice broke, the name coming out as a whisper, fragile, like it didn’t even belong to you anymore. “I never asked you to give up your faith. I just... I just want you. All of you. Not the parts that fit into some idea of what you’re supposed to be. Just you. The man I...” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the strength to finish. “The man I love.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but it was a softness, pain, like he was trying to absorb your words, but the weight of his own burdens was making it impossible to do so. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear to look at you, as if looking at you was a reminder of everything, he felt he couldn’t have.

“You don’t love me,” he whispered, voice shaking now, as if the words were cutting him too. 

The words hit you like a slap, cold and unexpected, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened, and your thoughts spun, dizzying in the sudden, unbearable weight of what he had said.

"What... what do you mean?" The question barely left your lips, as if the very air between you had thickened, made it impossible to say anything that could break through the suffocating silence.

Joel’s hands clenched at his sides, his eyes still cast down, not daring to meet yours. Joel's jaw clenched tighter, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained averted, unable—or unwilling—to meet yours. “I am a priest.” he growled, voice rough with barely contained anger. “I’m married to God and I broke all the vows and promises I made for-for—”

“For what?” you asked, almost challenging him.

Joel’s chest heaved as he took in a sharp breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t answer you right away, his gaze still fixed on the floor like he was trying to find the strength to look at you—like he was searching for the words that would make sense of everything he was feeling.

“For you,” he finally whispered, voice trembling with something raw, something that tore at the edges of his pride. “I broke every damn vow for you.”

You took a step forward, your heart aching at the admission, but you couldn’t let yourself get too close—not yet. Not with the weight of his words still hanging between you. “Joel, I—”

“No.” He cut you off sharply, his voice suddenly fierce. “Don’t. Don’t try to fix this with words. That you still love me after what I’ve done. After everything I’ve given up for... for this.” He gestured between the two of you, his frustration growing as his anger cracked through the cracks of his guilt. “You think it’s that easy?” His voice broke, the weight of his words pulling him apart.

“I don’t know how to feel anymore,” he added, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “You—you—were supposed to be my redemption.”

You swallowed hard, emotions building up in your throat, each word from him slicing through you like a sharp blade. You wanted to reach out, to take his face in your hands and make him understand that nothing about this had been easy for you either. That you had never wanted to be the reason he was torn between love and faith.

“Why did you come here and ruin everything?” Joel repeated, his voice harder now, edged with frustration and something that felt like betrayal.

His words hit you like a slap, raw and unforgiving, and for a moment, the world around you blurred. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—like he had stolen all your words, all your defenses, with that single sentence.

You stood there, fighting the knot in your throat, trying to piece together what had been shattered between you both. His anger, his hurt—it stung, but it was laced with something deeper, something that felt like love twisted into resentment.

The silence hung heavily between you two, the air thick with unsaid words and broken promises. Joel’s eyes softened, but there was a coldness in them now, something that made you feel smaller than you ever had.

He swallowed, his voice shaky, but firm. “I can’t do this,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “I need you to leave.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t understand at first. You stared at him, waiting for the catch, waiting for the reassurance that he didn’t really mean it—that he still wanted you, needed you. But there was none of that. His face was set, his jaw clenched, as if he had made a decision he couldn’t take back.

“Joel…” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out.

You took a step forward, heart pounding in your chest, desperate to reach him, to make him see the truth of how much you needed him. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for him, your fingers gently cupping his face, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the coldness in his eyes.

“Please,” you whispered again, this time your voice thick with emotion. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away.”

His eyes flickered at your touch, a momentary weakness that made your heart flutter with hope. But it quickly faded, replaced by that familiar wall he’d built around himself.

“Don’t you get it?” Joel’s voice was rough, each word like a knife. “I’m not good for you. I’ve never been good for you. I am not a man you need; the one would fit into your life.”

Your fingers tightened around his jaw, pulling him gently toward you, forcing him to look into your eyes, to see the depth of your feelings for him. “You don’t get to say those things and pretend there’s nothing bothering you” you said fiercely, your breath shaking. “What have changed?”

His breath hitched, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to argue, to find some reason to push you away, but the look in your eyes—so raw, so full of pain and love—stopped him.

“I need you and I love you,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I need you, Joel. And I can’t leave you now.”

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside felt distant, as if the two of you existed in a bubble, suspended in time. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. His breath was shallow, and you could see the internal war raging inside him.

You held him there, your forehead resting gently against his, feeling the weight of everything that had passed between you. Your hands lingered on his face, waiting for him to make a decision—waiting for him to choose you, to let you in.

“Please,” you whispered again, softer this time, your voice breaking. “Don’t push me away, not when I need you the most.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, Joel’s eyes softened, and something flickered within them—something that felt like the remnants of the love he had for you, buried beneath the weight of everything else. Before you could speak again, before the words could form in your throat, he closed the distance between you.

His lips found yours with a force that made your heart race. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t angry either. It was raw, desperate, filled with everything he’d been holding inside. His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer, and you could taste the whiskey on his lips, the bitterness mingling with something deeper, something painful.

When he finally pulled away, the air between you was thick, the tension unbearable. He looked at you, eyes dark in confusion, his breath ragged, like he wasn’t sure how to breathe without you.

You could see the battle inside him—the love and the pain, the anger and the guilt, all tangled together. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“I need time,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a man trying to hold on to the last bit of control he had. “I need to think. I need to figure this out. But not today.”

You nodded, your heart aching with each word that passed between you. You didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to be the one to walk away. But you could see the wall he’d put up, the armor that he was trying to maintain.

“Can you leave?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Just... just for today. I don’t want to say things I’ll regret. I just... I need some space. We can talk later. When I feel better.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded again, your fingers brushing against his as you stepped back.

“Okay,” you said softly, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him. “I’ll leave. But I’m not going far.”

Joel watched you opening the door and leaving the safety of his house, leaving him behind with a heavy weight on his heart.

And his thoughts drifted to the prior night.

Gabriel didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Joel, like he’d been carrying this decision in his chest for hours.

Then, he stepped forward and held out a small piece of paper.

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

“My number,” Gabriel said quietly. “And the place I’m staying.”

Joel didn’t move.

Gabriel sighed, not with annoyance, but something closer to tired concern. “If something happens… if you perhaps see her…please call me and tell me.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she owns me a lot and I’m not leaving her.” Gabriel said plainly, his voice firm, unwavering.

Joel stared at the slip of paper in his hand, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. The numbers blurred for a second, like they were mocking him. Like they knew.

He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor but not really seeing it.

You had lied.

The thought came uninvited, poisonous. He tried to shake it off, but it sank its claws in, deeper and deeper the more he let it twist in his chest.

You belonged to Gabriel.

You weren’t his.

You never were.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was the quiet of something waiting to unravel. The shadows on the walls were familiar, the smell of lemon cleaner still the same. But it wasn’t the home you had made of yourself anymore.

Not after Joel’s dementor. Not after feeling he was slipping through your fingers like water in your hands.

You walked further in, your fingers brushing against the edge of the hallway table like muscle memory, and then you heard movement in the kitchen.

Carmen was there, sipping a cup of coffee as if she were waiting for you to appear.

“Did you spend the night at the father’s house?” she asked as if it the chance was poison.

Not a “Good morning” just a simply question.  

You looked around, and felt your chest tighten. “So, this is what it’s come to?” you asked back not answering her question, voice barely above a whisper. “You tell Billy everything when you promised you wouldn’t say anything about me and Joel.”

She set down the cup in her hand, leaning against the counter. “It mattered. You’re—”

“I’m nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer, heat rising behind your eyes. “Don’t ever say it was because you care because—”

“And what were you doing?” Carmen shot back, her jaw clenching. “Sneaking around with a man who told you from the beginning it couldn’t happen. A man who wears a collar, for God’s sake.”

You flinched like she’d hit you.

“And yet he chose me anyway,” you said, your voice trembling with the ache in your chest.

“Did he?” she asked, not because she wanted to hurt you but because she wanted to understand what thoughts were running inside your mind.

Something flickered in her eyes—guilt, maybe. Or regret. But it was gone too fast.

“You don’t belong with him,” she said, voice low. “You don’t see it now, but someday you will.”

You stepped closer, meeting her eyes squarely.

“You don’t get to decide who I belong with.”

The silence was sharp. Years of shared history hummed like a storm in the walls.

“I love you like a little sister, you know?” she spoke, “And you don’t deserve to spend your life hidden beneath the cloaks of a secret.”

You didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. She took a step closer to you.

“You already told me why you are here, Estrellita. Don’t waste your life hiding anymore.” She spoke.

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers without even realizing it. The way she called you Estrellita—it broke something open in you.

You had never learned what it meant to love someone in silence. You had always been so carefree, not used to a life of being caged. You were not used to run from your past like it was a fire at your back.

“I didn’t mean to fall for him,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“I know,” Carmen said gently. “But it did.”

You looked up at her then, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t see her as just the woman who’d tried to protect you, who interfered or judged or told you what was right. You saw the friend who held your hand when you needed the most the first time you arrived here.

Tears welled in your eyes again. “I thought I could outrun it, Carmen. I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, if I kept it buried… it wouldn’t follow me here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Gabriel.” You said, his name felt like poison on your lips. It tasted like blood. You wiped at your cheek. “He is here. He found me and I think he wants to take me back to home.”

Carmen’s face went still—like something in her braced at the mention of his name. Her breath caught, her posture tensed, and suddenly all the softness from before hardened into something sharp and protective.

“He’s here?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your hands trembling now as the weight of saying it out loud settled on your chest. “Last night… at the club. I didn’t imagine it. He was watching me, then he left.”

Carmen blinked, like she needed a moment to absorb that. “That bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her voice suddenly laced with steel. “You think he wants to take you back to your family?

Your throat tightened. “No. He must have been caught up.”

“That’s why you ran in a hurry from the club last night?” she asked.

You nodded, “I went to Joel’s because he wouldn’t find me at a priest’s house.” you pause for a bit, “but he was acting strange too and I feel like I’ve ruined his life and I cannot stop running.”

Carmen took your hands then, firm but not unkind. “Listen to me,” she said, fierce now, “Fathe-well, Joel is not the important thing now. You are not alone. And whatever this Gabriel thinks he’s going to do—he’ll have to go through me first.”

You gave a watery laugh, and she smiled, only for a second,before her face turned serious again.

“You’re not performing tonight.” She said, as a momentary solution to this issue.

Your brows furrowed. “What? Carmen, I have to—”

“No.” Her voice left no room for argument. “You’re not getting on that stage tonight. Not with him out there. Not when you’re this shaken.”

“I’ve been through worse,” you whispered, but it didn’t even sound convincing to your own ears.

Carmen shook her head. “This isn’t just stage fright or nerves. This is fear, real fear. And I’m not letting you walk into that spotlight like nothing’s wrong when we both know you’re still looking over your shoulder.”

You looked down at your hands, her grip still grounding you. Your skin was clammy. Your thoughts raced. But there was a small, stubborn fire in your chest.

“He’ll think I’m hiding,” you said quietly.

She arched a brow. “He’ll think you left this town.”

You didn’t answer.

She took a seat next to you “Then, he’ll leave and you will be fine okay.”

You stared at her, those words hanging heavy between you. He’ll think you left this town. Like it was easy. Like he would just pack up and vanish the way you should’ve months ago. But something inside you twisted at the thought—something sharp and aching.

You shook your head slowly. “But I don’t want him to keep looking for me,” you said, voice trembling, almost ashamed of the truth.

Carmen turned to you, eyes searching. “Then what do you want, mi niña? Do you want to run forever? Or do you want to finally live your life?”

You blinked back the tears forming again. Your throat burned.

“I want to stop feeling like I have to choose between running and breathing,” you said. “I don’t want to face Joel while feeling like this.”

Carmen was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Then we make a plan. But not tonight. Tonight, you breathe. You eat something. You sleep with the door locked. And tomorrow—if you want to tell Joel the truth—we tell him everything. Together.”

You looked at her, the fear still clawing at your insides—but for the first time, you didn’t feel alone in it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet. Carmen had gone to the club a couple hours ago, but sleep wasn’t coming to you. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a shield, though it did little to ward off the storm building in your chest.

The TV played some old black-and-white movie on low volume—just enough to keep the silence from swallowing you whole. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering every time the screen flashed. You’d been staring at it for who knows how long, your thoughts looping, racing, tangling.

How do you tell Joel?

How do you say it without breaking whatever fragile thread you still have between you?

What if he doesn’t believe you? What if he thinks you play with him?

You’d rehearsed the words in your head a thousand different ways, none of them good enough. None of them could undo what had been done, or explain why you hadn’t told Joel the truth from the beginning.

The silence broke with a sudden ring that pierced through the stillness, loud and jarring. You jumped, your heart lurching into your throat. For a second, you just stared at the phone on the table, afraid to move, afraid of what—or who—was on the other end.

Your breath caught. You stared at the phone for a long moment, your finger hovering over it like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Then—almost without thinking—you picked up.

“…Hello?” your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to.

There was a pause on the other end. You could hear the faint sound of his breathing, uneven. Like the person on the other side didn’t know what to say either.

Then finally, low and tired and rough, a voice came through, saying your name.

You closed your eyes, your chest tightening.

“How are you?” Joel asked, the words thick and quiet. “I… I know I don’t deserve to ask, not after this morning.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Just a breath. Just silence. And then, “It’s fine,” you said softly. “You were upset.”

“No,” he said, and you could hear the guilt straining in every syllable. “I was cruel. I pushed you away and I didn’t mean to. I just—”

He exhaled sharply. “I was angry, but not at you. Not really. I was angry at myself. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You let the silence settle for a moment, heart thudding dully in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Can you come to the church?” Joel asked. “Now. Please.”

You hesitated. The question hit you hard, like he’d reached through the phone and gripped your wrist. You stared at the dark window, the flicker of the TV, the stillness of the house. Carmen’s warning echoed in your head.

“I can’t,” you said. It came out too fast, too brittle. “I… I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Joel said again, more urgently now. “I just— I need to see you. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You could almost feel Carmen’s disappointment if she knew you were even considering it.

But his voice was breaking. And your heart… your heart was already halfway out the door.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You could hear the breath of relief he let out, like he hadn’t believed you’d actually say yes.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

And then the line went dead.

The room felt impossibly quiet. The truth still weighed heavy in your chest, but your feet moved on their own—toward the door. Toward him.

Despite everything.

Despite Carmen.

Despite Gabriel.

Despite the danger.

You were going to Joel, where he would be waiting with the lights up to protect you.

The old wooden doors of the church creaked open, the sound echoing softly through the vast, candle-lit silence. The night air clung to your skin as you stepped inside, the scent of old wood and melted wax wrapping around you like a memory.

Joel was there.

Up by the altar.

His back to you, shoulders slightly hunched as he lit one candle, then another. The glow bathed him in gold, flickering shadows dancing across his frame like ghosts.

You stood there for a second, just watching. Your heart thudded so hard it almost drowned out the quiet. You opened your mouth.

“Joel,” you said, softly.

He stiffened immediately. The match in his hand paused mid-air before he extinguished it slowly, fingers curling around it like he didn’t want to let it go. Then he turned.

There was no smile. Just dark, tired eyes locked on you. His face unreadable. Haunted. Like he had traveled miles through his own mind just to meet you here.

You wanted to say something. You thought of all the ways you could start but nothing felt right. Nothing touched the heaviness pressing down on both of you.

He finally spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I almost didn’t.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Why did you?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “Why did I do what?” you finally asked.

His jaw tightened as the question cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked, like each word cost him something to say.

You stood still, the faint glow of candlelight brushing your face. There was nowhere to hide in this place, no shadows to slip into, no noise to drown out the truth. Just him. And you. And all the pieces of what you’d broken between you.

You looked down for a second, then met his eyes. “I—What?”

Joel took a slow step forward, the echo of his shoes heavy against the church floor.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Controlled. But his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You stared at him, a dozen answers caught in your throat. None of them good enough.

“Gabriel,” he said. Just the name. Nothing else. And still, it landed like a punch.

Your breath caught. “Joel…”

“You are engaged to him.” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back something ugly. “All this damn time, you were engaged while messing up with my head.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. “It’s not—Joel, it’s not what you think.”

His laugh was humorless, bitter. “Isn’t it? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks pretty damn clear.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers trembling at your sides. “I left before. I left everything behind when I came here. I’m not engaged to him I never was I—”

“I don’t believe you.” he called out.

You took a slow step forward, trying to mend what was broken. Your voice quivered as it left you. “I never said yes. I never said yes to him, Joel. I—”

Your words die in your lips because he wouldn’t even look at you now. His jaw was tight, arms crossed like a shield, like if he let them fall, he might shatter.

“I told him I didn’t want that life,” you continued, trying to reach him. “I told him I wasn’t his. I ran, Joel. I ran from all of it. From him. From the danger I was in.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, something cracking in his expression—but not enough to let you in. “You should’ve told me,”He said, low. “You should’ve trusted me with the truth.”

“I wanted to,” you said, stepping impossibly closer. “Every time I looked at you, it was right there, stuck in my throat. But I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me like you are now.” You paused, “You told me I could do it when I feel ready.”

He held your gaze for a long beat, pain written deep across his face.

You took another step, just a breath away now. “Joel, please. It’s not what you think it is, there is so much more to tell. The truth of it.”

Silence pressed in. You reached out slowly, placing your hand gently over his. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m standing here asking you to give me a chance to explain.”

His fingers twitched beneath yours—like maybe, just maybe, part of him still wanted to hold on.

"I'll ask god to get rid of those feelings you have for me.” He said, letting go of your hand “I'll pray for you."

Your hand hung there in the space where his used to be, suspended in the air like a ghost of something that had once meant everything. His words hit harder than any shouted accusation could have—quiet, measured, and final. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You stared at him, throat tight. “Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t erase what we had like it was nothing.”

Joel turned away from you then, his jaw clenched, his silhouette bathed in candlelight and heartbreak. “I ain’t erasing it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m just tryin’ to survive it.”

A bitter silence followed.

"I don't want to get rid of them!" You shouted at him.

"Don't. You lied!” he shouted back, while pointing his finger at you.  

"No, I didn't." You cried out

"You did! You made me sin. I knew I should have never touch you, never should have loved you.

"don't say it, you will regret it" you warned him, before he could say anything else.

"The only thing I will regret is you."

You didn't even have time to completely allow your heart to break after hearing those words. You were stunned. No words could even come out from your lips.

He was staring at you now, eyes wide with something that almost looked like remorse—but it was drowned out by the rage, the hurt.

“I never lied to you,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it too real.

Joel shook his head, his face twisted with frustration, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t understand. “You don’t get it, do you? You—you—taught me how to love, how to want things I shouldn’t. And now I’m left here, broken because of you.”

He took a step back, his fist clenched at his side. “I should have never let myself feel this way about you,” he spat, and the words felt like venom. "I should’ve never let you in."

Your heart shattered in the silence that followed. You could feel the crack of it deep within you, splintering everything you thought you understood about him, about you, about what you could have been.

"You don’t mean that," you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. But even as you said them, you felt the truth settle into your bones. He did mean it.

Your hands moved on instinct, cupping his face, your fingers trembling as they touched his skin. His jaw was tense beneath your palms, but you didn’t care. You needed him to feel it—to know it wasn’t a lie.

“Joel, I love you,” you breathed, desperate, broken. “Please, let me—”

But he pulled your hands from his face, slowly, painfully, like he hated the way it felt to do it.

“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “You belong to him. To Gabriel.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “What…?”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stutter. “That’s why I called him.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your hands dropped to your sides as your mind spun. He called Gabriel. Joel called him. He called him.

“Why would you—” your voice cracked.

But then, before you could finish, you heard it. A voice behind you. Smooth. Familiar. Sickening.

Your name, spoken with a twisted fondness. “Aquí estás.” (Here you are) Gabriel said.

You turned slowly, dread creeping up your spine like frostbite.

Gabriel stood just inside the church doors, shadow stretching long behind him. He looked at you like he always did, like you were something that belonged to him.

Your stomach dropped.

Joel’s voice was behind you, sharp and cold. “Now he can take back what’s his.”

Your knees went weak. Everything around you blurred except for that one terrible truth.

He’d brought you here. He’d brought him here. Joel did it.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun, the walls of the church closing in like a vise around your chest. The candlelight flickered, suddenly too bright, too hot.

Your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape, and the sound of Gabriel’s footsteps—calm, deliberate—only made it worse.

You stumbled back.

“Don’t,” you rasped, lifting a trembling hand. “Stay away from me.”

But Gabriel kept walking. And when your back hit Joel’s chest, you realized you’d moved without thinking.

You were hiding. Behind him. Joel stiffened in surprise as you pressed against him, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracked and broken. “Please don’t let him take me.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a long second. You could feel the tension in his body, the confusion, the conflict. He’d expected anger—guilt, maybe. Not this. Not you trembling behind him like a trapped animal.

He looked over his shoulder, saw your face, pale, wet with tears, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps and something shifted in him.

he murmured your name but you couldn’t speak. Gabriel was close now, too close, his steps slow and confident. “Ya no puedes seguir arrancando” (You cannot keep running anymore)

You flinched at his voice. Joel turned to look at you again, really look at you. The panic in your eyes. The way you were clinging to him.

And suddenly, everything didn’t seem so black and white anymore.

“You tricked me” you said through shallow breaths, chest heaving.

Joel’s jaw tightened.

Gabriel frowned. “She’s confused. That’s all this is. She always gets like this.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, no, please don’t listen to him. Joel, you have to believe me.”

Your fingers twisted tighter in his cassock Joel’s eyes flicked from you to Gabriel. And for the first time… doubt. Real, sharp, dangerous doubt crept into his face.

And he took a slow step in front of you, this time not to give you away.

But to shield you.

“What the hell do you want from her?” he asked, low, directed at Gabriel now.

Gabriel blinked once, then gave a short, breathy laugh—quiet at first, then building, echoing through the old church like a sick hymn.

“A priest?” he said, incredulous, mocking. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He looked between you and Joel like the punchline of some cruel joke had just landed in his lap. “There’s no way you fell in love with a priest.”

You flinched at the sound, but Joel didn’t move. His jaw clenched tighter, fists at his sides.

Gabriel took a step forward, his shoes tapping softly against the stone floor. The candlelight caught the edge of something cold and metallic beneath his coat—then, slowly, he pulled it out.

A gun.

You froze.

Joel’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you again, forcing you back behind him. His voice dropped lower, sharp as a blade. “Put that down.”

Gabriel cocked his head like he was considering it—like this was all just some twisted game.

“You think wearing that collar means something to me?” Gabriel asked in defiance.

Joel didn’t flinch. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Joel—” you whispered, barely able to breathe.

Gabriel’s gaze cut to you, and his smile returned—cold and cruel. “You always were good at pretending,” he said.

“No,” you whispered. Your voice was shaking, but your spine straightened.

Joel stood solid in front of you. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Gabriel raised the gun slightly, hand steady. “That can be arranged.”

Gabriel’s arm rose, the gun steady now, aimed directly at Joel’s chest. His eyes had gone dark, void of reason, swimming with something far worse than jealousy.

“You have no idea what she did to me,” he hissed. “No idea what she owes me.”

Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. “She doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

Gabriel’s finger twitched on the trigger.

“She does,” he spat. “You think she’s innocent? You think she ran away from nothing?”

You were trembling, the edges of your vision tunneling, the air thick and heavy in your chest.

Gabriel sneered, not even sparing you a glance. “You always have a choice. And you chose wrong.”

Joel took a step forward, deliberate, protective. “You’re not taking her.”

Gabriel’s hand raised with him, following the movement. “She’s mine. I bled for her. I ruined myself for her. And she walked away leaving me paying the consequences?”

Joel’s voice was low, but it rang with conviction. “You are not taking her” he repeated.

For a second, Gabriel’s face twitched—something unhinged cracking behind his eyes.

“She’s not yours to save,” Gabriel said. “And when I’m done with you—she’ll remember that.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Try me.”

And that was when Gabriel’s hand jerked. The sound of the gunshot split the silence

Joel hit the ground with a cry of pain, the bullet tearing through his leg. The sound of it—the thud of his body, the ragged gasp that ripped from his throat—split you open.

“Joel!” You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands already pressing over the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. His cassock was soaked within seconds, your fingers slipping in the warmth of his blood.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” you pleaded, voice trembling, cracking. “You’re going to be okay, just look at me. Please.”

His jaw clenched, but his eyes still found yours. There was pain there, yes, but something else too. Something soft, even now.

Before you could answer, a force yanked you backward by the arms.

“Enough,” Gabriel growled.

You screamed, thrashing against him, kicking and clawing. “Let go of me!”

His grip tightened. “You think this is about him? Him? After everything I did for you, you choose a fucking priest?” His voice broke on the word, madness trembling under the surface.

“You shot him!” you shouted, your voice shrill and full of rage. “You could’ve killed him!”

“And maybe I should have,” Gabriel hissed near your ear. “Maybe then you'd remember what you own me."

You struggled harder, your eyes locked on Joel still lying on the floor, bleeding, trying—despite the agony—to push himself up for you. For you.

“Don’t touch her,” Joel said, voice hoarse, weak, but full of fire. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Gabriel laughed, wild and bitter. “You can’t even stand.”

Gabriel’s fingers dug into your arms as he dragged you toward the church doors, your heels scraping against the floor. You kicked, shouted, screamed Joel’s name, but he was behind you now, and bleeding, and you couldn’t get to him.

“Déjame!” (Let me go!) you cried, nails raking at Gabriel’s hands, but he didn’t flinch. His grip was iron, and the fury in him had snapped something loose. Something terrifying.

He shoved the doors open with his shoulder, the night air crashing into your lungs like a slap.

“Ahora nosotros tenemos una conversación pendiente, fugitiva,” (Now we both have a a pendant conversation, little rebel) he spat, his voice low and venomous. “Creíste que podías huir de mí, ¿eh? ¿Que podías esconderte detrás de un maldito cura? (Did you think you could run and hide behind a fucking priest?”

You struggled, tears streaming now, hot.

He kept dragging you down the steps of the church. “¿Después de todo lo que hice por ti? ¿Después de lo que sacrifiqué? (After all I did for you? after all I sacrificed for you?)

“Déjame!” you screamed, the words ripping from your throat.

He slammed you against the hood of a car, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

“No me pongas a prueba,”(Don’t try me) he growled.

People had started to gather—neighbors, passersby, drawn by the shouting, the shot, and the slam of doors, the chaos erupting outside the church. You could hear the murmurs, the uncertainty in their voices, but no one stepped forward.

Except one.

Mr. Langdon appeared at the edge of the crowd, his eyes wide in horror. “What’s going on here?!”

Your eyes locked onto him, desperate. “Go to the Father!” you shouted, voice raw. “He’s bleeding! Go help him, please!”

Mr. Langdon hesitated, then turned, finally breaking into a hurried limp toward the church steps.

Gabriel leaned in close, his voice slithering in your ear like a curse. “Ahora te vas a subir al auto y me vas a escuchar,” (Now you’re going to get in the car, and you’re going to listen to me.) he whispered, so low only you could hear.

You shook your head violently, heart hammering, eyes darting from one stunned face to another in the crowd. Why weren’t they doing anything?

“Help me!” you cried out. “Please!”

And then—Carmen. She burst through the people, Billy right behind her, both of them panting from the sprint, eyes wide with panic as they took in the scene.

“¡Hey!” Carmen screamed. “¡Déjala!” (Let her go!)

Billy didn’t even hesitate; he ran toward you.

But it was too late. Gabriel jerked open the passenger door, dragged you inside with terrifying strength, and slammed it shut.

You fought, your hands pushing at him, legs kicking wildly, but the doors locked with a heavy click, sealing you inside. Your cries were muffled now by glass. Gabriel’s hand clamped over your thigh, keeping you still as he started the engine.

Outside, Billy was pounding on the window. Carmen was screaming your name.

And all you could do was look back through the glass—at them. At the church.

At Joel’s silhouette, just now staggering out under the arch of the church’s door, his hand clutching his side, eyes locked on the car that was taking you away.

And then it moved.

Gabriel drove, leaving this town behind.

Oh god, what have he done?

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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@melsunshine @goodvibesonly421

[layaispunk]

good enough

description: after a tense moment at the dance, Joel spirals into old guilt and doubt — but in the quiet of your shared home, you remind him he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. unprotected P in V. submissive joel if you squint. no y/n used. established relationship, fluff, insecure joel

wc: 2.4k

a/n: i'm still practicing at writing smut and i thought what better way to practice than with a little bit of old jackson joel ... he's got me feeling some type of way. but i am extremely sensitive and overprotective of him rn because of whats to happen, i jus wanna lock him in a room and protect him

You saw it happen before anyone else did.

The moment Seth raised his voice at Ellie and Dina, you immediately noticed Joel’s body language’s sudden change and his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The whole hall stilled. Your chest tightened. It hurt, seeing Joel stand there - you could see the hurt behind his eyes as if he’d been slapped. Your body moved before your mind could think and immediately followed him outside. 

You found him outside, teary eyed with hunched shoulders like he was carrying a huge load of guilt and shame. Embarassed. Ridiculed. 

“Joel,” you said softly.

He exhaled through his nose, low and tired. “She hates me.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to ground him.  “She doesn’t. She’s just angry because she wanted to handle it herself.”

He finally looked at you then. “I just wanted to keep her safe,” he said, voice thick. “Always do.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, honey.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his. He let you. “We already talked about this, Joel. I know your first instinct is to attack,” you whispered, reaching for the grey curls on the back of his head, combing through them slowly. “I know how you feel, but you’re not going to fail Ellie too, I promise, Joel.” 

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief that never learned how to stay buried. But ever since Sarah, Joel had carried this silent promise within himself -  that if he couldn’t save Sarah, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to save someone else’s.

Trying to save Ellie. Even when she didn’t want him to. Even when it cost him. 

He didn’t respond. You kept your fingers threaded through his hair for a moment longer, just breathing next to eachother was enough. Then you leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and whispered against his skin, “Alright, cowboy. Let’s get you home.”

The weight in his chest had lifted just a little when he left out a soft laugh. Your fingers stayed laced with his as you turned and started walking together, boots crunching lightly over snow-dusted dirt. He stayed close, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing grounding him and not making him think about the mess he'd left behind.

The walk home was quiet. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often. In the way he kept glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. He didn’t quite understand how someone could stay after seeing all his broken pieces.

He sighed a little when the porch light came into view. When you stepped into the house, it was warm from the fire you'd left going. Familiar. Safe. You slipped off your jacket, turning to look at him, but he just stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now.

“Come on,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “Let’s get you ready for bed, hm?”

He didn’t argue. Just let you lead him to the bathroom to take a nice warm shower and wash the day off.

The steam rose quickly as the water warmed under your hands, making sure the temperature was perfect for him. Warm enough to loosen the knots on his shoulders, but not scorching. You undressed him slowly, letting your fingers linger over each scar, each line that marked his survival.

He undressed you too, hands rough and calloused but soft, brushing down your arms like he was doing sensory grounding exercises you taught him for when he’s feeling anxious.

When you stepped under the water together, he exhaled. You reached for the bottle of floral shampoo he secretely liked - soft lavender, and poured a little into your palm. He closed his eyes when you started working it into his hair, letting himself lean into your touch like he hadn’t let himself do all day.

“Don’t know how you put up with me,” he mumbled, voice thick.

“Easy,” you whispered. “I love you.”

He cracked one eye open, looked at you like he didn’t quite believe it. You smiled and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then cupped his face in your hands. “You’re always takin’ care of everyone around you, Joel. Let me take care of you for once.”

When you were done, you dried off slowly, wrapping Joel in one of the thick towels you always made sure were clean and folded. He let you fuss over him, didn’t even try to stop you. He just stood there, heavy and quiet, letting your hands do the talking. That alone told you how tired he was.

In bed, he lowered himself on his side with his back turned to you at first — not because he was upset, just.. used to holding things in. Used to thinking he had to process it alone.

But you weren’t going to let him. You never did. You slipped in behind him, resting your chest against his back, one arm curling around his waist. And after a few minutes, he turned toward you. Slow, hesitant. Your hands immediately found his hair once again, running your fingers through it gently, still a bit damp and smelling like lavender. He closed his eyes, jaw finally resting. “I’m proud of you, Joel,” you whispered. “You did what you thought was right. You always do.”

His hand found yours beneath the sheets. Gave it a squeeze. He’d gone quiet again, always noticing the smallest changes in his body language when he has something going on in his head. You gently nudged his chin up so he’d look at you. 

“What’s wrong?”

He hesitated. “Jus’ thinkin’.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Wanna talk about it?”

Joel looked at you for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, eyes dropping to the space between you.

“I don’t feel like I’m good enough for you. And for Ellie.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, voice rough. “Ellie’s growin’ up. Don’t want me stickin’ my nose in her business anymore. It’s not even about that, it jus’ feels so sudden, y’know? And you…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “You’re still young. Strong. Capable. Still got so much life in ya. There’s things I can’t… do, anymore. Not like I used to.” 

You quickly realized he was referring to the intimate moments you shared together. Sometimes, when his shoulder starts to hurt, he can’t last a long time on top of you. You absolutely adored being on top and taking control, but he thought he was just being a burden. There were times where he couldn’t keep his dick hard, or couldn’t orgasm at all. You didn’t think anything of it. Not at all. As long as he was comfortable and safe, that was all that mattered to you. But that’s not what his mind was telling him. 

He glanced at you then. “And I know it ain’t all about that. But it matters. And I just—” His voice cracked. “—just want to be good enough for you.” 

You let the silence hold for a second before you touched his face again, guiding him gently to meet your eyes.

“Joel,” you said softly, “you are more than enough. There’s not a damn thing about you that makes you less of a man. Not to me. Not to Ellie.”

Joel’s eyes dropped to where your hands rested against his chest. His voice was quieter this time. Barely there. “I don’t even know how you still want to be with me.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?” He shook his head slowly. “We were different ten years ago. My back hurts. I’m slow. My knees ache, I got lines on my face I don’t even recognize. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I barely see myself anymore.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. “I look at you,” he said, eyes flicking up to yours, “And you’re still so... full of life. Still got that light in you. And I feel like I’m lettin’ you waste it on an old man you gotta take care of.”

Your heart cracked. You knew he had some issues with his self-esteem recently, but you didn’t expect he’d open up to you this way. You reached up and cupped his face again, your thumb brushing the scar on his right temple.

“You’re still my Joel,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

He tried to shake his head and look away, but you didn’t let him. You leaned in, close enough that your forehead touched his, your voice gentle but sure.

“When I say I love you, I mean I love all of you. I love massaging your back, I love crushing up your medication. I love every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair. You think that time made you less, but it’s only made me love you more, Joel.”

He let out a shaky breath, trembling through his chest. You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair again.

With your voice low and warm, you added, “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t look at you and feel it. I still want you. All the damn time.” He smiled. 

You wanted nothing more than to please him and show him just how much you wanted him, despite what he thought. You tilted your head. “Move back, cowboy.”

Joel raised a brow. “What’re you—?”

But you were already climbing on top of him, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world - because it was. 

“I like it here,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Feels good.”

Joel’s hands found your hips automatically, like a reflex. His shoulders relaxed beneath your touch, and his eyes fluttered shut when your fingers threaded gently through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You rested your forehead against his, noses brushing, and began to softly grind on him — slow, soft motions, making sure he wanted this just as much as you do. Just enough to remind him that yes, you loved being on top.

His grip on your hips tightened slightly, like he needed that contact to hold himself together.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Your hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his pijama slowly. You undid them one by one, not looking away from his eyes when they finally opened again. He watched you like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he blinked.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered against his skin. “Just let me love you.”

When his shirt was open, you let your hands rest over his heart for a second, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your palms. Then, still straddling him, you reached down to the waistband of his briefs, asking for permission with your eyes. You helped him shift enough to slide them down his hips, leaving him with nothing on, the rest of his body warm and solid beneath yours. Then your hands reached for the hem of your own shirt, pulling it off over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you with nothing but your now soaked panties, and still rocking your hips back and forth, grinding on his length.

Joel’s hand came up to touch the scar on your chest, grazing it with his thumb with featherlight care. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to it — slow, lingering — his beard scratching gently against your skin, his lips soft with admiration, which sent a pulse of heat between your legs. He continued to press light kisses all over your chest, softly grazing your nipples. You opened your mouth slightly and let out a soft moan to let him know he was doing good. You were trying to get his self-esteem back. The thought of him being insecure was eating you from the inside.

His breathing had grown shallow and uneven, each exhale a silent confession, “Can I touch you a lil’ bit?” he begged as he reached for your white cotton panties, waiting for your consent to pull them to the side. You nodded, leaning down to kiss his neck, “Yes, baby.” 

Your pleasure was his pleasure — and ever since you’d teasingly confessed how much you loved the way he touched you with his fingers, it had driven him wild. 

You were moaning softly against his neck as his soft fingers were rubbing small circles on your clit. He adored the way your body reacted to him. “Jesus christ, darlin’,” he rasped, “Look’t you, so beautiful.”

The words hit you, feeling like electricity in your belly. Without hesitation, you lowered yourself onto him with practiced ease, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His eyes were shut, “so warm,” he muttered, as you kept the pace gentle, sensually kissing him from his chest all the way to his forehead. 

His breathing was uneven, moaning softly as you rocked on top of him. His hands were gripping your waist and he was whimpering beneath you. His hips lifted beneath you, jerking forwards to match your pace and fuck into you. 

“Jus’ like that, Joel. Fuck,” you moaned, your voice coming out hoarse as your fingers gripped the curls on the back of his head.  Your hips moved in a steady rhythm, breath hitching as you moved your hips and sunk deeper into him, the air turning warm and heavy. His eyes were shut, mouth slightly open. You loved seeing him fall apart like this. 

Your head tilted forward, touching his forehead, “i’m so close, Joel,” you gasped, as he was moaning softly beneath you. He continued to rub slow circles on your clit, knowing you don’t always climax when it’s just penetration. So sweet, and so considerate.

You lost your steady pace, hips now moving with a desperation you couldn’t control, and your orgasm hit you like shockwaves. Your release came at the same time, bodies trembling in perfect synchronization. You collapsed against him, both of your breathing erratic as you tried to catch up with gasps as the waves of pleasure slowly faded. 

Your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heart still fast paced. His arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of you yet.

You sighed against his skin, one of those quiet, contented sounds that only came after being seen, touched, loved in full.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of Joel’s head. “I’m right here,” you mumbled, voice low and gravelly with sleep. “M’not goin’ anywhere, alright?”

check out my masterlist!

[desuidesu]

Just watched the first episode of TLOU S2 and needed this 😩

That's a Real Fucking Legacy: Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (former Tommy Miller x f!reader)

When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

Part I - Legacy

Part II - To Leave

Part III - The Lips I Used to Call Home

Part IV - I Chose You

Part V - Burgundy

Part VI - All of You, All of Me

Part VII - The Marks You Saw

[junojoel]

Inside Your Mind

Jackson!Joel x fem!Reader, 1.6k

Summary: You need to find a way to make Joel relax. Quickest solution? A blowjob.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (m!receiving), swallowing cum, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, ignoring the fact an old man would not recover that quick, dubcon??, joel says hes not in the mood, but he is, slight sub!joel at the start, stressed joel, not specified but glasses stay on in my mind

i watched ep1 this morning and spent my whole day getting this out. could not concentrate on anything else.

You watch him from the doorway, the way his shoulders stay rigid, like he’s still braced for a fight. Arms crossed, your own frustration simmers beneath your skin. He hasn’t slept. Barely eaten. Every waking moment is consumed by the fear of losing her—again.

Enough.

You push off the frame and move toward him, your bare feet silent on the wooden floor. The firelight dances over his back, highlighting the rigidness of his spine. When you’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, you reach out and let your fingertips trail down the tense muscles of his shoulders.

He stiffens but doesn’t turn.

“Joel.”

His name is soft on your lips, but he only grunts in response, his fingers tightening around the pencil in his grip. You sigh, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground,” you murmur, your voice low, edged with concern.

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on the pen. “Ain’t got a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

His breath hitches, just slightly, but his jaw stays set. “Ellie’s out there—”

“And she’s safe,” you interrupt, your hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm. “Tommy’s got her. You need to rest.”

You step closer, your hips pressing against the side of the desk, forcing his knees to part just enough for you to slide between them. His breath hitches, just slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on the papers. Your hands slide down his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the way his muscles flex as he resists the urge to pull away. You press closer.

“Let me take your mind off it,” you whisper.

“Darlin’,” he warns, voice low.

You ignore him, leaning down until your lips brush his ear. “What’s it gonna take to get you to look at me?”

A shudder runs through him. His head tilts slightly, just enough for you to see the way his jaw clenches. “Darlin’, I ain’t in the mood—”

You cut him off by nipping at his earlobe, your teeth scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. Your hands drift lower, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips tracing the ridges of his abdomen.

“Liar,” you breathe against his neck.

Bracing your hands on the arms of the chair, you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs straddling his. His hands instinctively grip your hips, calloused fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your jeans.

His hands flex against the desk, but he doesn’t push you away.

Encouraged, you let your teeth graze his pulse point—just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

You smile against his skin.

Your hands slide down his chest, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt one by one. His breathing is heavier now, his body rigid with restraint.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game,” he growls.

You hum, slipping the last button free and spreading the fabric apart, revealing the hard of his chest, the scars that map his skin.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you whisper, dragging your nails lightly down his torso.

Your fingers make quick work of his belt buckle, tugging it free with a sharp pull. His breath catches, hands twitching like he means to stop you—but he doesn’t.

“You think too much,” you murmur, palming him through his jeans, feeling him stiffen under your touch. His jaw clenches, a low groan trapped in his throat.

“Ain’t—fuck—ain’t the time for this,” he grits out, but his hips jerk into your hand anyway.

The second you drag his zipper down, he’s already half-hard, thick and heavy in your hand. You don’t waste time—just drop to your knees and lean in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tip, tasting salt and heat.

Joel’s curse is ragged, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Christ—”

You take him deeper, tongue swirling, hollowing your cheeks as you sink down. His grip tightens, not pushing, just holding, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he rasps, head falling back. “Just like that—shit—”

You hum around him, savouring the way his thighs tense, the way his breath comes rough and uneven. His hips buck once, shallow, like he’s fighting not to take control.

But you don’t let him. You set the pace—slow, deliberate, dragging your lips up and down his length, teasing the head with your tongue before swallowing him down again.

Joel’s muttering curses, his free hand fisting your shirt. “Goddamn—goddamn, sweetheart—”

You glance up through your lashes, meeting his blown-out gaze. His lips are parted, his chest heaving, and for once—finally—there’s nothing in his eyes but you.

You suck harder, bobbing faster, and his grip turns almost painful. “Gonna—fuck—gonna come if you keep—”

You don’t stop.

With a ragged groan, Joel spills into your mouth, his whole body shuddering. You swallow every drop, working him through it until he’s panting, oversensitive, his fingers slackening in your hair.

When you finally pull back, licking your lips, he’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want, and the intensity of his gaze sends a thrill straight to your core.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doin’?” His voice is rough, gravelly with need. “Tryin’ to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you breathe.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

The kiss is rough, desperate, all teeth and hunger. He tastes like whiskey and exhaustion, and you moan into it, arching against him. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly before slamming you down onto the desk. Papers scatter, a glass tumbles to the floor with a smash, but neither of you care.

His body cages yours, one hand pinning your wrists above your head

Joel leans over you, his breath hot against your lips. “This what you wanted?” he rasps. His body cages yours, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, one hand fumbling with the button of your jeans.

You hook a leg around his waist, dragging him closer. “I want you to stop thinking.”

His fingers slip between your thighs, finding you already wet, already aching for him.

“Christ,” he growls, dragging a rough finger through your folds.

You whimper, bucking against his touch, but he holds you down, his grip unrelenting.

“Joel—please—”

He chuckles darkly, nipping at your throat. “Beggin’ already? We ain’t even started.”

Then his fingers are inside you, curling just right, and your back bows off the desk with a cry. He sets a punishing pace, his thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless strokes.

Your mouth finds his collarbone, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. Joel hisses, his hips grinding against yours, the friction drawing a broken sound from your throat.

You writhe beneath him, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away.

You gasp, blinking up at him in dazed frustration.

Joel’s smirk is dark, predatory. His fingers glisten with your arousal as he drags them slowly down your stomach, watching your chest rise and fall with each ragged breath.

“You were sayin’?” he rumbles, voice thick with satisfaction.

You bare your teeth at him, arching up to capture his lips in a biting kiss. “Don’t be a tease.”

His laugh is rough, but his hands are already moving, yanking your jeans down your hips in one sharp motion. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as it rakes over you. Hungry. Possessive.

“Ain’t teasin’,” he mutters, hooking your knees over his elbows. “Just makin’ sure you remember who’s in charge.”

And then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You cry out, nails scraping against the wood of the desk as he fills you, stretching you to the brink. Joel doesn’t give you time to adjust—just sets a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to make the desk creak beneath you.

“Fuck—Joel—” Your voice is shattered, barely recognisable.

His grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. “Look at me.”

You force your eyes open, meeting his darkened gaze. There’s no trace of exhaustion now—just raw, unchecked want.

“That’s it,” he growls, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “Ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ else but this. Us.”

You whimper as his pace turns erratic, his thrusts losing their rhythm as pleasure overtakes him. His forehead drops to yours, breath mingling as he drives into you again and again, chasing his own release.

“Gonna come,” he grits out, voice wrecked.

You clench around him, dragging a ragged groan from his chest.

His hips stutter, and then he’s spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering above yours. The sensation sends you tumbling over the edge right after, heat rushing through your veins.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your combined panting. Joel’s weight presses you into the desk, his forehead still resting against yours.

Then, slowly, he pulls back, his gaze searching yours.

You reach up, brushing a sweat-damp curl from his forehead. “Still thinking about Ellie?”

His lips twitch. “Brat.”

You grin, triumphant.

But before you can gloat, Joel scoops you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he carries you toward the bed.

“Rest,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Both of us.”

This time, he doesn’t argue.