#Joel Miller Fanfiction

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel doesn't have a Mrs. but he does have a sports car.

author's note | @chaotic-mystery made me listen to sports car and i said you know what? yeah. this one's especially feral, sorry in advance.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, girthy age gap, car talk, sad hot grieving dads gone wild, daddy kink, more specifically daddy issues, mutual mas, no touch rules, cum eating, pure filth

word count — 5k

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Your tongue rolls over your teeth inside of your mouth as you stare with folded arms, phone clutched tightly in your hand as you wait eagerly for your driver to arrive and get you the hell out of here.

“Stunning,” You offer a forced smile, watching as your date lingered around the old car, pristine and well-cared for, an unattainable feat for such an immature man-child like himself.

It was the last time you were allowing your friends to set you up on a blind date, nearing the point of swearing off dating entirely, knowing that a man who couldn’t even cover half the check wasn’t driving around in a classic Pontiac, let alone affording the upkeep for it.

“Sure you don’t wanna change your mind?” He asks eagerly, the subtle admiration of the car waning as he comes into view, knowing the old beater a few spots down was surely his.

The bells above the convenience store next door jingle as people enter and exit, taking another impatient glance at your phone. You watch as the boy takes a seat against the hood and it makes you cringe internally, swallowing your words as an even deeper voice interjects from behind.

“I’ll give you about three seconds to get your ass of my hood,” The older man threatened, spinning the keys in his palm as he set the six pack of beer on the roof, the younger kid scrambled to his feet instantly, “—is he botherin’ you?”

“Unfortunately,” You mumble as you take another glance at your phone and curse under your breath, watching the unmoving dot on the screen.

“Get outta here, kid,” The mystery man barks, “looks like you already ruined her night and I don’t need some runt like you fuckin’ up my car.”

You both watch as he sulks to his car, just as you suspected, your lips pulling into a thin line to stifle the laugh that built in your chest, feeling lighter for the first time that night.

“Does that happen often?” You ask curiously, watching as he fiddled with his door before the lock popped and the door swung open, the six pack of beer carefully placed in the passenger seat as he rose back up to answer your question, hands curled around the edge of the roof.

“Ever since I fixed her up,” He pauses, recollecting, “probably a once a week ordeal. They’re easy to run off, fortunately. You waitin’ on something?”

“My ride,” You wobble your phone back and forth weakly and Joel squints, shaking his head as he winces at the guttural backfire of the engine in the car behind him, the final memory of your absolutely awful date as he disappears down the road.

“Kid had a car and couldn’t even bother to pick you up or take you home?” He asks curiously, strangely not unsettled by his openness to conversation given his gruff exterior, “Some nerve.”

“It was a blind date,” You shrug, “My friends they—”

“Those ain’t friends,” He interrupts politely, “if they set you up with a guy like that.”

“Well, maybe—” Your words linger, shifting from foot to foot as the conversation dies out and your feet begin to ache, the summer heat making you uncomfortable, the silk fabric of your dress sticking to your skin as you wipe at your damp cheek and push your hair behind your ear.

“Hop in,” He tells you, stooping into his car as he closes the door, his waiting gaze staring up at you through the window, “I can give you a ride.”

“I…don’t know,” You answer uneasily, “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Joel,” He answers almost immediately, “I’m not a genius but I figure you had a shitty date, no sense in you paying for a ride home if I can offer one. Chivalry ain’t that dead, sweetheart.”

You offer him your name quietly, approaching the car with some hesitation. 

He seemed like an honest enough man, swooping in like a knight in shining armor.

You’ve given worse men a fairer chance—so, fuck it.

–

“My dad had a car like this,” You perk up after a few minutes, the glass bottles clinking against each other from where they sat by your feet, between your legs, “not a ‘67—was a ‘69.”

“You know your shit?” Joel asks curiously, his left hand settled over the top of the steering wheel while his right was settled against the gear shift, “He teach you about ‘em?”

Oddly, conversation with Joel was easy. A similar interest, neither of you with any room to judge one another. Equals.

“I pestered him alot,” You admit, “I was supposed to end up with it but he sold it before he died. God, what I wouldn’t give—”

“She is a beaut,” Joel admits, giving a soft tap to the dashboard, “and a labor of love.”

“She? What’s her name?” You ask knowingly, the slightest hint of a smirk on your face.

He spoke so fondly of the car, as if it breathed life into him. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

“Sarah,” He offers up more subdued, but a soft smile graces his face for a brief moment, “s’long story, doesn’t matter.”

“My dad named his Jameson,” You say suddenly in an attempt to add some levity, “funny, since my dad was an alcoholic…”

Okay, maybe not funny, but Joel gives you a pity chuckle anyways. 

Luckily, your nervous admittance is quickly looked over.

“So, where’m I takin’ you?”

You chew at your bottom lip and glance sheepishly at Joel.

“Um…UT?”

“Goddamn, that’s like—”

“An hour away, yeah,” You sigh, “I won’t be upset if you want to stop at the next gas station, I have the money for a ride, it isn’t that big of a—”

“I’m about five minutes up the road,” Joel begins, fingers flexing lazily ahead as they raise from the steering wheel, “I’ve got a spare room, I can take you up there in the morning.”

“You’re a total stranger, you know?”

“There’s a motel just a ways up,” Joel suggested with ease.

Though as you approach it looks bleak, the fluorescent lights blinking overhead and a glaring spot for much more nefarious activity with the perfectly placed strip club across the road, feeling the car pull to a slow stop.

“I…think I’ll take you up on that spare room,” You stutter out.

Joel nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he shifts gears and pulls back onto the road. 

The flickering neon lights of the seedy motel fade in the rearview mirror.

“That place ain't fit for anyone, let alone a young lady like yourself."

“I’m not young,” You retort, ‘I’m twenty-three.”

“And I’m as old as this car,” Joel retorts, watching your face scrunch up in thought as you did the mental math in your head before he puts you out of your misery, “I’m fifty-eight, sweetheart.”

Pushing sixty? Big deal.

You’ve had older professors flirting with you inappropriately on a weekly basis, at least Joel was being polite and kind and not at all as sleazy as most men, at least, not yet.

You stare at him without his knowledge, his eyes focused intently on the road. He’s rugged, facial hair thick and unevenly covering his face, plush lips parting as his tongue swiped along his bottom lip, a permanent scowl on his rather softened expression. 

He’s devastatingly attractive. 

And there’s something about him that comforts you, a remnant of protection despite the unconventional circumstance of finding yourself in a stranger’s care after a terrible date on the way to an unfamiliar place.

Eventually, the car slows, rumbling into a small cul de sac with four other houses surrounding his own, certainly picturesque and not what you would suspect from a man like him. He cuts the engine dead as he pulls into his driveway and wordlessly leans his body over the center console, a hand snaking between your spread legs as he reaches for the six-pack of beer.

“Home sweet home,” He jokes lightly, “C’mon.”

With trepidation and a sudden heat to your face as he peers up at you for a moment while his hand is settled between your thighs, you nod.

Please don’t be a fucking serial killer, you think. 

A silent prayer said to anyone that would listen.

-

He’s a perfect gentleman, fortunately. 

Joel gives you a short tour, displaying the spare room at the end of the hall, an attached bathroom and plenty of escape routes—he seems to sense the unease still as it lingers.

“You said twenty-three, right?” He double checks, “You want a beer? Or water? I got some soda, too.”

“Beer is fine,” You answer with a nod, turning on your heels to follow him back down the hall and toward the kitchen, watching as Joel flicked on the overhead light above the kitchen island and pulled two beers from the cardboard casing.

He pops the caps off with ease before he’s pushing the beer into your hand and taking a sip of his own, leading you toward the dining room as he pulls out a chair for you and him, a comfortable distance as his legs spread out when he sits, the glass resting against his denim covered knee.

“So your daddy, he taught you a lot about cars?”

“How to take care of ‘em,” You explain, “What’s good, what’s shit. I’ve got a soft spot for the classics, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like them fast, too.”

“Smart girl,” Joel notes, but then he lingers for a moment and watches as you sip gingerly at your beer, “I’m curious—and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but what happened back there? Other than that kid makin’ a complete ass of himself?”

The comment should not make your insides twist the way they do, a faint throb between your legs that you hide with a cough and another long sip, “He’s just…not great. And the gesture was there, he tried paying for the date, but then his card declined and, well…”

“Sounds like a real winner,” He mocks, taking a hefty sip before the liquid is gone, sliding the empty glass along the dinner table.

“He’s not my type, anyways,” You shrug, finishing off your own beer and mirroring his actions, watching as he silently grabbed the bottles and stood up, disposing of them in the nearby trash.

Joel makes an unintelligible noise as he shakes his head, “And what exactly would that be?”

You hum thoughtfully, “A V8 engine for starters, some real hefty horsepower, a nice spacy interior,”

“Damn, just my type,” Joel plays along, “I like that you know your shit—you savin’ up for one?”

A car, he means.

 Given that you were attempting to find a ride home, it seemed like a valid question.

“Trying, sure.” You shrug nonchalantly, “It’s more of a dream anymore, college isn’t exactly the cheapest.”

A beat passes as Joel slips back into his seat and you pull your bare feet up into the chair, curling your arms around your knees loosely before you speak again.

“Serious answer—I don’t date boys my age ever. I was only entertaining it because my friends wouldn’t shut up about it. They’re usually older; thirties, forties. You can judge me—I get it.”

“Ain’t nothing to judge,” Joel shrugs, “You like what you like.”

“And you?”

Joel laughs at that, looking away briefly as you smile, poking his thigh with your foot as he thinks for a moment, eyes dragging toward the floor.

“I’m too old for that shit—ain’t nothing for me.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” You tell him honestly, knowing that most of the girls would be ripping each other’s throats out for a moment with him, the perfect amount of mysterious and dark, a hint of southern gentleman in the way he carries himself, a total fucking smoke show.

You knew just how deadly you’d be vying for a chance with him.

And here he was, like an offering plopped right into your lap.

Besides, you were having a bad night, what else did you have to lose?

“That so?” Joel seemed to be testing the waters too, a playfulness in his eyes that was deeply subdued but there, simmering. He wasn’t going to try anything unless you initiated, lucky for him, you were more than eager by now.

“Oh, I know so,” You nod with confidence, “Nice car—you got that whole dark and mysterious thing going for you and you’re hot, s’not like I’m blind, Joel.”

“Is there somethin’ you’re gettin’ at, sweetheart?” Joel asks curiously.

You shrug, a mischievous grin crossing your face.

You’ve had plenty of one night stands; terrible dates with half-decent sex.

You spent two hours getting ready, another getting to dinner, and you’d be damned to waste such a good opportunity when it presented itself.

“I had a shit night and you’ve already managed to make it better,” You admit, “I’m just sayin’ as a thank you, we could—”

“I’m not askin’ for a thank you, sweetheart,” His voice is immediately softer, alluring.

His brow twitches as you lock eyes, like a moment of consideration crosses his mind, large palms splayed out against even larger thighs, the type that made you curious.

He had the body of a man well-worked; a mix of someone who’s aged with grace and maintained his lifestyle through work, broad shoulders that begged to be explored, stretching as he fidgeted in his chair.

“If I told you I wanted you to fuck me, would you?”

Joel speaks your name aloud and you smile sheepishly, though he knows it was an act, feeling a little braver with a few shots of liquid courage from earlier in the night and a beer to loosen your nerves further.

You were staring at the veins in his hands now, calloused fingers rubbing at a soft, flayed spot in his jeans, right above the knee, tanned skin hiding underneath. 

“It’s not a question of would I, honey. I can’t.”

So, he would.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I’m gonna save you the regret—besides, I got a few rules for myself, and if not allowing myself to touch you when we just met is one of ‘em, I think that’s fair.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You goad, feet dropping slowly to the ground between his widened legs, “Do you want me to touch you? Is that against the rules?”

Joel knows there’s no benefit in lying.

“‘Course I think you’re pretty but you sure got a mouth,” Joel comments, fingers flexing against his thigh as he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath through his nose as he peers over at you, “I’m willin’ to do a lot more than touch, sweetheart. But, not like this, not tonight.”

“I’m not drunk,” You defend, “C’mon, Joel. I got all dressed up tonight and I’m askin’,”

Half a second short of begging.

“Sweetheart,” He warns, “M’not gonna,”

“Then touch yourself,” You encourage, “let me watch.”

“Now, what makes you think—”

Your straps droop down your shoulders, one adjustment short of your breasts spilling out of your dress as your head nods toward his subtle adjustment between his legs, pulling slightly at the denim suffocating his growing erection.

He’s got a beautiful girl presenting herself to him, one more no away from dropping to her knees to wallow, lips parted as you breathed out softly, thighs separating so far that Joel catches the quickest glimpse of your thin panties, nearly see-through with how wet you were, your hands squeezing at the fabric near the end of your dress like a nervous tic.

Joel wasn’t blind either.

“You were going to do it after I went to sleep, weren’t you?

“You’re stubborn as hell, girl—”

“I bet it’s big,” You throw from left-field, a smirk growing on your face, “I love sucking cock, Joel. It’s my favorite thing—s’not a rule break, right? If I touch you and you keep your hands to yourself? Do you want me on my knees? Wanna see what I look like with your cock in my mouth?”

His jaw clenches, watching the muscle strain underneath his skin as he clears his throat.

“Don’t be shy—”

“I”m not shy.”

Then?

Your eyebrows raise in question, your dress pulling slowly up your thighs, legs widening with the movement before Joel finally relents, the deafening sound of his zipper pulling a soft giggle from your chest as you wiggle with excitement.

Joel's hand hesitates for a moment before he reaches into his pants, shoving them far enough down his thighs, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls out his hardening cock, watching him swell in the loose grip of his palm. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—thick and veiny, an easy seven inches, a heavy set of balls to match as his fingers roll along the tight skin and up, his fingers drifting featherlight over his cock.

“This what you wanted?” Joel asks, low and throaty, a strain to his tone.

You nod eagerly, bottom lip pulling between your teeth as your hands settle beside you, gripping the chair so hard it creaks, legs spread wide instinctually, making room for him despite his distance, your dress slipping far enough down your chest that your breasts were on display.

Soft peaks, nipples hardened in the cool air, your chest rising with slow breaths as you arch yourself forward slightly, his hand keeping a slow, teasing pace as his thumb drags over the thick head and against the slit.

Your eyes flicker between Joel’s face and his tight grip around his cock, watching as he strokes himself with slow intent, belt jingling with the movement as he pushes his shirt up with the other hand, his own eyes trading between different parts of your body.

He’d suckle at your skin if he could, trail his tongue from mouth to cunt, have you a shaking, sobbing mess if he allowed himself the luxury, but he was a man wallowing in his own self-made torture and the energy in the air was palpable, thick with tension.

“Closer,” He groans out lowly, nodding his head in a jerky motion as his free hand beckons you near, “Spread your legs, sweetheart—lemme see you.”

You give him far more than he asks, standing slowly before you’re hooking your fingers in the fabric at your hips and pulling down, letting the damp fabric drop to your feet before you’re leaning down to pick it up, tossing your panties into Joel’s lap before you return to your seat.

One foot propped against the chair, your dress bunches at your hips, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt as you spread your fingers through your folds, a teasing touch.

Blindly, Joel grabs at the fabric and wraps it around his cock, like a vice, he squeezes tight.

Joel's eyes darken, pupils dilating as he takes in the sight before him. His grip tightens around your panties, the damp fabric adding a new, chest-tightening sensation as he strokes himself harder. A low groan escapes his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they tease through your slick folds.

“You too scared to fuck a college girl?” You tease him, “‘Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Smart ass mouth, girl,” He gripes, “S’like your daddy never taught you any manners.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m sure you could’ve,” You reply flippantly, gasping as your finger catches along your fluttering hole, a groan rumbling deep in Joel’s chest as he jerks his cock.

“I ain’t your daddy,” He reminds you.

You shake your head nonchalantly, “No you’re not. Could–could be, though. “What do you want? For me to pout and call you daddy?”

“Careful,” he warns, his voice rough with desire, “That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You hum at the words, a faint flutter in your chest.

If you stopped to think about what was happening you would psych yourself out completely, so you lean back further, arching yourself forward as you slide two fingers inside yourself. "I don’t mind playing," you moan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before locking back onto Joel’s.

Joel's breath catches in his throat, his hand faltering for a moment as he watches you sink your fingers deeper into your wet cunt, the soft squelch paired with your innocent sounds.

He scowls as he squeezes his shaft, “Christ, girl,” He grunts, “Tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”

You shake your head impishly, “Temptin’ you,” You admit, “Is it working?”

“You know damn well,” Joel says tensely, forcing the words through his teeth as his fingers slide up and squeeze at the head of his cock, precum slick against his fingers as he uses it to add to the friction, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body, “fuckin’ look at you, so goddamn eager.”

“That right, daddy?” You ask breathily, giggling with the word as Joel looks like he could explode, his other hand cupping his balls to keep him busy, knowing if he lingered with his thoughts for too long he’d fuck you into the chair without an ire of hesitation, his eyes close as his head leans back.

“Is that what you need? Someone carin’ for you?” He asks, “Is that why you’re actin’ out?”

The way his hand moves against his cock is mesmerizing, the flex of his wrist as he jerks his cock in a practiced manner, something he undoubtedly does weekly, squeezing his sack gently in his hand as his chest rumbles quietly.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” He chastises, “I’m askin’ you a question, answer it.”

You nod weakly, a frown forming on your face as you whimper, the softest graze of your fingertip over your clit as your body spasms, gasping at the feeling.

“Words, ‘hon,” He encourages, his own voice wavering slightly.

“Y—yes,” You answer quickly.

Joel chuckles deeply, “S’good. Good girl, sweetheart. You wanna spread those legs for daddy then?” 

Obediently, they do, presenting your glistening cunt to him as you fingers slip out, wet with slick and Joel licks at his bottom lip, mouth watering at the sight.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He murmurs endearingly, a slight smirk stretching across his face at the sight, “—won’t even touch you and you’re mess, been like that since you got in my car, huh?”

You nod weakly, sighing as your fingers circle lazily over your clit.

“Taste ‘em,” He encourages, “clean ‘em up.”

Your fingers, he means.

Like some magnetic pull, you find your fingers pressing against your tongue without thinking and the tangy sweetness melts against your tongue, his breath shuddering as you licked your fingers clean, cunt pulsing with need, silently pleading for Joel.

His eyes narrow, darkening with lust as his hand speeds up around his cock, obscene sounds matching his heady words, neck straining as he grunts, “That’s it, sweetheart. Listenin’ to your daddy—M’fuck—fuckin’ close.”

Through your bleary haze, you nod with the same sentiment, speaking softly, “Metoometoo—”

His movements are more fumbling, quick and furious jerks of his cock that still at the head as he squeezes, his face scrunching up in a mix of frustration and desperation, trying harder than he’s ever had to not shoot his load too soon.

“Yeah? Show me,” He encourages, goading as his unoccupied hand twists into his shirt and hastily pulls it up and over his head, “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

They spread impossibly wider, your hand reaching behind your head to grip onto the chair as your ass slips near the edge, circling your fingers over your clit without much precision, knowing that one more word from his mouth and you’d be drooling all over the seat.

“So fuckin’ desperate, look at you,” He demeans, “Poor little girl with daddy issues, huh?”

You moan shakily, avoidant of his obviously goading question, eyes fluttering closed as your orgasm crept in slow, mumbling out the words without even thinking, “Please—please can I—daddy, can I—”

“S’alright, we’ll fix that,” Joel comments softly, his voice a low growl, “Go on, sweetheart, come for me.”

The feeling is instant, his permission all you need to melt over the edge, legs shaking through the mind-numbing sensation your climax brings, chest tightening as you gasp, fingers working frantically over your clit as Joel’s name slips from your mouth.

Distantly, you hear him groan, his orgasm overtaking him at the sight of you writhing in your chair, spilling over his tight fist as thick, milky ropes of cum spread across his chest and down the underside of his cock, his eyes falling shut. 

As your breathing slows, your thighs pull together, shrinking impossibly small into the chair in a sudden overwhelming feeling of shame. Shame that you had shared an intimate moment like this with a man you barely knew all because you had a terrible night and shame over how easily he had made you come, like it was natural.

Despite the obvious, Joel doesn’t miss a beat.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face and he beckons you forward. Finally.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” He instructs as your body moves without much protest, sliding to the floor as your dress pools at your hips, not amiss to the way Joel’s eyes follow the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move between his spread legs, his erection flagging but your tongue peeks out eagerly, licking at the head of his cock as your hands curls around his calves for support, “S’not—hey,” He hisses, “you were listenin’ so good until now.”

He’s salty and sweet, a taste so inviting that you needed more. It made your mouth water, tongue swiping against your bottom lip as your eyes fell on the opaque liquid covering his stomach.

Unfortunately, he still wouldn’t touch you.

He runs a hand through his hair while the other rests against the table, balled into a fist as you shake your head shyly, removing your hands from his legs.

“Sor—sorry,” You stutter, uncertainty evident in your voice.

Joel’s eyebrows raise, an unspoken bond quickly forming between you both.

“Try again.

“M’sorry, daddy—what can—,” You gulp audibly, fidgeting nervously with the silk fabric at your waist, “how can I make it up to you?”

Joel glances down at his stomach, still covered in cum as he breathes, watching the liquid drop down his skin and to his softening cock, still intimidatingly large even as it rests against his thigh, “Why don’t you clean me up? Can you do that?”

You nod eagerly, darting forward immediately as your tongue glided along his skin, into the small patch of hair above his groin and to his belly button, hearing Joel groan as the chair creaks with his shifting weight, struggling against his own forced restraint as you lick the cooled cum off his skin, eyes flicking up to look at him, dangerously innocent.

A facade, he knows. But, he’s in fucking trouble.

“That’s it,” Joel coos, “Clean me up good, baby.”

You giggle softly, dragging the tip of your tongue along the last bit of his cum before you drag up the center, barely reaching his face before you pull away, a soft huff of breath hitting you in the face as Joel shakes his head and chuckles, looking away from you briefly.

“Still not gonna touch me?” You tease him, quietly pulling your dress back up your body and over your shoulders, fingers adjusting the strap as he turns back to look at you.

“I’m tryin’ to be respectful here, sweetheart. And you’re makin’ it damn near impossible.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of confusion and amusement, “Respectful? You call that respectful, Joel? Oh—” You clear your throat and pull your bottom lip between your teeth, batting your lashes, “M’sorry, I mean, daddy.”

“Careful,” Joel warns, “You still have an hour in the car with me in the morning.”

You nod, slowly rising to your feet as you adjust your dress down your body, smoothing it out over your curves as your hands rest naturally behind your back, loosely as they curl together.

“Mmm, no,” You retort, a playful glint in your eyes, “I think you should be worried about me.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?” He mocks, hardly believing your faux confidence against him.

“Or, you could just let me drive?” You attempt playfully, a full belly chuckle erupting from Joel.

“I mean,” Joel shrugs, his voice trailing.

Breaking his rule for a moment, the hand ruffling through his hair trails toward your thigh, curling around the bare skin for a brief moment, sliding up until his fingers grazed against the curve of your ass and your bare pussy underneath, your panties resting near his fist on the table, a keepsake.

“Gotta reward my good girl, don’t I?”

[marblehazel]

Teething

dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel was crowned as The Trusted Adult to accompany you to your wisdom teeth extraction appointment. Chaos ensued.

Tags: no outbreak, age gap, most likely exaggerated effects of sedation, sexual themes

Word count: 3.1k

The skies were painted with shades of copper and lilac when you arrived home. A familiar pickup truck was parked in the driveway next to your dad’s own F-150, and you slipped your way through the narrow passage between the two to get to the backyard through the narrow side alley of your house, sticking twigs of overgrown shrub brushing against your arm.

Laughter bounced against the pillars supporting rusting canopy adorned with vines and wildflowers, echoing around the tiny dining area. Around the table were three men you could discern blindfolded: your dad and his friends, Joel and Tommy Miller. The three looked pretty scruffy, which made sense since they most likely just got out of work before they decided to have some beer and smoked ham time at your house. As usual.

Tommy made a comment about a boat and your dad and Joel burst out laughing again, almost shaking the earth with the lethal combination of old men’s simplistic jokes and immense vocal cords abilities.

They hardly noticed your presence until you put both hands on your dad’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head. He smelled like barbecue smoke.

“What’s so funny?” you grin. Joel greeted you with a polite nod, while Tommy put down his beer can to wave at you. “Hi Joel, hi Tommy.”

“Sweetheart!” your dad slightly twisted his torso to meet your gaze. “Tommy was telling us about his recent fishing trip. How was today?”

“Okay-ish,” you patted his shoulders once more before letting go and starting to make your way towards the backdoor, leaving the men to their fishing jokes again. “Have fun, guys.”

“Oh, before I forget!” your dad clapped. “I am so sorry, but I won’t be able to take you to the dentist this Thursday. They want me in San Antonio to overlook—”

“Daaad,” you groaned, although your face showed nothing akin to annoyance, just sorry. “I’ll see if my friend can take me.” you tried to comfort him, even though knowing your friends, you’d have a bigger chance of losing your teeth in a car crash than in the operating room.

“What’s happenin’?” Tommy furrowed his brows. “You okay?”

“I’m having my wisdom teeth removed,” you pointed at your cheek, the approximate area where the third molar of your upper right side of jaw was growing sideways. “One popped out and it’s growing weirdly, so I got an x-ray and it turned out all four of them are developing in such shitty positions, so, they’re taking them all out.”

“All at once?!” Tommy gasped, to which you nodded as you purse your lips.

“More cost-effective, or whatever.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll take her,” all eyes went to the source of the voice: Joel. He was staring directly at your dad. “I’m free Thursday.”

“‘Ppreciate that, man, but—”

“Really?” you beamed, prancing your way towards his seat and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Joel!”

The man raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat while Tommy laughed. Your dad shook his head slowly at your endearing antics, his eyes meeting Joel’s as they silently said ‘Thank you, and sorry’.

The next time Joel’s gray Ranger pulled up in front of your house, you had been waiting on the porch with a smile worthy enough to be on a billboard advertising toothpaste.

.

The fog in your head started to clear just enough to let you notice the figure sitting by your side. Joel’s broad shoulders took up half the room—or at least it felt that way in your dazed state. His arms were crossed, and his brows furrowed as he watched you with what looked like mild concern. You blinked a few times, your vision wobbling like you were looking through a fishbowl. You couldn’t really register where you were or how you ended up here yet.

“Hey,” he straightened his posture up the second he realized you were awake.

“Whoa,” you slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “You look good.”

Because he did. That was the first thing you noticed about him. You couldn’t remember if it was exactly true, but a voice in your head told you that Joel always looked good. You believed it. And he did right now, with clothes all ironed, beard trimmed, hair combed. Joel wouldn’t admit it, but he’d even put some styling powder on his hair today.

His lips twitched, and he scratched at his beard, unsure of the appropriate response to give. “Uh, thanks. How are you feeling?”  

You ignored the question. “Does my dad know you’re here?”  

“Yeah,” he said slowly, leaning closer. “He was there when I said I’d take you here, remember?”  

“No.” You deadpanned, voice thick and blunt. Your tongue scraped against your gum, and it touched some soft, fibery, wet cotton balls. You almost gagged.

Joel sighed. “Alright. Uh, pain anywhere? Are you comfortable?”  

You tilted your head, as if trying to access some hidden inner truth. Then, with startling conviction, you announced, “Sweaty.”

He quickly raised from his seat, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe your forehead with when you suddenly choked into tears. You could barely get the words out through the swollen jaw, numb tongue, and spiky throat. “I miss my daddy…”

You felt like the saddest child in the world. You didn’t know where your dad was, but most importantly, your brain wasn’t able to assess where he might be. But he wasn’t here. And that alone was enough to send you spiraling into agony.

Joel looked around awkwardly, clearly out of his depth. “Sweetie,” he said, reaching out to pat your cheek gently. “I’m here.”

You blinked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “Where is he? Did he sell me to you?”  

“What?” if only you were sober enough to see the expression on his face. 

Tears continued to pool in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. “What am I supposed to do, being sold to a person like you?”  

“Person like me—What’s that supposed to mean,” Joel withdrew, seemingly offended momentarily before he realized he was talking to a group of at most six brain cells, half of them blackout drunk.

“Hot,” you sniffled. “Hot like you.”

Joel freezed. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he muttered, “O…kay. Uh, let’s call for a nurse, okay?” He stood up and looked toward the hallway.

“I don’t even know how to be a housewife!” you lamented, gesturing wildly toward a painting of sand dunes on the wall. “You’re going to dump me in the middle of a desert!”  

“Honey,” Joel said, his voice strained but calm. “Nobody is dumping or selling anybody, okay? Just—wait here. I’m gonna go get a nurse. I’ll only be gone for, like, five seconds.”  

You watched him disappear behind the wall, your lips quivering as you began counting on your fingers. “One… two… three… four… five…” You looked up at the hallway, waiting for Joel to come back as you realized how alone you were in the room. You didn’t want to be alone. The fluorescent light was hurting your eyes and the air smelled like a dentist’s office. You were in one, but you didn’t really register that. Panic set in like a tidal wave. “Joel?” 

“Joel! JOEL!” You thrashed in the chair, trying to swing your legs over to touch the ground, ready to bolt after him like some kind of lovesick lunatic. It was hard, like you were learning controls for a video game for the first time, and your limbs didn’t move the way you wanted them to. Joel returned with a nurse moments after. She was holding a clipboard and if not for the mask hiding her expression, Joel would have seen that she was wearing a smile that looked dangerously close to a laugh.

“You’re back! I thought you were leaving me…” your voice cracked as you reached out toward Joel with snot running freely down your upper lip. “I’ll be a good wife from now on, Joel, I promise.”  

“Oh,” the nurse said sweetly. “Sounds like someone’s still a little loopy.”  

Joel ran a hand over his face, mortified. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” she smiled at him before checking on you. “Definitely not the worst I’ve witnessed. You’ll be okay, won’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded.

She asked you to open your mouth, and you attempted to talk to Joel the entirety of it, moving your heavy tongue around, making barely coherent noises. At one point you reached for his hand and he took it.

“Hoew, wa ho hayhee hee hahee?” which would translate to ‘Joel, was our wedding in Bali?’, like Joel would’ve been able to decipher it. He just played along in hopes to shut you up.

“Yes, yes, of course.” he cupped your hand in his.

“Okay, now bite down with pressure, okay?” the nurse said softly after pulling the blood-soaked cotton balls out and replacing them with new ones. You did as she said. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” you smiled at her. “You’re so nice.”

“And you’re so nice, too.” she said as she gathered her clipboard and metal tray. “We’re all clear here, you are free to go home. If you prefer to wait out until she’s not so disoriented anymore, please use our waiting room since we have to clean this one before the next patient.”

“Thank you.” Joel nodded politely at her.

“Any more questions you’d like to ask the doctor?”

“I think we’re all covered. Thank you for everything. Let’s go, sweetie.” he helped you stand up, and the second he let go your body leaned, craving to touch the floor. Both him and the nurse reached out to you, crashing their heads in the process.

“Ow!” she yelped.

“Sorry, sorry. I got her. I’m really sorry.” he slightly bowed down as he held you steady, one palm planted on your ribs just below your breasts.

“Sorry,” you parroted, utterly oblivious to what just happened.

“It’s alright,” she laughed lightheartedly as she reached down to fix your shoelaces. “There you go.”

“Thank you again. We’ll stay out of your hair now.”

.

After what felt like eighty years, Joel finally got you on the passenger seat. He could feel his lifespan shortened significantly, and his back hurt so much trying to crouch to your level as he guided you across the parking lot. He should’ve just carried you—would’ve been much quicker and better for everyone involved.

You touched the dashboard, feeling the texture underneath your fingers like it was the first time you got in a car. Joel closed the door next to you and scurried his way around the car hood to the driver’s side, sighing when he got in.

“Joel, what’s your favorite pie?” you asked as he leaned over to put your seatbelt on, hand fiddling with the belt when it got stuck and you instinctively ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Pecan,” he muttered, body getting tense under your casual yet intimate touch.

“Oh, I had pecan pie at my house recently.” you withdrew your fingers as Joel straightened up and put his own seatbelt on. “We’re like, soulmates, or something.”

Joel started the car. “Yes, that was me. I brought the pie to your house.”

“Wow, you’re so kind.” you smiled, eyes tearing up, as if bringing you pie was the equivalent of saving all kittens in the world. Joel rolled his eyes and shifted the gear from neutral, and the two of you slowly moved out of the office parking lot to the road.

You cupped your own swelled cheeks, feeling the spherical cotton balls nested between your jaws. “I don’t like these, Joel.”

“Yeah? Wanna take them out? Do you think the bleeding has stopped?” his eyes ran between you and the road in front of him back and forth, getting ready to merge onto the highway.

“My mouth is so full,” you whined, and you fished one cotton ball out, all wet and slightly red, before rolling the window down and throwing it out. It bounced on the dry concrete behind you briefly before it got run over by another car.

“Hey, no littering! And keep your arm inside, my fucking god, d’ya wanna lose it?” Joel yelled, one arm leaving the steering wheel to pull your hand into the car and close the window back up, almost taking up the lane next to you. A semi-truck passed through and the driver honked their horn, deafening. You snarled at it while Joel mouthed a quiet ‘fuck’.

“I still got more inside,” you pointed at your open mouth, like Joel couldn’t tell from your slightly muffled voice still.

“I know, but either keep it in your mouth until we get home, or find some—I don’t know, plastic bag to keep it in, alright? Try the glove box.” he points at the compartment in front of you. You fiddled with the handle, and when it opened it revealed a little toolbox, a pocket knife, a folded map, and two dusty condoms from God knows when.

“Joel, what is this?” you pinched one out for Joel to see, voice thick with betrayal. “You’re cheating on me.”

Good fucking god. Joel snatched the thing out of your hand, shoving it back into the glove box before slamming it closed. He shouldn’t have been panicking like you were actually his bride and he’d been two-timing you after work, because you weren’t, and the only thing that had been in touch with his dick in the past six months was his fist. “I don’t know how it got there. It’s from a while ago.”

But the damage had been done. You covered your face with your hands, eventually took the remaining cotton balls out and let them go onto the floor mats. Joel winced.

“What should I do? Is my blowjob not good enough?”

Joel was the most uncomfortable he had ever been his whole life right now, and he once witnessed his friends’ parents hitting it crazy style with the same banana pudding that was served at dinner smeared everywhere when he was there for a sleepover, so that was saying a lot.

“You have never—what are you fuckin’ doing?!”

You had leaned over as much as your seatbelt allowed you to, fingers reaching to unbuckle his belt. “I’m gonna show you how good I c—”

Joel lost control of the steering wheel as he tried to shoo you away, but you latched your palm around his bulge like leech. He accidentally turned the truck too much to the left, switching lanes without warning, and abruptly hit the brakes for a split second when he thought he was going to crash into a Camaro, almost slamming you forward if not for the seatbelt. Three cars honked at the two of you as they passed, one was generous enough to give you the finger.

He pushed you back to your seat, both of you huffing and puffing. There was silence for about thirty seconds until Joel composed himself.

“What the fuck did they put you under, because I need some,” he muttered under his breath before speaking clearer. “Put your hands on the dashboard. Now,” he commanded, eyes flicking between you and the road.

“Why?” you mumbled, your fingers twitching like they might reach for Joel’s belt again.

“Because I said so,” Joel grunted, shifting in his seat to try to hide his hardening length, jaw tense as he kept one hand firmly on the wheel. “You wanna be a good wife, don’t you?”

You blinked slowly. Joel was right, you wanted to be a good wife.

“Yeah,” Joel continued, eyes narrowing slightly, still focused on the road. “Only good wives put their hands on the dashboard.”

“Really?” you laughed, the sound drifting lazily out of you. But you planted both palms on the dashboard anyway, sunlight pouring on the back of your hands, warming them up. 

“Yeah—yeah,” he muttered. “Look it up.”

“I can’t, my hands are on the dashboard,” you frowned, chin pointing towards your splayed fingers.

Joel rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You just have to believe me, then.”

You thought of it for a second before nodding. “Okay. I believe you.” 

He glanced at you, eyebrows lifting. “You should. You’re my wife.”

Your head tilted, a lazy grin spreading across your face as you processed the words. You’re my wife. Somehow that was the most beautiful string of words you had ever heard. “Am I a good wife?”

“Sure. You got your hands on the dashboard. Guess that makes you a good wife,” Joel said. Your loopy grin was infectious despite his best efforts to stay stoic.

“I’m a good wife,” you repeated to yourself, beaming.

There was a beat of silence before you leaned slightly toward him, eyes bright, head swaying with the motion of the truck. “Are you a good husband?”

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened for a split second, his gaze flicking to the side, then back to the road. “...I don’t know. Do you think I’m a good husband?”

“Yeah,” you said immediately, so sure of yourself as you gathered the evidence in your hazy brain. “You took me to the dentist. You got me pecan pie.”

Joel scoffed, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Driving and pies, guess that’s the key to a successful marriage.”

.

By dinner time you were already out of your groggy state, although the pain started to creep back in despite the painkillers that you just sat in the living room with a frozen pouch of CapriSun pressed against your cheek. Joel hadn’t said much but he did stay until your dad got home.

He had hoped you blacked out and didn’t remember anything from earlier. He wasn’t sure if he could live knowing you were able to remember that you were so eager to put your mouth on him, on top of you calling yourself his wife, on top of you casually admitting you found him hot.

And because he got hard in the car. He didn’t know if you saw it but for his own peace he would like to believe that you didn’t.

Joel was a little bit grateful that Tommy wasn’t there because he would never let this die.

He would never let this die himself.

When your dad set some burritos for Joel and applesauce for you on the counter, Joel was ready to go home and get drunk while pondering in the shower.

“You’re leaving already?” you licked the applesauce, tasting it innocently, and Joel had to remind himself that licking applesauce was not a sexually enticing act.

“Yeah, working early tomorrow. Get well soon.” he stood awkwardly as he pocketed his keys.

“Thanks a lot, man,” your dad got up to give Joel a hug with his back facing away from you, and you stared Joel dead in the eyes as you mouthed playfully: ‘Husband.’

His lips twitched. Seemed like he would never know peace ever again.

[alinacecee]

WOW. HELLO???? THE SUMMARY⁉️⁉️

𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚

summary: Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

warnings: 18+ mdni. feral!joel miller x afab!reader. smut. feels. dirty talk. pussy & cock pronouns. Joel calls himself “Daddy” one time.

word count: 867

author's note: idk what this is. it probably doesn't make sense but i'm posting it anyways so i can work on other things. xo.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

He's being a tease, but with the unholy moans he is pulling from your lips, he can't seem to stop. All of your airy gasps and desperate whines make every inch of his cock throb.

"He makin' you feel good?" Joel asks, kissing the underside of your jaw, scraping his graying scruff along the soft skin. "With all those pretty noises, he must be."

You clutch your limbs around his broad, sun-kissed shoulders and sturdy abdomen as he devastatingly fucks you into his matress, forcing you to cling to him for support as he saws his hips back and forth.

An intoxicating thrill of power surges. Joel's lips quirk, tugging into a grin. It's selfish, but he loves how much you depend on him.

"Thatta girl, takin' e'ery inch just like I knew you could." he husks, enjoying the shiver his praise gives you.

Every shove of his hips leaves you breathless and panting. It's as if each thrust is your very first. Joel splitting you open, for him and only him.

Your 'O' shaped lips, the way your brows pinch above your wary eyes, and the delicate mewls set him ablaze. Joel wonders if he should be concerned with how much he wants to wring every sound from those pretty lips, which are still swollen from earlier in the night.

As you sat naked between his thighs, swallowing his cock, your muffled moans were enough to have him leaking over your tongue. The way your hands curled around his thick, hairy thighs like you couldn't get enough, forcing yourself to gag when his bulbous crown hit your tonsils.

Joel tenderly cupped the back of your head, prepared to soothe your insecurities. Still, you stayed latched, happily drooling down his veiny shaft.

A giggle rumbled through the tight confines of your throat. It caught Joel off guard as you smiled up at him with spit-drenched lips and eyes so bright they sparkled like a Texas midnight sky.

From that moment on, Joel knew he didn't want anyone else.

He wants to play your body like the aged acoustic leaning against the wall in his bedroom. Strum and pluck all the right spots that create the finest tunes and melodies.

Joel eases off his elbows and kisses his way down your body before sitting back on his heels, watching with intrigue as he withdraws from your silky vice lock; your begging cries are a choir of angels to his ears. His girthy tip is still notched at your opening, keeping him warm and safe while you squirm and sob under his stormy gaze.

Turmoil sinks beneath his skin. He wants to comfort your cries and give you all that you ask, but never cease those sinful sounds.

Joel hooks a thumb past your lips and presses down on your tongue, keeping you open and pliant. He rests his forehead on yours, staring down into your watery eyes.  

"Shh, s'ok. Daddy's got you," he purrs before sharply thrusting into your velvet cunt.

A choked sob catches in your throat, your lips forced to close, but Joel's thumb doesn't move; he wants to hear it all.

"No, no, lemme hear those pretty noises," he shakes his head and cants his hips, spreading you even wider for him.

A wave of intangible moans vibrates his thumb. It makes him hard, so hard, it feels like his cock will never soften. Every rapturous moan slinks up his spine until it punctures his skull and takes root in his brain.

"Such'a good girl, come on, get him all messy," Joel grunts, cutting himself off with a groan as your cunt grips his girth.

His lips pull into a feral snarl when a fresh wave of sticky arousal coats his heavy sack, enticing him to quicken his pace. It's brutal and unforgiving, bruising his pelvis and the backs of your thighs, but your corrupt moans are a drug; he only wants more.

If it wasn't for his stubborn hold on your hip and jaw, he would've fucked your blissful, ragdoll body up the bed, grunting like a wild beast.

"Gettin' real tight. She tryin' 'ta milk me dry?" Joel demands, lightly squeezing the back of your neck when your eyes begin to flutter from the impending pleasure.

A wet hiccup breaches your lips, and you dumbly nod.

Joel covers you with his body, shielding you from the outside world. He slides his thumb back further, pressing down on the meat of your tongue. His cock pulses and grazes your cervix when you gag on the imposing digit.

"Thatta girl." He splays a hand on the crest of your plump mound before landing a heavy thumb over your swollen, glistening clit. "Come on, show me how tight she can get."

Joel draws tight circles around your tiny, slick coated button, relishing the way your body stiffens and erupts with a hoarse cry as you shatter in his hold. He has to bite his cheek to avoid coming just from the perverse noises that spill from your parted lips.

In a depraved way, Joel thinks he wants to be haunted by your obscene melodies for the rest of eternity.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ ﾟ. °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

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It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

You don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To leave without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose akward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can just warm your bed but no your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐉𝐀𝐖

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns. Wc: 2k, f!reader

AN: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room at fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your head. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

[21stcenturywitchcraft]

this has NO RIGHT TO BE THIS HOT 😵‍💫

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

The Band Played On

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: You'd never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did.

Warnings: talk of death of a spouse and child, age gap (less than ten years), brief suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, yEaRnInG, author is very sensitive pls be nice, i was listening to the song of the same name by Guy Lombardo,

A/N: She's back baby! This one has been in the works for over a year (eep), and is basically just a love letter to @mirrormauve and I'm so glad she's back now and I've finally finished it. Becs, I love you with all my heart <3.

I don't own photos, dividers, or characters.

You’d never met someone who loved the way Joel Miller did. 

His severe, violent dedication to it, bits of soul laid down on the ground as offerings to the gods. Cracking open his chest, tearing off each rib and handing it over, not to say here is my heart but to say, here is the thing that protects my heart, it reminds me of you.

You thought this love was only talked about, only dreamt up. 

But then you’d been on a walk, in the early spring with the Earth vibrating with promise and you’d seen Joel, the worn, well-loved brown of his leather jacket, greying, long strands of his hair brushing against its collar, and you’d seen Joel, beside a tree, wrapping rope around its broken limp, saying soft things under his breath. You’ll be alright, yeah. That’s okay, I’ll be back soon, his voice heavy and measured with his drawl, warm. His fingers drifting over new buds, still tightly curled like a clenched fist, and cooing out his pride like a lullaby. 

Joel loved fiercely, savage and primal. There was nothing beautiful about the way he did it, but it was simple, it was honest and true and gentle. It was his work-roughened hands catching against fabric, his prickly stubble against his niece’s soft skin, the smell of whiskey on his breath and leather on his skin. 

His love wasn’t that of the ocean to the shore, the sun to the moon, the moon to the ocean. A tiring push and pull, illusive and fickle. 

He loved the way the soil loved the roots, giving over chunks of himself for nourishment and food. 

He loved the way the roots loved the soil, wooden fingers clutching tight against dirt and turning it dewy and tender with love. Constant, reliable, never changing. A tried and true dance that would continue to the end of time. 

He drew you to him unknowingly. Unravelled your affection for him like a ball of yarn, stringing it around everywhere he went, lighting up street corners and houses the way lamplighters used to do each evening in a world before you, Joel, and the slow thing he was knitting inside of you, row after patient row. 

Your eyes followed him like a magnet to the North, unknowingly, intrinsically, like breathing, drinking water. You found grooves and corners in Joel Miller that you revelled in, that you painted up inside your mind and took home with you to hang on your empty walls. 

The way he holds his spoon, wipes his mouth. The gnarled knots of his fingers’ joints. The rose-like curling of the skin around his eyes and mouth when he laughs, the way he touches and does so deliberately with intent and purpose. 

You walk by his house in the evenings, catching the glint of his eyes from the yellow porch light as he strums his guitar, the one he pieced together the way he did that tree. Ellie running home at all hours of the day, the trust held between them branching out towards Jackson like coconut, the aroma subtle, blink and you’ll miss it. But it hangs in the air like humidity, like frost on window panes or the fog of your breath against glass during the harsh Wyoming winters. 

You crave more, you’re starving for it. You want Joel’s love, and you want it because you’re selfish, because you don’t like the empty half of your bed, and you think he’d look nice in it, his golden skin and grey hair against floral sheets. You long more than anything to be part of the souls he holds up to the light and plops into his pocket like a marble collection. 

Whenever you are where Joel is, you look at him, fleeting glances in his direction like a heartbeat, over and over, rhythmic and regular. You’re eager to see more of him, to see him when he doesn’t know you’re watching so you can trace the curve of his neck with your eyes and pretend it’s your hands instead, to feel the soft hairs that grow there like peach fuzz. 

Joel loves in spades, in heaping bucketfuls of it. It strains throughout Jackson like a liquid heavier than water, curling around each corner in a warm embrace. You can’t go anywhere without being faced by it, the door hinge he’d fixed, the chairs he’d stacked, the floors he’d swept. The love he’s spread around soaking into your shoes and through your socks, drifting up towards your ankles and making your bones ache. 

It’s hard to deal with it. Its constant, uncompromising presence. The true reality of the man that he was, is. 

It’s even harder to deal with your craving for it, the way your skin sings for it, the way your lungs chase each trace of it they find in the air. 

Maria finds you one day in the gardens, asks, gently hesitant, for you to come over for dinner. You wonder if it was out of concern or pity for the life you lead alone, the simple, yet tried and true routine you occupy your days with. 

Worse than that, you begin to fear that she’s picked up on the fascination you’ve grown for her brother-in-law and the way his worn belt sits on his hips. 

And so to not aggravate it anymore, you agree to spend an evening close to Joel. 

Not alone with him, Tommy and Maria are at the table as well, Ellie coming and going, breaking conversation into brittle pieces of Sohan, but still you’re close and he gives you a brief taste of what sharing love with him could look like. 

His voice is rumbly and deep, river-like as it streams and trips over smooth rocks. The whiskey has loosened him up a bit, the straight, hard edges of his body softening over with comfort, the weight of survival lifted off of him. 

He’s pretty. You want him to reach inside of you and grab your heart, start pumping it for you and press his mouth against yours so you can share air together. 

It’s hard to focus around him, your eyes not wanting to work in tandem whenever they look in his direction, as if protecting you from what might happen if you manage to see him clearly, his peppering of a beard and moustache, the engravings of smile lines on his face. 

To abate the beating inside your chest, you get up for some water, go to refill Maria’s glass while you’re at it. Out of fear of the emotions he’s drawing out of you and your chest. 

You want to calm down, be normal about him and this growing obsession inside of you for an older man. Yet your body and mind refuse to do so vehemently, almost to seek vengeance on you for wanting to quell it, pour water over the burning fire.

As you stand at the counter, waiting for the water to boil and tracing the top button of your jeans round and round with the pad of your finger, you hear Joel and his lopsided walk follow you, his left foot dragging more than his right. 

“Hey.” 

The word falls at the end of itself, stretches against the ground. You follow the trails it leaves in the air, like citrus oil that sparks out of a freshly-peeled orange, bursting out like dust motes in a vibrant sunbeam. 

“Hi,” you turn around, smile at him as best as you can through the tangling of your lungs and stomach. 

Joel looks over his shoulder, back at Tommy and Maria, at Ellie, nudged into her uncle’s side, then he turns to you, “Nice evening.” 

You agree with him, though to yourself you think it’s only because of him, because of the cloud that hangs humid about him, makes the edges of his body go soft and blurry, grainy like all photos are, incapable of catching the true essence of what made them photo-worthy. 

He comes and leans against the counter beside you, hands folded on top of each other. A lock of his hair falls into his forehead and you think if he’d let it, you’d brush it away and go straight to the graveyard so you could die happy, dragging your stone along with you like a blanket. 

It takes everything inside of you to not inch closer to him. 

Despite the community and support that surrounds you everyday, you’re still lonely, still aching for something else. Something to come home to. To be something for someone to come home to. 

You have faint visions of Joel in the doorway of your house, revel in the way he’d drape his jacket over the couch. You want to see him basked in the glow of an early morning, to see his sleep-rumpled shirt and press your face into it and take in greedy lungfuls of his smell.

Ellie’s laugh rings out around the room. You think of the future she was going to have and the one she will have now, and you’re glad that she’s in Jackson away from the dark holes that are the QZs. 

You gaze up at Joel, at the cords rising in his neck like bread dough. Some depraved sprout shoots up inside you and longs to trace your nose against them and their engravings on his skin. You force yourself to look away, down at the glass of water in your hand. 

You ache to move your feet forward and away from him, for the betterment of the both of you and the cage you keep around your chest, the key of which you want to press into Joel’s hands. 

“You should come by more often.” 

He talks to you the same way he talked to the sapling. You wonder if he would rope you up the same way if you broke your arm too, in the same way. It sows dreams inside of you and you rub them away a couple seconds later, thinking of Maria’s sudden invitation asking you over tonight. 

“Thanks,” you murmur it. You’re not going to give him a rebuttal about being a bother so you won’t fall into the push and pull dance with him. 

To your surprise, he straightens up, ducks his head until you look up at him. “M’serious, honey. Really,” you see his hand reach forward before it falls back to place. It flinches and fidgets before it returns to normal. Here all the hair on his skin is grey. “We’ll do this more.” The condition has dropped from his voice. 

Despite your suspicions and reluctance, a bruised, battered thing weeps out inside of you, stops you from turning down his offer again, after he’s pressed it with you. It sits smooth and heavy in the palm of your hand, you run your thumb over it, pretend to mull it over. 

“Well, how about it? Me ‘n Ellie do board games a night each week, you should come,” There’s a swing to his voice, a soft gravel in it. If you could bask in it you’d never leave. 

He chuckles at your lack of response, “Now don’t you be tellin’ me you don’t like to play at cards.”

Finally, you collect yourself enough to shake your head, laugh a little though it’s hard when your lungs are turning themselves inside out at the thought that Joel Miller has invited you to spend more time with him, that he’s deemed you worthy of it. 

Tonight, you play Dutch Blitz. They’re not real Dutch Blitz cards, but with the mixing of yours and his decks, the picture cards tossed aside, there’s enough to play with.

Joel brings you hot water with some whiskey slipped in, his hand resting deliberately on top of yours when he gives it to you. He sits opposite you, Ellie at the head, his owl mug beside him, close enough that you long to trace with your fingers, follow the curves and valleys of it, and wonder if you can get it to talk to you the same way Joel talks to trees, close enough that you can see the splattering of spots ceramics often have. 

When he takes a drink, you have to look away from him and the wave-like motion of his throat for fear of doing something stupid and falling in love. 

He’s terrible at the game. 

After the first couple of rounds, he’d said it was because he didn’t have his glasses and went into the living room to rummage around for them. You could hear his voice sometimes, filtering in back to his kitchen. Not there, some rustling, a drawer being closed, no, I’m sure I ain’t left’em here. His voice is grumbly with aggravation and it makes you and Ellie giggle. 

It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that. Light and childish. The boulder of your personhood lifted off. 

When he does find them, he places them on the edge of his nose, but they don’t help him at all. With the sudden addition of a third player, the flick and slam of cards on the table, quickly adding up to a cap, it’s hard for him to focus. Ellie says that though he never does win, he doesn’t lose so abysmally either when she plays him one-on-one.

He murmurs to himself when he’s playing, like the gentle hum of a honeybee and it distracts you as well, giving Ellie yet another set of wins under her belt. 

“Face it, Joel,” she’s grinning now, shuffling up her hand of cards. “You’re fucking horrible at this.” 

He huffs, “You’re not giving me a fair fightin’ chance, that’s what.” The slope of his neck is just the right angle. He gathers his cards up, does an expert riffle shuffle. “And what’s more I ain’t playin’ no more. Go grab somethin’ else.” 

You’re surprised at how easily Ellie gives into him now, teasing only slightly before she goes away, back to the closet where Joel stores the board games he’s managed to piece together over the years. Monopoly, The Game of Life, Scrabble. There are Jenga blocks as well, ones he’s made himself, and that he’s sanded away at patiently, night after night on his porch. 

It’s your favourite game to play with him, Jenga. It’s tense, but quiet and calm. It gives you time to study his face intently, shade in the scar on his nose and the subtle way he favours the right edge of his mouth to his left when he’s talking. You like it even more because it means you can touch things his hands have touched, the ones he’s worked at patiently, each one a labour of love. 

Even kids come over to his house now, particularly during the summer, and play in his backyard with his Jenga blocks, Joel’s place an extension of the worlds they play in, the juniper trees at the edge perfect for games of hide-and-seek and tag. 

“She’s right,” he sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I am horrible at this.” 

With his glasses in his hand he gestures to the cards. The action pulls at your liver, you may as well have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey. 

“Nonsense,” there’s a strange tendril of confidence wrapping around your throat, drawing out words before you knew what they were. “It’s a hard game. Fast-paced.” 

He laughs to himself, softly. It sounds like molasses, deep and rich and velvety. “That’s just a fancy way of calling me old, darlin’.” 

“I don’t mind,” the words surprise you, the emotion and conviction behind them and you drop them as soon as you can. 

“You don’t mind what?” 

Looking down at your hands, “That you’re old.” You don’t like how you’re bringing attention to it and meekly, you string behind it, “If it matters any.” 

Silence hangs around you, presses hard against your chest and breaks a rib. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. It matters much…more’n you could know.”

A being lies behind his words, unknown and ominous. You don’t want to touch it, break the beehive and let the honey pour onto the grass, the bees angry and furious ready to sting. 

You offer instead to wash the dishes to be able to touch his special mug, finally trace the curve of the owl’s body, embroidered into baked clay. You wonder where Joel found this mug. If it came with the house, how it morphed into his favourite one, if it was a certain thing, from first sight, or if it was a slow and steady climb. 

Ellie comes back a few moments later, the Jenga blocks in her hands. You feel his eyes against your back and you hold your hands under the hot water until they’re irritated and sensitive. 

Joel shows up at your door unannounced. In his hands is a bowl of strawberries, his fingers stained red from picking up, that soft gentle smile on his face. 

“Howdy,” He invites himself in, says the words for you and hands over the bowl. “For you.” 

You think about jam and honey, imagine the feel of granulated sugar clicking under your teeth. 

It’s the late afternoon, a lazy sun stretching into your open window, highlighting dust motes in the air in a stream of light. You place the strawberries on the table, Joel takes one and pops it in his mouth, the hinge of his jaw moving up and down as he chews. 

Laughing, he tells you quietly, “They’re supposed to be for you, I had a stomachful pickin’em.” 

Something twists and knots inside of you at the thought of Joel in the gardens, bending down beside the strawberry plants, choosing fruit for you and bringing it to your door. You wonder if he talked to them the way he seems to do anything, whether or not it can respond to him. 

“They’re good,” he pushes them towards you. “Have some.” 

The berries are a ruby red, vibrant with survival. They press against you as you roll their tiny bodies between your fingers, your nail catching on the seeds pressed into the skins. Biting down into one, you find it intimate to know that you and Joel are tasting the same flavour, tart and sweet, that he has a belly filled with this, that he’d filled his belly behind the soft of his waistline because he was picking you a gift. 

It’s hard to tear your eyes from him, from where he’s looking at you. The sun kisses his shoulder, curls up and around his ear. The strange need you have for him grows and reaches its peak, overwhelming you. You wonder what the soft behind his ear will feel like if you took his with your teeth and soothed the bite over with your tongue, what his hair will smell like. 

You want to ask him, demand him, to kiss you. To press you against the strawberries and not let you go until you’re covered in red juice. 

“Thank you for these,” you say instead, get up to put on some hot water.

“‘Course, honey.” 

You think that Joel may consider you a friend. His friend. 

You like the possession that lies inside the words. The heady things they imply, how they hold your heart in a clenched fist and promise to never let go. 

The other night, he’d invited you over for dinner. Just you. Had been clear about it as well. Ellie’s at Dina’s, Tommy and Maria have date night together. Like he could read your mind and knew the riptides you were apt to fall into if you weren’t careful. 

He’d talked to you, low and soft like he always does. Whiskey had been poured into your coffee and the sunset had lit up the sky in much the same manner as his voice, muted and tender, the air tinted golden like saffron. 

You think that that was the night you realised you couldn’t run from it anymore, had fallen, arms extended but helpless in catching you, towards him and how the sole of his left shoe is smoother than his right. 

The strawberries spark conversation in him about the upcoming harvest, and he analyses the weather with severity, concerned about the apples and squashes if it were to stay the way it was. You pour two cups of hot water, wishing you could give him something he likes more than that, whiskey or wine, and think of what you could trade to get a bottle for your kitchen. 

“...don’t know how we’ll make it through the winter at this rate.” 

Steam curls up from your cup, the heat of the summer day already fading with the sunlight. 

“We’ll make it, one way or the other,” you say. His worries are endearing, parts and pieces of him that you think he’ll never learn to let go of, not even if there was fresh fruit on the table, hot water in the pipes. 

Joel from before. 

He fascinates you, in every form you think of him. 

With your words, you see something in his eyes, something young and untamed. You think he’s going to press it with you, show you why the amount of rain and sun the settlement’s been getting will be its exact downfall. But it dies down, calms back into the soft burnt toffee you know them to be, and the ever-present smiling not-smile returns to his face. 

Finally, he nods his head towards the strawberries and winks at you. You start eating them again, trying to paint up images of him in the gardens, of the strawberries looking even smaller beside his hands. His voice, mellowed and soft, Yeah, yeah, you’re good, that’s alright now, okay? 

Joel’s hand brushes against yours as you reach in for another one, lighting a match against your skin, flames bursting up and down your body. He doesn’t seem to give it much mind, his unshakable calm draped against him like always. 

With a chuckle, he looks down at the one in his hand, “My mama used to make these inta jams.” He eats it, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. Your body pulls at itself and you take one for yourself as well, flavour oozing out into your mouth, tasting like love because you’re sharing it with him. 

“Loved’em with a fresh biscuit,” pausing, he breaks out of his memories to look at you. “You ever had jam ‘n biscuits?” 

“Sure, sometimes.” 

He tilts his head, “Homemade ones?” You shake your head and he waves you off in response, “Oh, then you hadn’t had jam ‘n biscuits. Lemme tell ya, my mama made’em mean. Nothin’ like a hot jar of strawberry jam.” 

Eyes going a little misty he keeps on, “Now, Tommy?” he laughs soft and low, mainly to himself, shakes his head some more. “Tommy he’d scarf’em down the moment they were outta the oven, boy’s got no patience. Couldn’t even wait to take out the jam and then he’d-” the words had been pouring out of his mouth like honey, soothing to your ears but he cuts them off abruptly, “-Ah, would you look at that. I’m borin’ yer head off.” 

It sounds like he is getting ready to leave, his eyes flicking around, on the table, back to you, to the strawberries. You rush forward without thinking about it to get him to stay, “No, no. I-I like talking with you…s’nice.” You finish with a helpless little shrug. 

You don’t know where this sudden confidence has come from and you’re scared you’ve gripped too tight on the bar of soap and Joel will slip out of your grasp and into the sink, that you have to scramble to take it back. To your surprise, you haven’t. 

The discomfort starts to fade away from Joel’s face and you fear what’s going to be put in its place and how similar it might be to what you hold in the farthest corner of your heart, closely guarded away from him. He melts down back into his seat, eats a strawberry. 

If you look closely, the greyer hairs in his moustache are stained red. 

“Well, there ya have it,” he chuckles, deep and warm. “The story of my mama’s biscuits.” 

“Lovely.” 

It stands in front of you, a bunny rabbit of a story, her nose twitching, ears flicking back and forth and incredibly small. You remember the first baby rabbit you ever saw, when you were sixteen over thirty years ago. You hadn’t thought something could be so tiny and also be able to move. It had scampered away the moment it caught sight of you, the bushes bristling into silence in its wake, but behind it one of your lungs and one of your kidneys followed dutifully, leaving you alive but just barely. 

Right now, you cup Joel’s story in your palm, tuck it away in some safe pocket and delight each time you brush against it, a knotted ball of heat and innocence. 

Gaze still fixed on the button-like eyes in front of you, you get surprised when he moves to sit in the chair at your side. His shoulders are broad and mighty still, and you have to look just slightly up to be able to see him fully. 

You see him struggle with his words. Maybe he always does, and you’ve never been this close enough to see it, thoughts breaking on the shore of his mouth, the twitch around his nose, the ever changing colour of his eyes not even quivering still for a moment. 

“You’re-” he clears his throat, it rumbles gently like an earthquake from your feet to your head, shaking your heart in the middle, reminding you of the ache inside it. “You’ve been lonely here…in Jackson.” 

There’s not much to say, and you shrug, “I’m alive.” 

“Not what I said.” 

It stings through you, sharp with truth and a keen observation. You’d thought you’d manage to hide it well, that people had bigger problems than to worry about you, and the emotions running in you that you’ve forgotten what they are and how they’re supposed to feel like. You don’t know what to say, looking down at your hands, starting digging into your cuticles for something to do with them. 

He hums softly, and on instinct you turn your gaze to him, watching his front profile bent forward. “These years…they’ve been hard,” he almost hears your thoughts. “On us all.” 

You think of your husband. The one who’d married you young, though you’d felt like you were anything but at the time, and cradled your heart gently and coaxed you out of moods as if it was the only thing he was made for and wanted to do. He doesn’t come to your mind often anymore, having lost him several years before the world blew up. Together, you’d lived a quiet life. Defined by soothing, soft sunlight and lazy afternoons. 

Truly, you’ve felt lonely your whole life. It didn’t really start twenty years ago, or two years ago when you arrived in Jackson. Had been a quiet and almost ignored child. There’s not much you remember from your childhood, but the knoll of a memory rings true every time. Standing in line for a whole afternoon, a worksheet grasped in your sweaty palms, feeling that soon, soon, you’d be rewarded for listening, for being quiet. 

How interminable that afternoon had seemed to you, long and drawn out, testing your patience at each turn, and how you’d risen up to each defiantly, child-like sense of justice still strong and unfailable. 

You learnt your lesson too late, when your soul and essence had already hardened into unchangeable patterns. So, you got used to getting hurt, tears springing at your eyes and burning through your lungs. 

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” The corners of Joel’s eyes crinkle, fold up into themselves like fabric. He chuckles softly and you feel your face press into a smile. “I was real angry…and mean. People wouldn’t come within a square mile of me if they could help it.” 

His eyes glisten when he hears you laugh, and he holds up his hands, “I ain’t lyin’, I swear. Ask anyone you want, I was the town grump, yellin’ at kids to get off my lawn.” The words make you laugh even more, hiding it behind your hand and maybe the energy sparks in the air, because Joel starts to laugh too. A deep, gentle, belly laugh that seems to have come from another world. Of soft grey hair and tender eyes. It’s hard to imagine Joel as mean, a grump. 

The perpetuity of time weighs down on you heavily. How separated you feel from yourself at sixteen, twenty, thirty. The decades rolling past you like boulders. It scares you that you and Joel remember a world, a life, that doesn’t exist anymore and soon the two of you will be gone, the memories falling off into the air like they’ve done for generation upon generation. 

You wonder how so little time, in the grand scheme of things, can feel so long and tiresome. How you’re not even fifty yet and still, the thought of having to fall asleep and wake up the next day to do it all again exhausts you to the point of tears. The thought of having to do this for one more day even seems impossible, leave alone for years. 

When you were younger, and you’d first started feeling like this, you’d thought it would pass when you got married, when you got older. When the world fell apart you’d thought you would snap out of it, yet it never happened. The only time you’d felt happy waking up was from nightmares, panting and struggling to orient yourself. 

It had been better since you arrived at Jackson, found some semblance of routine and stability that you’d craved since you were a child. 

Joel sighs, drawing you out of your thoughts, and focusing you in again to see him rub at his beard, the movement tugging at the insides of you. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this really,” he lets out a quiet breath, and it washes over you, ocean-like. “I-I…” He swallows thickly, and you’re alarmed to see him gather himself as if to move to go. “Been botherin’ you really-” 

You cut him off by saying his name. It tolls inside you, flashes of hospitals and the dark green carpet of the funeral home coming to the forefront of your mind. 

You think about your husband's eyes, the soft slope of them, so similar and yet so different to Joel’s. You wonder if Joel would have liked him, if in another world the two of them would drink beer together and play poker, while you complained about them to friends you’ve never truly, properly had. 

The image is domestic, tugs at you and you know soon you’re going to cry if you’re not careful. You start talking, how the two of you had met, the sudden and then slow fall. 

The ache in you grows and grows, till it’s fit to burst. Talking about him to Joel feels like emptying out an abscess, makes you feel both guilty and relieved. 

He talks in turn. Of a daughter. The pulsing, too-hot blood covering his forearms and screaming until he’d lost his voice and spat red for a week later. Hot, bright flashes of anger that never truly went away. 

You wonder if that’s what had drawn you to Joel in the first place, that gaping, weeping hole inside of him that reflected so tenderly back into your stomach. He laughs a couple of times, telling you about Ellie. Then he cries and despite everything, you envy him for how he does it so rightfully, well-timed. 

You can’t remember a time you’d talked so much. The sun sets over his back, beside his ear. 

There’s a fatigue in your bone marrow, a deep, strong ache that ripples through your back and muscles. Joel looks a different person to you know, the ghost of a girl standing behind him, her hand placed on his forearm, gentle features in her face ringing true to her father’s and that of a woman you don’t know. You’re seized with the urge to turn back time, to see if you would have found Joel in the old world just like you have this one. If you would have liked his daughter, found companionship in her the way you do with all women. 

Joel smiles at you, eyes glistening, murmuring something about the time. The day comes back to you at once, and you feel you’ve taken a breath after hours of holding it in. You wonder at the way Joel’s drawn all this out of you, patient and with no rush at all. How he’d deemed you worthy of time and attention. 

You walk with him to your front door, feeling as if it was years since he’d shown up at it, bowl in hand. 

“Hey, honey?” The back of Joel’s shirt is wrinkled from the way he was sitting at your table. He turns back to you, the sun fully set now. 

You have a strange need to offer to walk him home. Then you hope he’d offer to walk you home and you’d do the same and then you could spend the rest of your life walking with him home. 

“Yeah?” 

The pull he has terrifies you. There’s a subconscious ache in your muscles to be closer to him, to right what seems to have been wronged. 

He does it for you, takes a step away from the door and barely a few breaths of space between you. From here, you can see the sunspots in his beard, flecked onto tanned and weathered skin and you think about a time when Joel was so young he didn’t have a beard. 

“There’s a-uh…ah, ” he goes gravelly and clears his throat, running a hand up and down his beard comfortingly. Something inside him renews and the insecurity falls away, it’s fascinating and addicting to watch. You’re sure there isn’t a more interesting person on the Earth. “You wanna come with me? To the dance next week?” 

You swallow and it does nothing to help the feeling inside you that you’re being torn into two. “Oh, Joel I…” you fumble for an excuse out of all the well-used and well-rehearsed ones you have. “I-uh…I’m not much of a dancer.” 

“Hell,” he laughs, and his eyes go to the size of slivered almonds. “Neither am I. But they play some fancy records. I go for the music.” 

“What kind?” 

You’re not going to go, you’re certain of this, already feeling like you’ve imposed far too much on him, but this is another part of Joel, the music he listens to each week at the community dance. There’s no harm in taking it for yourself. 

“Real old stuff,” his eyes twinkle. “You think me old? Wait ‘til ya hear it, it’s stuff my grandparents listened to growin’ up.” A beat, something drops in his tone, “M’serious.” He sounds nervous even, “I want you to go with me.” 

You don’t know how to tell Joel this is the first time someone’s asked you out in a long, long, while. If ever. Your husband was the only man who ever loved you and he’d always been there. Had proposed to you in the low light of his kitchen, matter-of-fact sort of, I suppose we should get married. 

You don’t know how much of your story Joel’s gratuitously, much to the contradiction of your character, filled in. You want to have led the life he’s envisioned for you, so kindly and tenderly, eating strawberries at your kitchen table, rather than the cold, lonely one you’ve led instead. 

Through the sudden twisting and turning inside you, a cold pang stops it at your foolishness to assume that this is what you’d thought it was. That you’d taken the opaque words and read through them, leading yourself astray and susceptible to getting hurt. 

“Darlin’? Makes me real nervous when you take so long to answer questions like this,” he coos softly, you think again of the way he talks to everything, as if he can see through it to the marrow and essence, trace it with his finger. You see his hand twitch and this time he does touch you, holding onto your forearm, a soft fire burning on your skin. “What’s wrong, hm?” 

“I don’t know how to dance, Joel,” you say finally. You feel and see yourself leaning close to his touch, the warmth of his body spilling into your own, but you’re helpless to stop it. You want to feel his chest on your bare back, the prickle of his beard against your skin, roughened palms against your stomach. So much roughness pressing on you with love. 

He lets out a tender breath, as if to say, that’s all? “Well, I’ll teach ya if ya want. And if not, we’ll have a drink and listen to some Guy Lombardo, alright?” 

You know you should protest again, keep pushing it with him until he drops the act, keeps this where it ought to remain. But your yearning for him is overwhelming and tiring to fight against, “Alright.” 

“Alright?” His thumb brushes back and forth against your skin. You look up at him and you fear that now there’s no hiding from him anymore, behind quiet and excuses. You feel his eyes hit the back of your lungs. “Alright, honey,” he smiles at you, his skin folding up like intricate origami, stealing your breath away at seeing it up so close. 

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he murmurs. Then he’s leaning down towards you to kiss your cheek. A rough brush of slightly chapped lips before he’s straightened up and the door clicking shut behind him, a trail of blood following him from where your chest is, gaping empty, your heart trudging along unknowingly behind him and his broad shoulders like slug. 

For two years you fought against it, pushing it aside as it continued to grow like an untamed weed, growing a strong, unbreakable net of roots only for you to lose all of it in close to five minutes, to show you how fragile and fallible you were when it came to Joel Miller. 

The community centre in Jackson is one of the only buildings left nearly intact. The floors were still original wood, and creaked and groaned with each step. With the fall of summer, the harvest close to over, the nights were coming earlier, quicker, and colder. As you walk towards the building, the lights glow from the windows flickering some strange sense of nostalgia in you, twinging at a corner you’d thought was long gone inside your heart. 

Joel is standing at the entryway, hair brushed back in a way that, in the fickle light, almost makes him unrecognizable. You’ve never seen him like this, not just his hair, but his appearance. Your heart stutters when it sees itself reflected, nervous and trembling in Joel’s face. The thought of him making himself all pretty-like for you in the glow of his bathroom makes you feel faint, makes you feel young in a way you don’t ever remember feeling. That maybe, the thought of you has him nervous and stumbling and anxious, how you so often feel around him. 

“Hey, honey.” 

You stammer a little smile, say you hope you hadn’t kept him too long. A record scratch comes from inside and the soft drone of trumpets and crooning filters out to the two of you like fairy dust.

Putting his hand on the small of your back, Joel leads you inside. 

True to his word, he doesn’t do any dancing. You’re not sure if you can handle such close proximity to him, feeling the gentle wash of his breath, to breathe him in so deeply the push outwards strains your lungs without the promise of being able to do it again whenever you want to.  

He gets you two a drink and sways with you, arm around your shoulders, talking in soothing tones that rival the one he uses with his niece. When he pretends to not notice you looking, you gaze at him, his profile glowing in the lights of the hall, the wrinkles in his face like those of a tree trunk. 

You’d been nervous to be seen out like this with Joel, worried to hear rumours fly and nervous that your reaction to them would give away inner corners of your heart that you don’t even dare graze in the safety of the early morning darkness, alone, in your own bed and house. Even more, you didn’t want him hearing them, the malicious tongues of Jackson picking you apart any more than they already had had. 

Yet to your surprise, people only smile at you, ask you to join them at the Tipsy Bison, Joel agreeing readily for you as you struggle to find the words. 

You and Joel, it seems, are no great news. 

You wonder how much time has been wasted just because of your broken mind, thoughts from your childhood running through it constantly chiming truth-like when they were only supposed to light laughing matters now. 

The weight of Joel’s hand grows suddenly, and it drops onto your chest. The subtle, comforting smell of wood turns stifling, dust floating up and stinging your eyes. With a quiet word, you slip out from under Joel’s arm as he’s talking to Tommy, head back outside and start taking greedy gulps of air. 

The normalcy of it, the quiet indifference and accepting looks around you had taken you aghast. At how quickly you’d lost the rules you’d set in place for when you were around Joel. At how quickly you’d managed to fool yourself into thinking that you could do this, be normal and sound, at how you’d tricked Joel into thinking the same and now it felt that everything was suspended in the balance. 

The whole unworthiness of it. How you’d managed to outsmart the world time and time again into staying alive for whole decades after you’d thought you would, and how you couldn’t do the same for your husband, a man so worthy of life compared to you. How he’d worked at you patiently, tenderly. Made you believe, for brief, fleeting moments that maybe you were wrong, that you can think wrong thoughts and yet there was nothing wrong with that, and that nobody had been tricked and everyone was deserving. 

And how quickly that had all been torn away from you in a torturous six months. 

Some days, you feel you’ve gotten better, the tug of black tar lighter, only to drown even worse the next. 

He’d been the only person ever to convince you otherwise. And he’d been wrong. 

Until now. 

The back porch creaks softly under Joel’s shoes, and by now you’ve given up wondering why you can recognize the way the world around him reacts to his presence. You turn to face him, to see the angel-like glow around his silhouette for the half-instant it’s there. 

You look down quickly at your feet, hoping it hides the sudden heat rising to your face and calms it down. 

In so many ways, you feel older than you are, ready to lay down in the ground and surrender to the dirt and grass, and in others you still feel like a child, helpless and naive. Joel shouldn’t be finding you out here, staring into the night for answers you know won’t be there. 

“There ya are,” you’ve never heard his voice this way before, the many nuances and inflections that you’ve studied like a religion. 

Your shame is so great you can’t even bring yourself to apologize, an annoying habit your mother always lashed out at you for, your apparent insolence and indifference. 

There’s the same shuffling step of his, the left favoured over the right. There’s a loud round of laughter from inside and you flinch at it as Joel comes to stand beside you. 

“Needed some air?” 

If you could, you would crawl into his chest, burrow down there so he’d lull you to sleep with the rumble of his voice. Though he’s only inches from you, he feels much farther away. 

You nod quietly and you wonder how you can tell Joel that the outbreak hadn’t made you like this, that Jackson had brought it out of you again after years of a toughened, fraud outside you’d held to yourself protectively like a blanket. That there wasn’t anything more to peel away, and you couldn’t be fixed with rope or soft words like the plants he loves and the wood he whittles away into gifts. 

“Joel…” you lick your lips, bite down on the inside of your cheek until you bleed. His name feels right, shaped out of your voice, and you marvel at how well-trained your mind is, after almost fifty years of feeding you lies and your fighting right back against it, to find the cracks in your armour and press and press until it gives out. “I’m sorry.” 

Words so familiar to you they should be written on your gravestone. 

He tsks, waving at the air dismissively, “Now, stop with all that.” It’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to you yet it’s still quiet and kind. He comes to face you, the light inside falling on his face and into the deep groves of it. 

Despite yourself, you gaze into his eyes, to peer at the earnestness in them, dreadfully familiar. 

“I’m sorry.” A frozen clock, stuck on the same time, the seconds hand beating and beating and going nowhere, as the world around it covers itself in dust and death. 

Pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris. 

He smiles, eyes still feather-soft and honey-sweet. A strand of hair comes loose, falling into his face and you see the Joel you’ve come to love, despite any and all precautions. 

You say his name quietly, “He was the only one who…” It’s hard to describe what your husband had done for you, even if you hadn’t felt so stunted with words since you started learning them. His earnest and pure love that had flowed through him for you and the whole world while he was alive, how you’d thwarted it away, the black, rotten core inside of you screaming out, and how, wave after wave, he’d returned to you. 

“And you think there’s only one person for you in this world?” There’s nothing patronizing in his voice, which makes it all the worse for you. You wish it had been that simple, that you had seen yourself worthy of only your husband’s love, had seen something in his relentless pursuit of giving it over to you with no hope of return. How it had been only stronger on the days it had been hard to eat, and sleep, and wake up. 

Your voice breaks, “I wasn’t even supposed to get the one.” 

“Oh, honey,” he coos. The heel of his palm is rough as it brushes against your jaw. Coaxing, he tilts your head up to face his. The second time only you’ve been so close to him and it seems your body still hasn’t gotten used to it. 

The darkness of the night is enshrouding, humidity pressing against your lungs. Joel’s jacket is on top of your shoulders, his presence drowning out the darkness, leaving sunlight and trees instead. You feel his roots claw down into your chest, latch onto your liver and heart. 

“You know…” he swallows and you’re too close to the motion because you’re dangerously close to your knees giving out underneath you. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 

It’s not judgmental, Joel could never be that. But you shrink inside nonetheless, embarrassed and feeling smaller than ever. 

Ghosts swarm around the two of you, stirring the air and making a soft breeze and goosebumps rise against your skin. 

You go to look away but he wills it not and what is the turning of the Earth if not for the wants of Joel Miller? 

“Real flattered, if I could say so. Didn’t think-” he clears his throat and this time he looks away, shy and young, a bird hiding its beak in its wing. “Didn’t think you’d fancy an old man like me.” 

The truth behind his words amazes you, how it’s something he seems to have considered time and time again relentlessly, from all angles, and still decided it to be his reality. 

“How-how…could I not?” 

There’s the deep, soothing rumble of his laugh again. It rings clear with tradition and home, and baked clay and spotted ceramic owls. “You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, honey.” 

Inside of you, your veins seize up, heart quivering at his words. He smiles down at you in that gentle, Joel way of his, quieting your thoughts. The soft drone of music drifts out from the open window, the slow murmur of a content crowd of happy people. 

His arm wraps around your waist, testing, eyes flitting back and forth on you. With each pass of his gaze, you feel the soft patter-like feet of butterflies resting against your cheeks, wings flapping slowly, measured as if to show your heart how to beat again, properly. 

Daringly, you inch closer to him. His nose comes down to meet yours. 

“Hey, darlin’...honey?” 

He’s whispering and he’s never whispered with you before. 

His breath is warm against your face, if you could, you would tuck your head under his shirt and never come up again. 

“Can I kiss ya? Would ya let me?” 

It’s hard to think that this is where you’ve ended up with Joel, from the first time you saw him those handful of years ago, where he’d been standing off to the side talking with someone, standing over a pile of wood, until now. His weight leaned on one leg, hip popped out making you lose your breath at the sight of it. 

Like a blossoming tea he’s unfurled for you. Had stretched and arched in hot water, catching your eye for it never to be let go of again. 

He traces your hairline with his finger, murmurs your name. “Can I?” His eyes are only on your mouth now, sometimes coming up to blink and meet yours. 

Joel seems close to as nervous as you, seems as if he sees you to be precious the same way you do him. It’s equally surprising and comforting, gives you the final push forward, your foot slipping against a grainy edge and plummeting you towards the bottom, wind beating against your ears. 

“Yeah.” You sound strong, certain. The sturdy trunk of an oak tree. Even more daring, you press your palm against his tummy, a few fingers under the edge of his ribs, enjoying the give of his flesh as you lean up into him even more. 

His voice rumbles against your lips, the whispering lost to the wind now, “Ain’t you the sweetest thing.” 

Thanks so much for reading, hopefully I haven't lost my edge after a year off. If you liked this please consider leaving me some feedback, I obsess over it constantly!

[almostfoxglove]

SEE YOU AT THREE

chapter eighteen: NOT WEIRD

🌟 a young!joel miller series 🌟

RATING: Explicit (18+ only) | PAIRING: Joel x f!Reader / OC (Ellie's aunt) WORD COUNT: 6.6k CW: Reference/allusion to smut, YEARNING (always yearning), and so much lovesick!joel I've got a toothache.

read from the beginning | series masterlist | main masterlist

SUMMARY: Joel is tired of being a coward.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Hmph-ing, Sarah unwinds herself from your arms and treads into the kitchen. It was a valiant effort, really. And it takes no small amount of diligence not to go over there and take his turn hugging you, too. Hugging hello—a thing you’ve never done, only goodbye. He considers it, even gets one foot nudging closer before he swallows the urge for good. Takes that one step back, leaves the space. Can’t trust himself not to hold you too long, he thinks. Can’t trust himself not to kiss you if you’re in his arms. With Sarah’s back turned, you meet his eye and shrug, mouth Good?  He nods. Grins softly at you, because yeah. He thinks it’s going just fine, so long as no one overhears the throb of his heart.

continue reading chapter 18 on ao3.

💌 NOTE: I have officially moved away from tag lists, so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[joelmillerisapunk]

Reincarnated

Joel Miller x F!Reader // 4.5k

summary: A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

warnings: this is just yearing, longing, sad tortured for years joel, theme's of heartbreak, no beta, two ex's, tommy makes an appearance, no smut here (I know I know this is not my usual)

notes: I don't usually write this kind of stuff (no smut) and I am not sure how I feel about it but this is my submission for @jolapeno's Dear-uary challenge my prompt was: An old flame unexpectedly texts the other after years of silence, sparking memories of their past relationship and wondering if the feelings are still there. A big thank you to @thundermartini my baby for holding my hand as per usual, helping me with the title, being my draft, my cheerleader supporting me through a hundred moodboard changes, @itwasntimethatdidit40 my sweet sweet freckles for being such a massive support, helping me with the moodboard pictures, being a cheerleader and reading through parts of this. and @sawymredfox for always being such a lovely support and listening to me ramble always I love you all more than you know.

masterlist

The sun dipped low behind the hills, painting the Texas sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Joel sat on the creaky old porch chair, boots propped on the railing, a glass of bourbon rested loosely in his hand. He wasn’t drinking to enjoy it tonight—more out of habit than anything. The bitter burn barely registered anymore.  

Beside him, Tommy leaned back in his chair, the faint smirk on his face telling Joel he was gearing up for one of his jabs. Tommy always had a knack for digging up things Joel preferred to leave buried.  

“You ever wonder what happened to her?” Tommy asked, his voice easy, like he was just making small talk. But Joel knew better.  

Joel’s grip on the glass tightened. He kept his gaze on the horizon, jaw clenching as he swirled the amber liquid. “Who?” he grunted, though his heart already knew the answer.  

Tommy chuckled, low and knowing. “C’mon, Joel. Don’t play dumb. You know who I’m talkin’ about. That woman you used to see when Sarah was little. The one who—”  

“Drop it, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was sharp, a warning shot, but Tommy, stubborn as ever, wasn’t backing down just yet.  

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Tommy said, leaning forward. “But I’m just sayin’, you’ve been walkin’ around like a damn ghost for years now. You ever think maybe you oughta—”  

“I said drop it,” Joel snapped, his tone cutting through the lazy evening like a whip crack.  

That shut Tommy up, at least for a moment. He leaned back again, taking a swig of his beer and letting out a long sigh. “Fine. But you know I’m right. You can act like you don’t care, but I see it, Joel. Regret’s a hell of a thing to carry around.”  

Joel didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he stared out at the horizon, watching as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the trees.  

————————

Later that night, Joel lay in bed, the house quiet save for the faint creak of the floorboards settling. Tommy’s words churned in his mind, unwelcome but persistent. Regret.  

The truth was, Joel had gotten real good at shoving his regrets into a corner of his mind and ignoring them. He had to. Otherwise, they’d eat him alive. But sometimes, like tonight, they crept back in, catching him off guard when his defenses were down.  

Your face came to him in flashes, unbidden but vivid as ever—the curve of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes had always seemed to see right through him.  

He’d thought about you more than he cared to admit over the years. Wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. Wondered if you ever thought about him.  

Joel sat up, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the phone on his nightstand. The idea of reaching out had crossed his mind a hundred times before, but he’d always talked himself out of it. What would he even say? What right did he have to show up in your life again after all this time?  

Still, something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was Tommy’s words rattling around in his head. Or maybe it was the quiet, aching loneliness that had settled in his chest like an old friend.  

Before he could think better of it, Joel grabbed his phone. He opened a blank message, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. Then, he typed, backspaced and typed again until he finally settled on something.

Hey, it’s been a while.  

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button. His chest felt tight, like the weight of all the years and mistakes was pressing down on him. But before he could change his mind, he hit send.  

The message hung there on the screen, simple and unassuming, but it felt monumental. Joel stared at it, heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.  

Minutes passed. Then longer. He sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. “Goddamn fool,” he muttered under his breath.  

But just as he was reaching to turn off the light, his phone buzzed.  

The buzzing sound jolted him more than he cared to admit. He picked it up, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow.

You: Who is this?

He hadn’t expected you to respond. Or maybe he had, but he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He was suddenly aware of how much rested on the next words he typed.

Joel: It’s Joel.

The three dots appeared almost immediately, then disappeared. They came back and stopped again. Joel could almost picture you sitting there, debating whether to even respond.

Then it came.

You: What do you want?

There it was. Direct. Guarded. Exactly what he expected. Joel leaned back against the headboard. He didn’t blame you. Hell, he deserved worse. But now that he’d started this, he couldn’t stop.

Joel: I don’t know. Just thought I’d check in.

The response came quicker this time.

You: After all these years? You just “thought you’d check in”?

Joel winced, hesitating over the screen again. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like enough.

Joel: I’ve been thinking about you.

Another pause. He could practically feel your hesitation through the phone.

You: Don’t. You don’t get to do that.

Joel stared at your message. His jaw tightened as he fought against the surge of guilt rising in his chest. You were right—he didn’t get to do this. But here he was, selfishly dragging the both of you back into a mess he’d created.  

He set the phone down, ran a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling. Memories of you flickered in his mind—how your laugh used to light up a room, the way your touch had always grounded him when the world felt too heavy. He’d walked away, thinking it was the right thing to do. For Sarah. For her mother. For everyone but you.  

The phone buzzed again. He sighed, picking it back up.

You: Why now, Joel? What’s the point?  

He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head so many times over the years, but none of those imagined scenarios had prepared him for this.  

Joel: There is no point. I just couldn’t stop myself tonight. I know I don’t deserve to be texting you.  

You: You’re damn right you don’t. You broke my heart. You don’t just get to waltz back in like nothing happened. 

Joel: I know I did. And I’m sorry. I should’ve said it back then, but I was too much of a coward.

He stared at the screen, waiting, but no reply came. The silence felt heavier than the darkness surrounding him, and for a moment, he wondered if that was it. If you’d finally had enough and decided to let him rot in the bed he’d made.  

You: But why now, why tonight? 

Joel: Tommy brought you up. Got me thinking. 

The truth hung there, plain and unvarnished. He could’ve lied, could’ve made it sound more noble, but what good would that have done?  

You: So what, I’m some ghost you decided to chase because Tommy made you feel bad? 

Joel: No. It’s not like that. I’ve thought about you every damn day since I left. I know that probably doesn't mean shit to you, but it’s the truth. 

You: Every day, huh? Didn’t stop you from choosing her over me. 

Joel shut his eyes, the memory of that choice cutting through him like a knife. He’d thought he was doing the right thing back then but in the process, he’d shattered something else—something that had mattered more than he’d been willing to admit.  

Joel: You’re right. I made the wrong choice. I know that now.

You: I don’t know if I can do this.  

Joel stared at the words. He wasn’t sure if he could do this either, but he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to let you go again.  

Joel: You don’t have to decide right now. Just let me talk to you. For a little bit. Please. 

You: Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for you.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at Joel’s lips. He didn’t expect it to be easy. He didn’t think he deserved it. But for the first time in years, there was a sliver of hope in his chest.  

Joel: Fair enough.

You: Still into music?

Joel’s brows furrowed, the unexpected question caught him off guard. The memory hit Joel like a sucker punch. The songs. That was how you used to talk to each other when words didn’t feel like enough.

Every morning, like clockwork, one of you would send a song with a time stamp—each track chosen so deliberately. Some days, it was your favorite love songs, sappy and sweet, reminding the other how much you cared. Other times, it was to lift each other up, a little nudge of hope when the world felt too heavy. And then there were the ones that said all the things neither of you could say out loud.

Joel: Always.

You: I’ll send you one tomorrow.

Joel: Looking forward to it.

Joel sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. Your last message sat heavy on his chest, lingering. He stared up at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the blinds. His thoughts churned like storm clouds—your words, the memories they dragged back, the ache of something he thought he'd buried years ago.  

Eventually, the exhaustion won out, pulling him under. Joel’s dreams carried him back to a time when life felt a little less heavy, and the weight of his choices hadn’t yet settled on his shoulders.  

He saw you clearly, like a photograph that had been buried but never faded. You were standing in his kitchen cooking breakfast, barefoot and wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on you, the sleeves rolled up past your elbows. It was early morning, sunlight streaming through the window and catching in your hair, painting you in a golden glow.  

Joel leaned against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand, watching as you hummed along to Fishin' in the Dark by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band on the radio—one of those old country tunes you both loved. Your hips swayed to the rhythm, carefree and unselfconscious, like the world outside didn’t exist. You turned suddenly, catching him staring, and your smile lit up the room.  

“What?” you teased, eyes sparkling. “You gonna stand there all morning, or are you gonna help me?”  

“Don’t see a reason to move,” Joel drawled, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Got a real nice view from here.”  

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter bubbled up, soft and sweet, filling the quiet space between you. He couldn’t help but cross the room then, setting his coffee down on the counter as his hands found your waist.  

“Joel Miller,” you said, feigning exasperation as he pulled you close, his fingers brushing along the curve of your hip. “I’m trying to make breakfast, and you’re—”  

“Distractin’ you?” he interrupted, leaning in so his nose brushed against you.  

“Exactly.”  

“Good,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. You let out a soft sigh, melting into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—like the rest of the world could wait.  

The memory shifted, flickering like an old film reel. You were both lying on the couch now, tangled up in each other as a record spun on the turntable, and he could hear your voice, quiet but clear, singing along to a song you’d claimed was “for him.”  

“Every time I hear this one, I think of you,” you’d confessed, your head resting on his chest.  

Joel hadn’t responded with words. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand running idly through your hair. Actions had always been easier for him than words, and he’d hoped you understood what he couldn’t say.  

When Joel woke, the room was still dim, dawn just beginning to creep through the cracks in the blinds. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning softly as the previous night settled back onto his chest. His phone caught his eye, and he hesitated before reaching for it.  

The screen lit up, and there it was—a new message.  

You: 3:01 - Exile by Taylor Swift. 

His heart kicked up as he clicked the link and let the song play, skipping to the time stamp. The haunting melody filled the room, and when the lyrics hit, he froze.  

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, staring at the phone in his hand. The words hit harder than he’d expected—bitterness woven into a truth he couldn’t deny. But beneath the sting, there was something else.  

You’d sent him a song. After all this time, after everything that had passed between you, you’d listened, and you’d answered. It wasn’t an olive branch, not exactly, but it was a thread. A connection. A chance.  

Joel stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, the song still playing in the background. The words hit like a gut punch, raw and honest in a way only music could manage. He exhaled slowly. He had to respond, and it had to be right.  

Scrolling through his playlists, he searched for something that could say what he couldn’t put into words. A chance to prove he wasn’t the man who had walked away. Something that could show you he wasn’t taking this lightly, that he regretted the past.

Then he found it.  

Joel: 2:26 - The Night We Met by Lord Huron.  

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then opened the song and skipped to the time stamp.  

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.”  

The lyrics bled through the room, a haunting confession of longing and regret. He closed his eyes, letting the melody wrap around him like a cold embrace. It wasn’t just a song—it was a plea.  

Minutes passed with no reply, the silence stretched long and thin. Joel’s chest tightened, doubt creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Maybe he’d read too much into your message. Maybe sending the song was too much.  

The phone buzzed in his hand, and his breath hitched.  

You: That’s a bold choice.  

A small, humorless chuckle escaped him. Bold, sure—but it was the truth.  

Joel: Figured it was fitting.  

You: It is. But that night it’s a hard one to go back to.  

Joel swallowed painfully, the weight of your words settling over him like a lead blanket. He didn’t blame you. 

Joel: I know. I can’t change the past. But I wish I could.  

You: Wishing doesn’t fix anything.  

Joel: You’re right. But maybe it’s a start.  

You: We’ll see.    

The conversation faded into silence after that, but Joel didn’t mind. For the first time in years, he felt like he’d taken a step—small, tentative, but forward.  

He wasn’t walking away this time. Not again.  

——————————

The next day started quietly for Joel. After his usual morning routine—coffee, and an aimless walk around the property—he finally glanced at his phone, half-expecting silence, but there it was

You: 2:01 - All I Want by Kodaline

Joel sat on the oak chair at his kitchen table, his phone resting in his palm as All I Want faded out. Your song hit him square in the heart—a combination of longing and accusation he couldn’t argue with. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

Joel played the song, the ache in the lyrics settled heavy in his chest. "Cause you brought out the best of me. A part of me I'd never seen. You took my soul, wiped it clean. Our love was made for movie screens. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?" The words cut sharper than he wanted to admit.

Why did you leave me?  

The answer felt too big, too tangled in old guilt and choices he couldn’t take back. Joel rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to think of the right response. Music had always been your language, but today, the words felt harder to choose.  

After a while, he scrolled through his playlists again, stopping when his thumb hovered over a familiar title. It wasn’t just about the lyrics—it was the feeling, the truth of what he wanted to say but couldn’t. He thought it might somehow tip the scales in his favor and so he typed.

2:41- Let Her Go by Passenger 

He opened the song and let the timestamp play, you only know you love her when you let her go and you let her go.

Finally, he hit the button, watching as the message marked "Delivered."  

The phone sat in his hand as he leaned back against the kitchen chair, the melody echoing in his mind. This back-and-forth of songs and guarded words—it felt like a lifeline, but also like walking on a tightrope. He wanted more, needed more, but he wasn’t sure if you were ready to give it.

The phone buzzed, breaking his thoughts.

You: You always pick the gut-punchers.

Joel exhaled a small laugh.

Joel: Never been good at subtle.

You: You’ve still got good taste in music, I’ll give you that. Suprised it’s not an oldie.

Joel smiled, a faint warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was a step—a reminder that some part of you still wanted to talk to him.

By the sixth day, it felt like you both slipped back into old habits, texting each other all day about everything and nothing. Joel found himself smiling more, laughing even. It wasn’t like the years hadn’t happened—those gaps still lingered, but they didn’t feel so wide anymore.

—————————————

The next few days blurred together in a steady rhythm of texts. It started slow—Joel’s messages were careful and measured. A “good morning” here, a comment about the weather there, and a song in between. But soon, the conversations stretched longer, dipping into familiar topics and inside jokes he hadn’t thought about in years.

It was comfortable and natural. Everything was falling back into place, even though you weren’t sure if you were ready to let it.

Joel: Thought about calling you earlier.

You: Why didn’t you?

Joel: I don’t know. Didn’t wanna push too hard, I guess. But I miss hearing your voice.

You: Well if you’re going to call, might as well make it a video call. Let’s see if you’ve aged as much as you sound like you have ;)

Joel blinked at the screen, his lips twitching into a surprised smile. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the hallway mirror. “Damn you old fool,” he muttered to himself, brushing a finger over the lines on his face.

Joel: You sure? Don’t want to scare you off.

You: I’ll take my chances.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and almost nervous as he tapped the video call button. His heart thudded in his chest as the screen shifted, the ringing filling his ears until, finally, the call connected.

Your face appeared, a little blurry at first before the image settled. Joel stared, his breath catching at the sight of you, just as beautiful as he remembered.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Joel swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone. “Hey,” he replied. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess this is me. Older, grayer, and maybe a little wiser.”

You tilted your head, a smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t look half bad… for an old man.”

Joel chuckled, the sound more relaxed this time. He paused, his eyes scanning your face through the screen. “It’s real good to see you.”

You nodded, your expression softening. “It’s good to see you too.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as the two of you settled into the call. His smile lingered, even as he tried to play it cool. “Y’know, video calls weren’t much of a thing last time we talked.”

You laughed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, it’s weird seeing you like this. Makes you feel closer, though.”

He nodded, the warmth in your voice made his chest tighten. “Closer’s good. Been too damn long.”

Your gaze softened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything, just letting the silence stretch. Joel was the first to break. “So, I passed the test, then? Don’t look too ancient on camera?”

You laughed, the sound sending a ripple of nostalgia through him. “You’re doing okay. Grays suit you.”

“Flatterin’ me now, huh?” He leaned forward slightly. “I think you’re tryin’ to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” you asked, raising a brow, but there was a playful lilt in your voice.

“From how damn beautiful you are,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He blinked, his expression shifting as if he wasn’t sure he should’ve said it.

“You always were a charmer, Miller.”

“Not sure ‘bout that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I just say what I mean when it comes to you.”

The honesty in his voice made your breath hitch, and Joel caught the way your expression softened, your playful demeanor faltering for just a moment.

“You always did have a way of catching me off guard,” you said finally.

“Guess it’s mutual, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve always had a knack for makin’ me say things I don’t plan on sayin’.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like tellin’ you how beautiful you are,” he said without missing a beat, his tone steady now, as if he’d decided to own the moment. “How much I’ve missed seein’ that pretty face, hearin’ your laugh.” He paused, his eyes holding yours through the screen. “How much I’ve missed you.”

“Joel…” you began, but he cut you off with a gentle smile.

“Don’t gotta say anything,” he said softly. “Just… wanted you to know.”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through. “You always do this, you know? Say something that makes it impossible to stay mad at you.”

“Not my intention. So, how ‘bout you? You miss me at all, or am I just an old fool?”

"I mean, you are an old fool, but…"

"But?"

"But maybe I missed you a little," you teased, holding your thumb and forefinger an inch apart for emphasis.

He shook his head as a laugh rumbled out of him. "A little, huh? Should’ve known I’d only get a half-assed compliment outta you."

"Hey," you shot back, grinning now, "that’s more than most people get. Consider yourself special, Miller."

"Special, huh? Careful now—you keep sweet-talkin’ me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you missed me a lot."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Don’t push your luck."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, full of unspoken things. Joel shifted in his chair, his thumb brushing absently along the edge of the phone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this, how much he’d needed you. And now that he had you on the other end of this call, he wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without it.

“So,” he started, his voice softer now, “what have you been up to all these years? Catch me up.”

You shared bits and pieces of your life. Joel listened intently, his eyes fixed on the screen like you might vanish if he looked away. Your laugh filled the space between his words, and every now and then, you’d tease him about his “old man” habits or the way his drawl had only gotten thicker.

It was easy. Too easy. And Joel realized he didn’t want the call to end.

“Y’know, this… this ain’t enough. Seein’ you like this. Hearin’ you talk. Feels good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the same.”

You hesitated, your smile faltering. “What are you saying, Joel?”

“I’m sayin’… I wanna see you. For real. None of this video callin’ nonsense.” His voice dropped lower, softer, like he was afraid you might say no. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise before a slow smile spread across your face. “You sure you’re ready for that? Seeing me in person might ruin the illusion.”

“Doubt that,” Joel said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take my chances.”

The day of the meeting came quicker than Joel expected. He stood outside the small café you’d chosen, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets to keep them from fidgeting. His heart was pounding in a way that made him feel like a damn teenager again, but he couldn’t help it. This wasn’t just any meeting. This was you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Miller. When and where?”

————

He looked around waiting to see you, and then Joel froze. There you were, standing just a few feet away, your face illuminated by the golden afternoon light. You looked just as he remembered, and yet somehow different—like time had added something to you, something he couldn’t quite put into words. His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t move.

And then your eyes met.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, the kind of emotion he thought he’d buried long ago. There was no escaping it, no pretending it wasn’t there. The way you smiled at him, tentative and warm, like you were testing the waters but already knew the outcome—it was enough to undo him completely.

“Joel,” you said softly. It was the same voice he’d been hearing in his head for years, the one he’d convinced himself he could live without. But now that it was real, there was no going back.

“Hey,” he managed, his voice rough and uneven. He took a step closer until he was standing right in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, the weight of the years between you pressing down and then lifting all at once. Joel’s eyes traced every line of your face, every detail he’d missed, and he felt something settle deep in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It was undeniable, inevitable. Whatever this was, whatever it could be—there was no stopping it now. Joel knew it, and by the way you looked at him, he knew you did too.

“Guess we’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said finally, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own smile soft but full of promise. “We do.”

And as Joel held the door open for you, letting you step inside first, he felt it—the certainty that this wasn’t the end of something but the beginning.

Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure - you were in it, and there was no turning back.

[bitchesuntitled]

I love that she stood up for herself! 😍 Her husband can go fuck himself. More sweetness and some lovely spice to go along with it! 🥰🥵

worship Part: 2

A week ago, Joel finally gave you everything you’d been missing—passion, desire, and the attention of a man who truly craved you. Now, you’re ready to leave your husband behind, but before you can make your move, a garden party at your home pushes everything to the brink.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, cheating, explicit sexual content, possessive Joel, fingering under table while people are there, hitting your husband (deserved), oral (m receiving) while driving, divorce, angst, rough sex (P in V), dirty talk, body worship, breeding kink, emotional tension, secret affair, neglectful husband, explosive confrontation, soft moments with sarah and Joel, 11k words.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It had been a long, exhausting week since that night with Joel—since everything between you shifted. His touch, his voice, the way he had made you feel seen and wanted, lingered in your mind every waking moment. You hadn’t seen him since, though you’d spoken in hushed tones on the phone, voices low as you discussed the delicate plan of how to leave your husband. It had to be done carefully. One wrong move could make everything fall apart.

Today, though, you were still stuck playing the perfect wife. Your husband had thrown together a garden party for his work colleagues, eager to show off the life he liked to pretend was flawless.

But, of course, he hadn’t lifted a finger. The pressure of preparing the garden, arranging the food, and making everything look effortless fell entirely on you. The weight of it clung to your shoulders like a heavy coat, but you did it anyway. Even now, you couldn’t shake the need to make everything look perfect, even if he didn’t care.

As the guests arrived, you moved between them with a forced smile, offering drinks and making small talk, though your mind was somewhere else—waiting.

Joel was coming.

And the thought of seeing him again, of having him close, made your pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with the party.

The garden was bathed in golden light as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the lawn. You were pouring a glass of wine when you saw him slip in quietly, unnoticed by most.

But not by you.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as your eyes found him, his presence steady, grounding, but also full of that same heat that had lingered between you since that night. And maybe longer.

Joel moved easily through the crowd, shaking hands, nodding politely, but it was obvious—he wasn’t here for all that. His eyes kept finding yours, flicking toward you even as he spoke with others, his gaze lingering a little too long, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile every time you caught him staring.

You tried to focus on your tasks—pouring drinks, offering food—but every time you turned, Joel was closer, his presence weaving around you like an invisible thread pulling you toward him.

You could feel his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking, the heat of it warming your skin. The tension between you was palpable, and you could barely breathe as it thickened the air.

Finally, as you set down a tray of hors d’oeuvres, Joel was there, standing beside you, his presence sending a wave of warmth through your body. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was close—his scent, that familiar, earthy mix of soap and pine, filled the space between you.

“Hello, darlin’,” Joel’s voice was low, just for you, the deep timbre of his Texas accent sending a ripple of awareness through you. He stepped closer, his breath brushing your ear as he leaned in slightly. “Need any help with all this?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced around, trying to make sure no one had noticed how close he was standing, the intimate way he was speaking to you. “You don’t have to do that,” you said, your voice barely steady. “You’re a guest.”

Joel’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes dark with something unspoken. “I’m not here for the party, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with meaning. “I’m here for you.”

His words sent a rush of heat through you, making your knees feel weak. You glanced around again, nerves buzzing under your skin, but no one seemed to be paying attention. His fingers brushed lightly against your arm as he reached for the tray you were holding, the touch sparking a fire beneath your skin.

“Let me help,” Joel said softly, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. His touch was firm, comforting, but there was something beneath it—a quiet intensity, a need that neither of you could ignore.

You watched, breathless, as Joel moved through the party, gathering glasses and plates, his strong hands working with quiet efficiency.

He moved like he belonged there by your side, taking over tasks you’d been doing alone for far too long.

The sight of him—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with that quiet confidence—made your pulse race. There was something undeniably sexy about the way he did it, the way he moved with purpose, his gaze flicking back to you every so often, checking in silently.

At one point, as you both cleared another table, his hand grazed yours again—this time, he didn’t pull away. He let his fingers linger, his touch light but full of meaning. He leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper meant only for you. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his lips just inches from your ear.

The compliment sent a shiver down your spine, your skin tingling under his gaze. You glanced around quickly, making sure no one had heard, but the words lingered, hanging in the air between you. His eyes flickered with something deeper, something that made your breath catch in your throat. 

He wasn’t just talking about how you looked—he was talking about you. The way you held everything together, the way you moved with quiet strength, even when you were on the verge of crumbling.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes met his. The connection between you was electric, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away—there was no party, no guests, no husband.

Just you and Joel, standing there in the golden light of the garden.

Before you could say anything else, your husband’s loud voice cut through the moment, pulling you back into reality. 

“Hey! More drinks over here!”

You flinched at the sound, the familiar sting of frustration building inside you as your husband continued barking orders like you were nothing more than a servant. You opened your mouth to respond, but Joel was already moving.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with a protective edge. He shot you a quick glance, his eyes dark with something that made your heart pound—a promise that he wasn’t going to let your husband keep treating you like this. Not anymore.

You watched as Joel moved across the garden, grabbing a bottle and refilling your husband’s glass without a word. Your husband barely even acknowledged him, too absorbed in his own conversation to notice anything, but Joel didn’t seem to care. When he returned, his gaze softened again, his eyes locking with yours as he stepped closer.

And the way Joel looked at you… it wasn’t just admiration. It was desire—deep, simmering beneath the surface, barely held in check.

Every glance felt like a secret, a silent confession of the things he couldn’t say aloud. Every time his hand brushed yours, it wasn’t accidental. Each fleeting touch sent warmth spiraling through you, igniting something raw and undeniable.

When he returned to your side, his hand grazed the small of your back, lingering longer than necessary, the pressure just enough to remind you that he was there, close. The touch was so simple, but it sent a pulse of heat through your body, making your breath catch in your throat.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” he murmured, his voice low, the rich warmth of his breath skimming across your neck. “You’re always the one carrying everything.”

The words weren’t just kind. They were a gentle rebuke to all the years you’d spent doing just that—being the one who did it all, with no one ever truly seeing the weight of it.

You glanced up at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his eyes, the concern etched in his features.

“Joel…,” you whispered, the words barely audible, your voice unsteady.

The lump in your throat grew as you looked down, overwhelmed by the weight of everything unsaid between you.

But Joel wasn’t finished. He moved even closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb sweeping tenderly over your skin, grounding you.

“You do all this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “workin’ yourself to the bone and yet you’re still the most breathtakin‘ woman in this entire place.”

His words hit you hard, your breath faltering as your heart raced, threatening to burst from the emotion building inside. His touch was firm, steady, but underneath it, you could feel the undercurrent of something deeper—something that made your pulse quicken, that made you lean into him just a little more.

You could feel the tension building between you, the air thick with all the unspoken feelings that had been growing between you for months.

You couldn’t do this out here—not with people around. You needed to be alone with him, somewhere you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding back.

“Come with me,” you whispered, barely audible over the sound of the party.

Joel’s eyes darkened with understanding, and he nodded subtly. He followed you quietly as you slipped through the garden, making your way toward the house.

You led him into the kitchen, the noise of the party fading behind you as you closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world.

The kitchen was dimly lit, with the sound of the party outside fading into nothingness as you led Joel inside, closing the door behind you. The soft glow of the light cast shadows across his face, making his already dark eyes seem even deeper, more intense. Your heart pounded in your chest, the air thick with everything left unsaid.

When you turned to face him, Joel was already stepping closer, his gaze locked on yours. His hands reached out, pulling you toward him with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

His touch was firm, possessive, as if he had been waiting too long to feel you again, and now that you were alone, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, feeling the heat of his body so close to yours.

He didn’t respond at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes, full of longing and unspoken need, told you everything. He cupped your face with both hands, his touch gentle but with a restrained intensity, like he was holding back the full force of what he wanted to do.

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his breath warm against your lips.

“I can’t get you outta my head,” he finally murmured, his voice rough, low, filled with raw need. His hands moved down, wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer. “Every time I close my eyes, it’s you. The way you feel… the way you sound when I’m inside you. It’s all I think about, baby.”

His words sent a rush of heat through your body, your breath catching in your throat as the memory of last week flooded back.

The way he had touched you, the way he had made you feel, was seared into your mind too. You’d been replaying it over and over, the ache for him growing stronger with every day that passed.

“I’ve been missin’ you so much, pretty girl’,” Joel whispered, his lips grazing your jawline as his hands slid lower, gripping your hips.

“Every damn night… fisting my cock thinkin’ bout you. Thinkin’ about how perfect you feel wrapped around me. How good you taste.”

You gasped softly at his confession, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer. His words sent a shiver through you, the raw honesty in them making your pulse race.

You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the roughness of his beard brushing against your skin as he kissed you softly, each touch of his lips making your body tremble.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” Joel growled against your neck, his voice thick with desire as his hands roamed over your body, sliding up your sides, feeling every curve as if he were memorizing you all over again. “You don’t know what you do to me, baby. I’ve been countin’ the days ‘til I could have you like this again.”

His mouth claimed yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you firmly against him.

The kiss was filled with the desperation of everything he had been holding back—the weeks of restraint, the nights spent thinking of you, wanting you, needing you.

You kissed him back just as eagerly, your body pressing into his as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

Before you could kiss him deeper or let your hands explore more of him, your husband’s voice cut through the kitchen, calling everyone outside for dinner. 

The spell was broken, and with a shared glance, you both knew you had to split, to act like nothing had happened. You quickly adjusted yourselves, smoothing over the moment to avoid suspicion.

You followed the crowd out to the garden, still flustered from what had just unfolded with Joel.

Joel walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours as you sat down. You were still reeling from the intensity of what had happened, and you couldn’t shake the way his rough voice had whispered filth into your ear just moments ago. Your body was still buzzing with unspent desire, even as the cool evening breeze washed over you.

You sat beside Joel, your heart racing, trying to calm the thrum of desire that had been simmering between you both since you entered the garden.

The tension was almost unbearable, his presence electric, every glance in his direction making your body prickle with awareness. It was impossible to focus on anything else—not with Joel so close, not with the hunger that had been left hanging between you both.

Just as you thought you might regain control, Joel’s hand found your thigh under the table, his touch possessive, like he was claiming you all over again. The warmth of his hand against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity straight through you, and your heart raced as he slowly dragged his fingers higher, inching closer to where you were already soaked and aching for him.

He acted like he had every right to touch you—like your body was his to explore and own, and the intensity of it made your pulse pound in your ears. His fingers grazed your inner thigh, teasing, deliberate, and you fought to keep a straight face, knowing everyone else at the table remained oblivious to what was happening beneath the tablecloth.

Your husband, as usual, was too busy talking loudly, bragging about work and drinking far too much to even notice. But you noticed. Every move Joel made had your body clenching, anticipation building as his fingers slid higher.

With a low, growling whisper, Joel leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You think about me all week, huh? Think about my cock stretching out that tight little pussy?” His words were so filthy, they sent heat flooding between your legs, your panties already damp from the thought alone.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as Joel’s fingers inched closer, slipping under the fabric of your dress like it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch was agonizingly slow, his fingertips barely brushing your soaked panties.

“I can feel how fuckin’ wet you are,” Joel whispered, his voice dark and possessive. “This pussy’s beggin’ for me. I could take you right here, couldn’t I? Fill you up right under his fuckin’ nose, and he wouldn’t even notice.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, trying to stop the flood of arousal that was pooling in your core, but Joel wasn’t having it. His hand gripped your thigh tightly, prying your legs apart, his fingers teasing along the edge of your panties. “Don’t you dare try to hide from me,” he growled. “You know this pussy’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching as his fingers finally slipped under the thin fabric of your panties, dragging over your slick folds with a slow, deliberate motion. Your body trembled as he teased you, parting your lips with his fingers, slicking them through your wetness.

His thumb found your clit, pressing down just enough to make your legs shake, his fingers spreading you open and slipping inside with agonizing slowness. You bit down hard on your lip to stifle a moan, your body begging for more even as you tried to stay quiet.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Joel growled, his voice thick with lust. “So fuckin’ needy for me. Bet you haven’t felt this good in years, have you?”

You could barely breathe, your body trembling as his fingers pumped in and out of you, curling just enough to brush against that perfect spot inside you. His thumb circled your clit, slow and teasing, keeping you on the edge but never letting you tip over.

“Look at you,” Joel muttered, his voice low and dark as his fingers fucked you under the table. “So fuckin’ desperate for me. This pussy’s mine. You’re mine. You belong to me now.”

The sound of his voice, so full of ownership and desire, sent another wave of heat rushing through you. You clenched around his fingers, your walls tightening as he worked you over, pumping harder, faster, the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you barely hidden by the noise of the party.

Your husband’s voice droned on, oblivious to what was happening right in front of him, while Joel’s fingers fucked you mercilessly under the table. The sheer filth of it, the forbidden thrill of being taken like this in such a public space, made your pulse race.

“You love this, don’t you?” Joel growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Love how I finger fuck this needy little cunt. You’re gonna cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers like a good girl.”

His words sent you over the edge, the pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. You bit down hard on your lip, your body trembling, legs shaking as you came, your pussy clenching around his fingers as the orgasm hit you.

Joel didn’t stop, his fingers thrusting deeper, harder, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a quivering mess, barely able to stay upright in your seat. His thumb pressed down hard on your clit, sending aftershocks of pleasure pulsing through you.

As you tried to catch your breath, Joel slowly pulled his fingers from your soaked heat, bringing them to his lips. He groaned, a low, filthy sound that made your whole body tingle.

“Damn,” he said loudly, smirking as he sucked his fingers clean. “That cake is good.”

Your heart nearly stopped as he spoke, your eyes widening in shock, but the rest of the table didn’t seem to notice the double meaning behind his words. They all laughed, assuming he was talking about the dessert in front of him, while you sat there, still trembling, trying to recover from the intensity of what just happened.

Joel’s eyes flickered to you, dark with satisfaction, and when he leaned back in his seat, his hand settled possessively on your thigh once again. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough with approval. “You did so fuckin’ good. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

And the look in his eyes promised that the night was just beginning.

· · ────

As the party finally wound down, the last guests said their goodbyes, spilling out into the cool evening. You stood by the door, forcing a tight smile, thanking them for coming while your mind buzzed with unspoken tension. Every fleeting glance toward Joel made your pulse quicken, a stark contrast to the exhaustion and bitterness that had built up throughout the night.

The garden was littered with empty glasses, plates, and discarded bits of the party, the chaos that your husband had insisted on throwing but, unsurprisingly, had done nothing to manage.

You sighed deeply, already dreading the cleanup. Your husband, now a few drinks past his limit, stumbled through the garden, slurring words to whoever was still unfortunate enough to be in earshot. He hadn’t lifted a finger all night, as usual, letting you handle everything while he made sure to drink more than anyone else.

Joel, in contrast, moved through the garden like a quiet force. Collecting glasses, stacking plates, helping with the cleanup in a way that felt so natural. His movements were purposeful, calm, and magnetic, making even the simple act of clearing a table seem like an extension of his strength. You couldn’t help but watch him, your body tingling at the sight of his rolled-up sleeves, those strong forearms flexing as he moved. 

Every quiet glance he sent your way only deepened the longing inside you, a silent acknowledgment that he saw you—really saw you.

At one point, Joel leaned in close to hand you a tray, the scent of him—earthy and masculine—surrounding you as he whispered, “You’re not alone anymore, darlin’.” His voice was low, gravelly, a promise woven through every word. 

A shiver ran down your spine, the quiet intensity of his words wrapping around your heart like a protective shield.

But as Joel disappeared inside to use the bathroom, you felt the air shift. The moment he was gone, your husband’s drunken presence loomed closer. 

He had been stumbling around for the past hour, barking slurred orders at no one in particular, too drunk to even realize what an embarrassing display he was putting on. He was more than drunk—he was a ticking time bomb.

You stacked the last few plates when you felt it: the heavy, uneven footsteps approaching from behind. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as his presence pressed down on you.

“What the hell are you doing?” your husband’s voice slurred, thick with irritation and resentment. “Why is it taking you so goddamn long to clean up? Can’t even do something simple.”

You ignored him, focusing on the task in front of you, but it only made his frustration mount. His voice turned sharper, dripping with condescension. “Oh, I see. Just gonna ignore me, huh? Like you always do. After everything I’ve done for you, and you can’t even handle one fuckin’ party.”

He staggered closer, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol, the air between you heavy and tense. “You ungrateful bitch,” he spat, his voice louder now, full of venom. “You think you’re too good for me? Is that it? You can’t even look at me now?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the rage in his voice twisted tighter, crueler. His words felt like a slap, a reminder of how he had always managed to make you feel small, worthless. You kept your eyes down, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating tension, trying to keep your composure. But the anger in him was rising, boiling over.

“I said look at me when I’m talking to you!” he barked, his voice turning ugly as he stepped even closer, his body looming over yours. His face was flushed red, eyes wild with drunken rage. “Can’t even manage that, can you? Useless… that’s what you are. Always have been. Can’t do one fucking thing right.”

The words sliced through the air, sharp and venomous, and before you could react, he raised his hand slightly, a dangerous glint in his eyes that made your stomach drop. The fury in his expression was like nothing you’d seen before, and for a moment, the fear that he might actually hit you became very real.

Before he could do anything, a shadow loomed behind him, and you felt the shift in the air. 

“Back the fuck off,” Joel’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, sharp and filled with restrained rage that sent a shiver down your spine.

His words were laced with a fury so thick it felt palpable, filling the space between the three of you. He stepped up behind your husband, towering over him with an intensity that made it clear—Joel wasn’t here to talk.

He was here to protect, to claim, and he would destroy anyone who stood in the way.

Your husband turned, stumbling slightly, his drunken swagger faltering as he tried to stand his ground. But there was no mistaking the fear that flickered in his eyes when he looked up at Joel—who, in contrast, was a force of nature.

His fists were clenched, his body coiled with enough tension that you knew it would only take one wrong move for him to snap.

“This isn’t your business,” your husband slurred, his voice wavering as he tried to sound tough, but the bravado was weak, and it was clear he knew it. He might have tried to act like he had control, but one look at Joel’s seething expression, and that confidence faltered.

Joel’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his nostrils flared. His eyes, dark and burning with fury, didn’t leave your husband’s face for a second.

“It became my business the second you thought you could put your hands on her,” he growled, stepping even closer until the two were nearly nose to nose. His voice, thick with raw protectiveness, made your heart race. “If you ever touch her again, I swear to God, I’ll fuckin’ ruin you.”

Your husband let out a bitter laugh, but it was shaky, his attempt to save face pathetic in the face of Joel’s quiet, simmering rage.

He staggered back a step, shaking his head before sneering at you both. “Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. 

“You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you? That’s what this is about?” His eyes darted between you and Joel, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. 

“Tell me, Joel, did you feel how loose and boring she is? I bet she was a real disappointment, huh?”

Before you could even process his disgusting words, Joel’s fist connected with your husband’s face with a sickening crack. 

The impact was swift and brutal, and your husband stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood dripped down his chin. Joel stood there, fists still clenched, chest heaving with anger, the air around him charged with a lethal energy.

“Stop!” you yelled, stepping forward, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension. 

Joel froze, his eyes flicking to you, still blazing with fury but full of concern for you. 

Silence fell over the garden, the only sound the shallow, ragged breaths of your husband as he staggered, dazed from the hit.

You walked slowly toward your husband, his eyes filled with confusion as he held his bloodied nose, clearly assuming you were going to stop Joel, to protect him. 

But when you reached him, your face set in stone, you didn’t hesitate. 

With all the pent-up anger and frustration that had been festering inside you for so long, you pulled back your fist and punched him—hard.

The sound of your fist connecting with his face echoed through the quiet garden, and your husband reeled, stumbling backward as shock registered in his eyes. 

He stared at you, dumbfounded, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

His hand shot up to his cheek, his mouth hanging open as he tried to process the fact that you—the woman he had treated like a doormat for so long—had just hit him.

“You… you hit me,” he stammered, his voice weak, his face twisted in disbelief.

“That’s right,” you spat, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and adrenaline. “I did. And you’re damn lucky that’s all I did after everything you’ve put me through.”

Your husband blinked, still stunned, and you took a deep breath, the years of silence finally cracking open inside you like a dam breaking. 

The words poured out before you could stop them, raw and trembling.

“You have no idea how lonely I’ve been,” you whispered, your voice shaking as the weight of it all hit you. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to feel invisible. To wake up every morning next to someone who doesn’t even see you. I used to beg for you to notice me—just a smile, a touch, anything to make me feel like I wasn’t completely alone. But you never did. Never once.”

Your voice broke, and you fought to keep the tears from spilling over, but the dam was already gone, and the hurt kept pouring out. “I gave you everything. Every part of me. And you just… took. You took until there was nothing left of me. Do you know what that’s like? To feel so empty that you don’t even recognize yourself anymore? To look in the mirror and not know who you are because all you’ve been doing for years is trying to keep someone else’s life together?”

You took a step closer, and your husband stumbled back slightly, the confusion and shock still etched on his face, but you didn’t stop. The words kept coming, like a wound that had been festering for years finally being ripped open.

“I used to think it was my fault. That if I could just be better, or prettier, or more fun, you might actually love me again. But I realize now… you never loved me. Not the real me. You loved the idea of me, the version that made your life easier. The one who cleaned up your messes, who stayed quiet while you drank yourself into oblivion, who pretended not to see when you looked at other women, when you lied to my face.”

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. “Do you know what it’s like to go to bed every night wondering if this is it? If this is all your life is ever going to be? Wondering why the person who’s supposed to love you the most can’t even bring himself to ask if you’re okay? I’ve spent years screaming inside, trying to get you to see me, but you never did.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and unchecked, but you didn’t wipe them away. The pain was too raw, too suffocating to hold back any longer. Your voice trembled, your words thick with heartbreak as you finally let the truth spill out. “I was empty. So damn empty, and you never noticed. Not once.” 

The ache in your chest deepened as the words left your lips. “You were so wrapped up in your own world, your own needs, that you never saw me breaking apart. I would lie next to you in bed, feeling more alone than I ever did when I was by myself.”

You swallowed hard, the tears making your voice hoarse but stronger. “I used to be alive. I used to have dreams. And then… you. You came in and made me believe that love meant sacrificing everything. That love meant shrinking myself, staying small so you could feel big.”

The tears continued to fall, but there was no stopping now. “I gave you everything, and you gave me nothing but empty promises and cold shoulders. I waited for you to see me, to really see me, but you never did. You didn’t even try. You never looked past what you wanted and into what I needed. I stayed up nights waiting for you to come home, hoping this time you’d talk to me like a partner, like someone who mattered. But all I ever got was silence. Silence and empty space where love was supposed to be.”

Your husband’s face went pale, the blood still dripping from his nose, but you didn’t care. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, your voice sharp, cutting through his pathetic attempts to muster an excuse.

“And the worst part?” you continued, your voice cracking with the weight of your sorrow. “The worst part is how long I convinced myself this was normal. That this was what love looked like. I thought that if I worked harder, if I could just be more patient, more understanding, that maybe you’d love me again. Maybe you’d remember who I was. But no. You just kept taking and I kept fading away until there was nothing left of me but a ghost in this house.”

You took a step closer, staring him dead in the eyes, the pain burning in your chest. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth fighting for. Like I wasn’t worth anything. I was so fucking lonely, screaming inside for someone to save me, but you never came. You never gave a damn.”

His mouth opened again, but you weren’t finished. “No. You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to tell me it wasn’t that bad, or that I’m overreacting. Because you weren’t there. You never were. I’ve been doing this alone for so long, I forgot what it felt like to have someone who actually gives a shit. And now… now I’m done pretending.”

You wiped your eyes, your voice steadying as you spoke the final words that had been weighing on you for years. “I’m done living this half-life. I’m done waiting for something that will never come. You don’t own me. You never did. I’m not your shadow, I’m not your convenience, and I’m not your victim anymore. I deserve more. I deserve love. And you… you’ll never be capable of giving that.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Your husband stood there, shell-shocked, his face twisted in disbelief, his hand still clutching his bloodied nose. He had no words, no defense for what you had just said.

For the first time, he looked small, like the empty, hollow man he had always been.

You took one last deep breath, your heart racing with both fear and relief. “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can say to stop me. I’m reclaiming my life, and I’m not looking back.”

As you reached the end of your words, something raw and unfiltered clawed its way to the surface. The years of frustration, of being neglected not only emotionally but physically, boiled over. You stopped in your tracks, your body trembling with the last surge of anger that had been buried for too long.

You turned back, eyes blazing, your voice rising with a mix of fury and bitterness as you screamed, “And you never once made me cum! It’s hard to be fun when you’ve been looking for my clit for four fucking years!”

The words hit him like a slap, and for the first time, you saw him truly speechless—stunned, humiliated. His face paled, his mouth hanging open, but he had nothing. No snarky comeback, no excuse. Just the weight of your truth hanging in the air, cutting through the night like a knife.

Without waiting for his response, you turned and walked toward Joel, who had been standing nearby, his face dark with anger but softening as you approached. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his strong, steady embrace, his hand resting firmly against your back, grounding you in the reality that you were no longer trapped.

“You ready?” Joel asked, his voice a low rumble filled with both protectiveness and admiration.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a sense of freedom you hadn’t felt in years. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

You walked away with Joel, leaving behind the remnants of your broken past. With each step, the weight lifted from your shoulders, lighter and lighter, until you could breathe again.

The pain was still there, the scars from years of neglect and loneliness etched into your heart, but now—finally—you were free. Free to be seen. Free to be loved. Free to be whole again. And as Joel’s arm wrapped around you protectively, you knew you were walking toward something new, something real.

And you weren’t walking alone.

· · ────

You and Joel walked toward his truck, the night air felt cooler, like a breath of relief after the storm. The intensity of everything that had just happened lingered in the air between you, heavy and electric. 

Joel hadn’t said much, but his presence was solid, grounding you as your emotions swirled inside—rage, heartbreak, and an overwhelming sense of freedom.

When you reached his truck, the reality of the moment hit you all at once. You were leaving it all behind—the years of loneliness, the pain, the person who never saw you. 

And here was Joel, the man who had seen you, stood up for you, fought for you. He had protected your honor without hesitation, and now, as he opened the door to his truck for you, the weight of his quiet strength was impossible to ignore.

The emotions welled up inside you—gratitude, relief, desire. You turned to him, your heart pounding, and before you could think, you stepped toward him, your hands reaching up to pull him closer. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his touch gentle but firm, and in that moment, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

You kissed him. Deeply. Fiercely.

It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was full of everything you had been holding inside for so long. The passion, the desperation, the need to feel alive, to feel wanted. Your lips pressed against his, and he responded instantly, his other hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. The kiss was a collision of all the emotions you both carried—his protectiveness, your desire, the mutual recognition that this was right.

Joel kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment forever, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your heart race. You could feel the tension of the night melt away, replaced by the heat building between you, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss, his grip tightening slightly around your waist.

The world around you faded, the only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. Your hands moved up into his hair, pulling him even closer, not wanting the moment to end. It was more than just a kiss—it was an affirmation, a promise that you weren’t alone anymore.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead rested against his, both of you still holding each other tightly. Joel’s eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper—something that made your heart swell.

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Always.”

· · ────

As Joel drove down the dark, empty road, the tension between you was thick and electric. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—how fiercely he had defended you, how protective he had been. Every inch of him radiated strength, and the need inside you was unbearable. You needed to feel him, taste him, let him fill the aching void that had been growing all night.

Without a second thought, you leaned over, your lips pressing against the side of his neck. You could feel his pulse quicken under your touch, his skin warm and rough with stubble. “Baby,” Joel growled, his voice low and strained as he kept his eyes on the road. “Slow down, you’ve been through so much tonight.”

But you couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t resist the heat building between you. “I don’t care,” you whispered, your breath hot against his neck as your hands moved down, trailing over his chest and then lower to his lap. “I need you, Joel. Please, let me take care of you.” Your voice was full of need, thick with desperation as your lips trailed down to his collarbone.

Joel groaned softly as you kissed down his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his body tense under your touch as your lips continued to explore every inch of skin you could reach.

“Fuck, I can’t wait anymore,” you whimpered, your voice thick with urgency as you pressed your lips against the hard bulge straining against the rough fabric of his jeans. The heat of him was intoxicating, the pressure of his cock beneath your lips sending a fresh wave of arousal through your body. “Please, Joel… I need you. I need to taste you, to feel you on my tongue.”

You kissed him again, harder this time, your lips dragging over his clothed cock as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Let me suck your cock, Joel. Please. I’ll be so good for you. I’ll take you so deep, baby. I need it so bad, I can’t stand it anymore.”

Your breath was hot against him, your lips moving up and down his clothed length as you kissed and licked over the thick bulge, tasting the rough fabric but craving the feel of him, hot and heavy, against your tongue. “Please, baby,” you begged, your voice almost a whimper. “I need it. I need to feel you in my mouth, to taste every inch of you. Let me make you feel good.”

Your hands roamed over his thighs, squeezing gently as you continued to kiss and worship his cock through his jeans. “I’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered between kisses, your lips brushing the head of his clothed cock. “Dreaming about having you in my mouth, tasting you. I need to feel you filling my mouth, baby. Please. Please let me suck your cock.”

You could feel him twitch beneath the fabric, his restraint slipping as you licked him through his jeans, teasing him, your breath hot and needy against him. “I’ll be so good to you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I’ll take you deep, I promise. Let me feel you on my tongue, Joel. I’ll make you feel so fucking good. Please… I need it so bad.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as your hand slipped inside his jeans, finding his thick, hard cock waiting for you. “Jesus, darlin’,” he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to focus on the road. “You’re gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

You licked your lips, not wasting a second as you freed him from his jeans, his cock thick and heavy in your hand, already leaking precum. You leaned down, licking the head, tasting the saltiness of him as you swirled your tongue around the tip. Joel groaned loudly, his hips jerking slightly as you teased him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice strained. “You really want this, don’t ya?”

“Fuck, look at you,” Joel groaned, his voice full of filthy praise. “Suckin’ me so fuckin’ good, just like you said. You love this cock, don’t you? Been waitin’ to taste it, to feel it stretchin’ that tight mouth of yours.”

You whimpered in response, taking him deeper, your lips stretched tight around his thick length as you bobbed your head, sucking harder, your tongue flicking over the sensitive underside of his cock. His groans filled the truck, dark and full of possession, as if he couldn’t believe he had you like this, your mouth worshipping him.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Joel panted, his hand slipping from the wheel to thread through your hair, guiding your movements. 

You moaned softly in response, taking him deeper into your mouth, sucking him in slow, deliberate strokes. You hollowed your cheeks, letting your tongue tease the sensitive underside of his cock as you moved up and down, your hand stroking the base in time with your mouth. The weight of him felt perfect, and you wanted to taste every inch.

“Goddamn, baby,” Joel growled, his voice thick with need. “You feel so fuckin’ good. Keep goin’, just like that.”

“That’s it, darlin’, fuck, you’re so good at this,” Joel growled, his hips bucking slightly into your mouth, fucking your throat just a little harder now. “You’re gonna take it all, aren’t ya? Every last fuckin’ inch. This cock is yours now, baby. You gotta take care of it.”

His grip tightened in your hair as he guided you, pushing you down further, groaning as he felt the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly, but it only spurred you on, your tongue swirling around him as you took him deeper.

“You’re so fuckin’ dirty, beggin’ for it like this,” Joel grunted, his voice thick with possession. “You love it, don’t ya? Love feelin’ me fillin’ that sweet mouth of yours. You’re mine now, baby. No one else is ever gonna touch you again. You’re all fuckin’ mine.”

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him twitch in your mouth. You wanted more—you wanted to take all of him. Without hesitating, you moved lower, letting your tongue trail down his shaft to his balls, licking and sucking them gently. Joel’s breath hitched, his body tensing as you lavished attention on his balls, your hands still stroking his cock as your tongue teased the sensitive skin.

“Shit,” Joel gasped, his voice rough as his hips bucked. “You’re fuckin’ incredible… that mouth of yours…”

You sucked one of his balls into your mouth, letting it fill your cheeks as your tongue swirled around it slowly, savoring every second. Your hand still worked his thick cock, stroking him steadily, feeling him pulse in your grip as his body tensed. 

Joel’s breathing had turned ragged, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he tried to keep the truck steady. The raw desire that radiated from him only made you hungrier for more.

You moved your lips lower, taking his other ball into your mouth, your tongue gently massaging him, your mouth hot and wet as you worshipped him. “Fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, your voice muffled by the weight of him. “I love the way you taste… I want all of you in my mouth. Let me feel it. Let me swallow it all, baby. Please, I need to taste you.”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking slightly as your tongue traced the sensitive skin of his balls. “Goddamn, baby… you’re so fuckin’ filthy. So desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, strained, and dripping with satisfaction. “You’re finally mine now, huh? That sweet mouth of yours… all fuckin’ mine.”

You moaned around his balls, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through him, making him twitch in your hand. You stroked him faster, your fingers curling around the base of his cock as your mouth worked him over, licking and sucking every inch of him. The scent of him, the taste of him—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t get enough. You wanted him to fall apart for you, to feel how much you craved him.

You pulled back for a second, pressing wet kisses along the length of his cock, trailing your tongue from the base to the tip before dipping back down to his balls. “Please, Joel,” you begged again, your voice trembling with desperation. “I want to feel you cum in my mouth, baby. I need to swallow every drop, to taste all of you. I need you so fucking bad.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his cock throbbing in your hand as you sucked his balls back into your mouth, gently massaging them with your tongue, taking your time to worship every inch of him. He let out a low growl, his voice filled with lust. “You want me to fill that pretty little mouth of yours, don’t ya?” he rasped, his hips lifting slightly, pressing himself deeper into your mouth. “Fuck… you’re finally all mine, baby. Gonna make sure you never forget it.”

You moaned around him again, your hand pumping his cock faster as your tongue worked over his sensitive head, wet and hot. The weight of him in your mouth, the taste of his skin—it made your whole body ache with need. You wanted to please him, to make him lose control, to take him over the edge. You needed it, craved it like nothing else.

“You love this, don’t you?” Joel groaned, his voice thick with possession. “Suckin’ my balls like a good girl… takin’ my cock so fuckin’ deep. You’re mine now, aren’t ya?”

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Yes, Joel. I’m yours. All yours. I’ll do anything for you.”

Without waiting for his response, you wrapped your lips around his cock again, taking him deep into your mouth, your hand working the base as your tongue swirled around the head. You sucked him harder, your mouth moving in perfect rhythm with your hand, and you could feel the tension building in his body, his cock throbbing as he neared the edge.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel growled, his voice thick with need. “I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna fill that perfect mouth of yours, and you’re gonna swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

You moaned in response, your mouth working him faster, your hand stroking him harder as you felt him pulse in your mouth. His grip tightened on your hair, guiding your movements as he bucked his hips, fucking your throat in short, sharp thrusts.

“Take it all, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice rough with pleasure as he came, his cock throbbing as he spilled into your mouth, hot and thick. You swallowed greedily, your lips wrapped tightly around him, taking everything he had to give, your tongue swirling around the head as you drained him completely.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and full of satisfaction. “That’s it, baby… take every last bit.”

Joel’s breath was still ragged as he came down from the high, but when you tried to move, his hand stayed firm in your hair. “Not so fast, baby,” he growled softly, the dark possessiveness in his voice making your heart race. “Clean me up real slow, now. Real gentle.”

His cock, still glistening and sensitive, twitched as he guided your head back toward it, his fingers threading through your hair. “Yeah… that’s it,” Joel muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Lick up every drop, baby. You’ve gotta take care of what’s yours now, huh? This cock’s all yours, so show me how good you can be.”

Your tongue flicked out, gently running over his shaft, cleaning him up just like he wanted, savoring the musky taste of his release. Joel’s grip on your hair loosened slightly, but he was still guiding you, his voice low and filthy as he watched you work.

“Hmm, yeah… now the balls again,” he whispered, his tone coaxing, yet commanding. “You love those, don’t you? Go ahead, baby. Show ‘em some love.”

You eagerly obeyed, sucking one of his balls into your mouth, rolling it gently with your tongue, while your hand continued to stroke his still-hard cock. Joel groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair as he let out a deep, satisfied growl.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he rasped, his breath heavy with desire. “Takin’ care of me so fuckin’ good. You’re such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You hummed in response, letting your mouth worship every inch of him, moving between his balls and his cock, savoring the way he throbbed under your touch. Joel’s low grunts of approval sent shivers through you, making you ache for more.

“Good job, baby,” he murmured, his voice husky as you finished, licking him clean. “Such a good girl, makin’ sure this cock’s taken care of. This is yours now—every inch of it. No one else’s. Gotta make sure it’s ready whenever you need it.”

You pulled back slowly, meeting his gaze with a breathless smile. His cock was still wet from your attention, twitching slightly, and you could see the fire still burning in his dark eyes.

Joel reached down, brushing his thumb across your lips, smirking at the sight of you kneeling before him. “All clean, baby. You did good. So fuckin’ good,” he said, his voice filled with possessive pride. “This is what a real man gives you, huh? What you deserve.”

His thumb slipped inside your mouth, and you sucked on it gently, your eyes never leaving his, still drunk on the power of what you’d just shared. Joel’s hand slid down your cheek, cupping your face, his voice dropping to a possessive murmur.

"Yeah… you’re mine now. Gonna fuck you whenever I want, fill you up however I want," Joel growled, his voice dark and full of lust. “Don’t forget—you belong to me now, baby. This cock’s yours, but you’re mine.”

As Joel’s breath finally steadied, his hand released its tight grip on you, and a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His eyes flickered down to you, dark with a mix of lust and admiration, while his other hand remained firm on the steering wheel, still guiding the truck along the winding road.

“All that,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “while I’m still makin’ sure we survive this damn drive.”

You wiped the corner of your mouth, smiling up at him, the taste of him still fresh on your tongue. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic pulse of the road beneath the tires kept you grounded in reality, but the fire between you burned even brighter.

Joel shifted slightly in his seat, his cock still twitching from the aftermath. “You’re somethin’ else, baby,” he growled softly, his hand brushing against your thigh possessively, fingers lingering just to remind you that this was far from over. “But I ain’t done with you yet. When we stop, I’m gonna make sure you feel every inch of me. All night.”

You smiled to yourself, knowing full well that the night was far from over. The tension still hummed in the air, thick and heady, as Joel drove on, the road stretching out ahead of you like the beginning of something you both had waited far too long for.

· · ────

8 months later.

The sun had just started to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across Joel’s living room, illuminating the soft textures of the couch beneath you as you lay there, soaking in the quiet comfort of your surroundings. The room felt peaceful, but there was something more—something that wrapped around you like a blanket of gratitude. You had never felt this kind of peace before, this kind of contentment.

You lay back, resting your head against a cushion as you watched Joel and Sarah from across the room, both of them caught up in some playful argument over something silly. Sarah was laughing, her face bright with amusement as she playfully swatted at Joel’s arm. Joel, pretending to be exasperated, let out an exaggerated sigh, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a pillow and tossed it gently in Sarah’s direction.

“Watch it, old man!” Sarah teased, dodging the pillow as she laughed.

“Old man?” Joel shot back, his eyebrows raising in mock offense. “I’ll show you ‘old man,’ kid.”

The two of them wrestled and teased each other, their laughter filling the room, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched them. This was your life now—this warmth, this love. It still felt surreal, like you were living in a dream you hadn’t quite woken from yet. How had you gotten here? How had you found something so precious after so many years of feeling lost and unseen?

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from sadness, but from pure gratitude. This was everything you had ever wanted—family, love, and the feeling of being seen. You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, letting the joy wash over you as you continued to watch them play fight, their laughter like music in the background.

Eight months ago, this life had seemed impossible.

Eight months ago, you were trapped. The woman you were back then was unrecognizable now—desperate, aching for a way out, for someone to see her, for someone to care. You had spent years in a marriage that had drained you, years trying to be someone you weren’t, trying to make something work that had been broken from the start.

The divorce had been a long time coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. You remembered the fear that had clawed at you as you walked into that courtroom, the uncertainty of leaving behind something that had been your entire life for so long. But Joel had been there with you, steady and solid. He had never wavered, and just knowing he was there had made the difference.

The memory of that day was still so clear. You had walked out of that courthouse feeling lighter, feeling free. And then—Joel. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the memory wash over you like a wave.

You had barely made it out of the courtroom, the finality of the judge’s ruling still ringing in your ears when the weight of everything hit you. It was like a rush of adrenaline, a mixture of relief and fear and something electric that sparked deep inside you. You had glanced at Joel, his steady presence grounding you, but the look in his eyes—dark, full of unspoken things—had sent a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, you had grabbed his hand and pulled him into the nearest bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Your heart had been pounding in your chest, the rush of emotions swirling in your mind, but it had been the desire—the need—that took over. The need to feel alive, to feel like you had control over your life again.

Joel hadn’t hesitated. His hands had been on you in an instant, pulling you against him as his lips crashed into yours. “Fuck, baby,” he had growled against your mouth, his voice thick with lust. “You’re finally mine.”

His words had sent a bolt of heat through you, your fingers already fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him. You hadn’t cared that it was reckless, that anyone could walk in. All you had cared about was the way his hands gripped your waist, the way he pressed you up against the bathroom stall, his breath hot against your neck.

You whimpered as his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up in one swift motion. His touch was rough, urgent, but filled with a possessive tenderness that made your head spin. “He didn’t deserve you,” Joel muttered against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as his hands yanked your panties down. “Never fuckin’ deserved you. But I do. I’m gonna show you what it feels like to be with a real man.”

Your breath hitched as he spun you around, pressing your chest against the cold metal door, his fingers slipping between your legs to find you already soaking wet. “Fuck, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so wet for me already. Bet you’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“Please,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back toward him, desperate for him to fill you. “I need you, Joel. I can’t wait anymore.”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing your slick folds before pulling away. You heard the sound of his zipper, then the heat of his cock pressing against your entrance. “You were too fuckin’ good for him,” Joel growled, his breath hot against your ear as he gripped your hips. “But now you’re mine, baby. You belong to me.”

Without warning, he thrust into you, filling you in one deep, rough stroke. You gasped, your hands bracing against the door as Joel’s cock stretched you, his pace immediately hard and fast. He wasn’t holding back, and you didn’t want him to.

“Goddamn, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice rough and low as he fucked into you. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So tight around me. No one’s ever gonna touch you again. You understand?”

You moaned, your body trembling as he drove into you harder, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “Yes,” you gasped, your voice breathless. “Joel—oh God, you feel so good. No one’s ever—”

“Damn right,” Joel growled, cutting you off as his hand slid down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. “He never touched you like this, did he? Never fucked you like you deserved. But I’m gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard, you won’t remember his name. Everyday.”

His fingers rubbed tight, deliberate circles on your clit, and your body arched against him, your legs trembling as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. “Joel,” you whimpered, your hands gripping the door for support. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice rough and demanding. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

With a cry, you came hard around his cock, your entire body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Joel didn’t slow down, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with possession. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fuckin’ pump you full. Make sure you never forget who owns you now.”

With one final, deep thrust, Joel groaned loudly, spilling inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his cum. The heat of him filling you made your head spin, your body still trembling as he leaned against you, catching his breath.

His hands slid up your sides, his touch softer now, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, his voice thick with both lust and something deeper, something softer. “No one else is ever gonna touch you. I’ll treat you so fuckin’ good, baby. You’ll never want for anything again.”

The memory faded as you blinked back into the present, the warmth of the room bringing you back to the reality of now. But the echoes of that courthouse moment still lingered, like a secret you shared with Joel, one that shaped everything between you.

You realized, belatedly, that both Joel and Sarah had stopped their playful banter and were looking at you, concern in their eyes. Joel stood there, his brows furrowed slightly, and Sarah had that soft, inquisitive look she wore when she was worried.

“Everything okay?” Joel asked, his voice low and gentle as he took a small step toward you.

Sarah shot him a quick look before turning back to you, her eyes wide and warm. “You look sad,” she said softly. Then, without another word, she launched herself across the room, flopping dramatically onto the couch and onto your lap, her arms wrapping around you in a tight hug.

The sudden weight of Sarah’s embrace, the way she was trying to comfort you in her own dramatic way, made you laugh, and the sound broke through the heaviness of the moment. “I’m not sad, honey,” you said, your voice soft and warm as you hugged her back. “I’m just… thinking.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he watched the two of you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. He crossed the room, sitting down beside you on the couch, his hand finding its place on your thigh as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Sarah, always the observer, sat up and shot Joel a mischievous grin. “You better cuddle her too, Dad,” she teased, though the way she said it made it clear she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Joel chuckled, his arm sliding around your shoulders as he tugged you closer, his lips brushing lightly against your cheek. “She’s right,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, darlin’? You seemed miles away.”

You leaned into the warmth of Joel’s body, resting your head on his shoulder as you let out a soft sigh. “I was just… thinking about everything. About the day we finalized the divorce,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “About how different everything is now.”

Sarah wiggled herself into your lap, cuddling into your chest as she peered up at you. “You’re happy now though, right?” she asked, her voice small but sure.

You looked down at her, a wave of emotion swelling in your chest as you ran your fingers through her hair. “So happy,” you whispered, the words thick with truth. “I wouldn’t change this for anything.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, his arm tightening around you. “You don’t ever have to look back again, baby,” he said softly, his voice full of the quiet reassurance you’d come to love so much. “You’re right where you belong now, with us.”

You smiled, feeling the overwhelming warmth of their love wrap around you, and you pressed a soft kiss to Sarah’s forehead before turning to Joel. “I know,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him, your lips brushing against his in a slow, tender moment.

Joel kissed you back, soft and lingering, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, and when he pulled away, he smiled, his eyes searching yours with a warmth that made your heart swell. “You’re our family now,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “And we’re gonna keep makin’ sure you’re happy. Always.”

Sarah squirmed between the two of you, giggling at the closeness, clearly teasing but with a smile that lit up her entire face. “Okay, okay! I get it, you guys love each other,” she laughed, wriggling out of your lap and stretching her arms out. “But don’t go all mushy on me now.”

You and Joel both chuckled, the sound blending with the easy warmth that had filled the room. You reached out, ruffling Sarah’s hair playfully, and her mock annoyance only made you smile wider. Joel’s deep chuckle rumbled next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you a little closer.

But as the moment settled, Joel leaned in, his voice dropping low so only you could hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Later tonight, though,” he whispered, his tone thick with promise, “I’ll remind you just how much I love you. Can’t wait to get you all alone, baby.”

You felt a flush of heat bloom over your skin, your heart racing at the teasing edge in Joel’s voice. His hand slipped down to your hip, squeezing gently, and though his gaze was soft, the intensity in his words sent a shiver through you.

But as the warmth of the moment settled around you, a wave of emotion washed over you, deeper than anything physical. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming happiness you never thought you’d feel again. It wasn’t just about desire—it was about being seen, about being loved in a way that made you feel whole.

You blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but they weren’t tears of pain or regret. They were the kind that come when you realize you’ve found the place you belong, the kind that make you feel grounded and safe. You felt Joel’s arm tighten around you, as if he could sense your emotions without you saying a word, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were filled with nothing but love.

“You okay, baby?” Joel asked softly, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek again, the warmth in his gaze steady and comforting.

You nodded, smiling through the tears, your heart swelling with gratitude for the life you had now. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m just… so happy. I didn’t think I could feel like this again.”

Sarah, still nestled beside you, glanced up, catching the tearful look on your face and frowning in concern. “Are you crying?” she asked, her voice soft but curious.

You let out a small laugh, ruffling her hair again as you quickly wiped away a tear. “I’m crying because I’m happy,” you assured her, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m so lucky to have you both.”

Sarah’s face brightened with a smile, and she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, her warmth spreading through you like a blanket. Joel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and the quiet, comforting presence of him grounded you even further.

In that moment, surrounded by the two people who had become your everything, you knew this was what it meant to be truly loved, to be seen. And you couldn’t imagine your life any other way.

Joel’s hand squeezed yours gently, his eyes filled with that same warmth that always made your heart race. “We’re the lucky ones, baby,” he said quietly, his voice low and tender. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Sarah, sensing the emotional weight of the moment, smiled up at you before wrapping her arms around you again. “You’re stuck with us now!” she teased, her tone light, but the meaning behind her words was clear. She meant it, and you felt it—this was where you were meant to be.

You let out a small laugh, feeling a deep warmth settle in your chest. For so long, you had been lost in a life that didn’t belong to you, stuck in a marriage where you felt invisible, forgotten. But now, sitting here with Joel and Sarah, you realized just how far you’d come. You had broken free from that prison, taken control of your own story, and allowed yourself to be loved and seen in a way you never thought possible.

Life can change, you thought. Sometimes, all it takes is one decision—a choice to put yourself first, to demand more, to refuse to settle for anything less than what you deserve. You had once believed that you were trapped, that your life was set in stone, but you now knew better. You had the power to change things, to rewrite your story, and to choose happiness.

Joel’s arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer as Sarah continued to chatter about her day, her laughter filling the room. You smiled, feeling the love in the air, the sense of belonging that had once felt so foreign to you.

“Situations change,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, but Joel heard you. His lips pressed gently against your temple, a quiet reminder of his unwavering presence by your side.

“They do,” he murmured, his voice warm and filled with pride. “And you had the strength to change yours.”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of those words settle deep within you. You had the power to make the change—to walk away from what no longer served you, to embrace the love and the life you knew you deserved. And now, as you sat there with the two people who meant the world to you, you realized that every struggle, every tear, had been worth it.

It wasn’t always easy, and there had been moments when you doubted yourself, moments when you wondered if you were making the right choice. But looking at Joel and Sarah now, you knew—without a doubt—that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

This was your new beginning. And it was beautiful.

As the evening light continued to fade, wrapping your home in a soft, golden glow, you closed your eyes and smiled. You had the power to shape your future, and this… this was just the start of something wonderful.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[paulyenvol6]

Good Girl

Joel Miller x female reader (OS)

A new territory for me but I'm obsessed with the last of us at the moment and just had to write something about Joel. Hope you enjoy this smutty one shot.

Contains: smut, dubcon (reader is in pain and Joel doesn't stop), p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, praising, degrading, spanking, dom!Joel, sub!reader, mentions of words like slut and bitch, Joel being mean and manipulative, a little fluff in the end

Wordcount: ~4.51k

Masterlist

You were so fucking cold.

You already wore a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and Joel's jacket and still here you were shivering and wrapping your arms around your body in an attempt to warm yourself.

Your eyes were fixed on the fire in front of you that was supposed to make you feel better as well but for some reason nothing worked tonight. You were feeling small. Vulnerable. Whiny. And you knew that as much as Joel was willing to take care of you when you were in that kind of state of mind you knew that he also hated it when you sank in self-pity and didn't take care of yourself. It was an odd combination because he was highly possessive of you and loved the way you were dependent on him but at the same time he would disapprovingly hum at you when you didn't eat enough or just started to cry instead of taking care of what was bothering you and communicating your needs.

That was why you hesitated to call for Joel who was in the kitchen making tea for the both of us. Perhaps it would help you against the coldness, you thought and patiently waited until he walked out of the kitchen heading to you on the couch. Joel put both cups on the table and then sat down next to you.

"Careful. It's hot. Don't want you to burn yourself."

You nodded and eagerly wrapped your hands around the cup. You closed your eyes at the feeling of the warmth spreading in your hands and then flooding your whole body and soon you felt so much more comfortable and safe.

And yet you were still craving Joel's presence which was why you snuggled up against his chest and formed yourself into a ball wanting to be fully embraced by him. He scoffed but gave in to your needs by holding you tightly and stroking your back. When he felt how you pressed yourself against his upper body he hummed.

"What is it babygirl?"

You didn't answer him at first and instead continued to push yourself impossibly close to him which he commented with a growl.

"You're gonne make me fucking hard."

With these words Joel gently and yet firmly grabbed your shoulder to turn you around.

"Words. Now."

You watched him under your lashes trying to give him your best doll eyes while toying with your fingers.

"What?" you asked.

"You're acting differently. Are you sick?"

"No," you whispered and dropped your gaze. "Just wanna… wanna be close to you, daddy."

You couldn't see his reaction but the next thing you felt was how he pulled you towards him again. This time it was Joel who wrapped his arms around your body to hold you tightly and now your ass was pressed to his center.

"You need your daddy, mhm?" he whispered against your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. "What do you want, babygirl?"

You were uncapable of answering because you feared you might just let out a whine so you prayed he would just pursue with what he wanted already so you could feel him. But of course Joel didn't let you off this easily.

"I wanna hear your voice. Or do you want me to fucking leave and jerk off alone?"

Swiftly you shook your head and your hands gripped his shirt to make sure he couldn't leave as if you could prevent it if he decided to.

"Please no. I need you. Need to feel full."

"There we go, sweetheart. Not that hard isn't it?"

His hand came down to spank the back of your thighs roughly which made you twitch and instincitvely jolt away from him.

"Ugh ugh," Joel made and pulled you back. And then his hand that had previously enclosed around your stomach made its way up to your breasts and he started to shamelessly knead them through your shirt. But he only played with your tits a few moments before stopping and slightly smirking at your whine. Then he tapped your hip and adjusted himself on the couch.

"On the ground. Knees."

Quick as the wind you obeyed and literally fell on your knees in front of him which was quite uncomfortable because the stoney ground didn't do anything for you but you priority was to please him. So no part of you thought about it twice. Joel's eyes were fixed on you which almost made you feel intimidated but you were quickly pulled away from your thoughts because he had started to open his belt and pull down his jeans.

"God… look at you."

His hand reached down to grab your chin and he adjusted your head so you were looking up to him. "Open your fucking mouth."

Once your lips had parted and you expactantly stared up to him Joel spat right on your tongue which was followed by a crooked smirk on his face.

"Dirty slut. Show me your tongue. Don't you fucking swallow it."

You obeyed and made sure to present him your tongue until he was content and rubbed with his thumb over your lower lip. "Swallow."

You closed your mouth again and waited for what he would do now. You already felt the heat between your legs that made you unable to sit still which obviously didn't go unnoticed by Joel.

"So eager… Can't be patient for a few minuted, huh?"

He pulled down his boxers until his cock was free and as so many times before you were stunned with his hard member. He was so thick and large that you asked yourself once again how he was able to fit inside of you. His veins were prominent on the side of his shaft and you couldn't wait to feel them on your tongue. Your eyes seemed to speak for you because he scoffed and wrapped a hand around his cock.

"You want it?"

You nodded but shrieked when his hand came down to smack you across the face.

"I wanna hear you say it, stupid slut."

You hated it so much but felt how your eyes got teary eyes at his sharp words.

"I-I want it," you eventually stated and hoped that he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes.

Why did he have to say these kinds of things, you thought while feeling an odd but intense anger burning inside of you. And why did he slap you just because you hadn't answered him immediately? All you craved right now was to be held by him and hear his praise that he sometimes whispered in your ear. Then his mouth would be so close to your ear that you felt his beard stubble on your skin. And his voice would be so quiet and husky you felt like no one else was supposed to hear these words and the two of you were the only people in the world.

You were torn back to the present when Joel finally brought his tip to your lips to smear his precum over them. It was a degrading and humiliating gesture and it made your heart beat quickly and yet you didn't attempt to speak up. Because you knew it was what he liked. To see you broken and vulnerable. Perhaps it was because you were the only thing in this unpredictable world that he could control. After everything that happened, his daughter's death, all those people who had either left him or betrayed him, after all this unpredictability you were the one thing that he could control.

He knew that he could control your thoughts and feelings and turn you into a pathetic mess within minutes if he merely called you a slut a few times. And he loved it so much to see you response to his words and actions. He loved to see your eyes when they were big as coins, when you cried and sniffed and when you couldn't control the noises leaving your mouth anymore.

"Open your fucking mouth," his low voice cut through the air and you obeyed him while raising your gaze to him. His eyes were fixed on you while he inserted himself into your mouth and he let out a sigh once your tongue touched his veiny shaft. It was different to what you had expected. You had assumed he would take you roughly, fuck your throat ignoring your chokes and gags but instead his movements were slow and rather powerful and intense.

But it definitely wasn't necessary to fuck your mouth rapidly to make you gag. Joel's cock was so big and massive that just feeling him slowly slide into your mouth alone made you gasp for air and as always you thought that you wouldn't be able to take it. But also, as always, he soothingly stroked the back of your head.

"Shh, babygirl," he cooed when he noticed how you arched and tensed up. "Breathe through your nose. You can take it."

But was that really the case? You couldn't get any air in your lungs and you feared that you would throw up if he continued to hit the back of your throat. Because now his thrusts were still slow but he went so deep that his balls were almost pressed to your face. Unconsciously your hands had grabbed his thighs and you now dug your fingers in the fabric of his jeans and pushed at his legs to show him how much you were struggling. Suddenly you were yanked off his cock and you felt Joel's hand turning your head back so you were forced to look at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he spitted and in the way his jaw tightened you saw that he was pissed.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and submissively looked down.

"I asked what's wrong with you. This ain't an answer to my question."

He yanked your head back again wanting to look at your face.

"I don't know, I…. It's too much."

"It wasn't too much last night when you begged me to fuck your throat. Don't act like that now, you're a little cock-hungry slut and we both know it."

Once again tears welled in your eyes and this time Joel noticed and sighed deeply. "Oh for fuck's sake, y/n."

You let out a little sob and rubbed over your eyes with the back of your hand while he finally released your head. Joel leaned back in the couch and watched you expectantly.

"So what will it be?"

You didn't reply, too focused on calming yourself and stopping the tears from spilling.

"You're either gonna go to bed now or get back to work and suck me off. But I swear to god if you won't do it there will be no sweet daddy for you tonight. You made me fucking hard by rubbing your little ass against me and now want to back out just because you suddenly don't feel like getting your mouth fucked."

You sniffed again but felt brave enough to meet his eyes.

"I don't wanna go to bed."

He raised his eyebrows. "So?"

"I want your cock, daddy."

Joel sighed again but straightened up on the couch to move closer to your face.

"Stick your tongue out," he demanded and you knew what was coming. He gathered his spit and let it fall down on your flat tongue. Obediently you waited for his next words and when you finally saw him smirk again you felt a warmth in your belly.

"Swallow."

Before you could even follow his order he had pulled you closer to him and pushed his cock past your lips. He went so deep that your body tensed up again but you couldn't disappoint him again and demand him to stop so you squeezed your eyes and dug your nails into the palms of your own hands while trying to fight your gagging.

"Take it, baby. C'mon. I know you can do it."

His words calmed you a little. All you wanted tonight was your sweet caring Joel and although he didn't seem to be in his best mood currently his words were somewhat like a soothing gesture to you. You panted heavily while you tried to adjust to his size and breathe through your nose. 'Why did he have to be so goddamn thick?' you thought and then felt him pull back again.

"Good girl," he growled and then started to fuck your face at a steady pace again. His praise motivated you to do better and so you licked over his tip as often as you could to pleasure him even more. He tasted a little salty but ultimately it was just his familiar taste and scent you were able to recognize.

"That's it, babygirl. I knew you could do it. Yeah…," he whispered and the hand on the back of your head gripped your hair tighter, a sign that he wouldn't last very long. "Knew you just needed someone to put you into your fucking place."

At this point Joel was just using your mouth for his pleasure and your mouth remained as nothing as a toy to insert his cock in. He held your head in place while snapping his hips forwards delivering deep and forceful thrusts. You felt how you were growing immune to the pain and discomfort and didn't even really pay attention to it.

"Gonna fuckin' milk my cock," he now growled and you felt how his thrusts became more sloppy and faster. "Gonna paint your slutty face with my cum."

Sensing that he was very close you forced yourself to keep your teary eyes on him as you knew that meeting your gaze during sex always increased his lust and it turned out to be true this time as well. He moaned loudly, threw his head back and then quickly pulled away from you in order to come on your face. His tip was right in front of your face and all you could do was wait and watch him shoot his load on your face.

"Oh fuck," he moaned and bit his lip at the sight of you on your knees for him. "S'what you good for, mhm? You were fucking meant for sucking my cock. Little whore."

You took his words in silence only focusing on sticking your tongue out and keeping your eyes on him. But he didn't expect an answer from you anyway and instead just waited until he felt he had fully emptied himself and then grabbed a fistful of your hair.

"Stand up," was all he said and you jumped up as quickly as your wobbly legs allowed. Once you stood in front of him feeling very small and vulnerable under his gaze suddenly Joel leaned back on the couch and lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Take ya clothes off, baby."

You started peeling off one layer by one and he was seemingly smug about seeing your shaky hands fumble with the buttons. Only when all you wore were your bra and panties did he stop you.

"Good girl. Now turn around."

Goosebumps covered your arms although you weren't sure they were caused by the coldness or your exposure to Joel. But nevertheless you did exactly how you were told. It gave you a dangerous bubbly feeling in your belly to not see what he was doing behind you but when you felt a sharp sting on your ass you jolted forwards and he reacted by pulling you back towards him and then on the couch. You shrieked in surprise and the next thing you felt was the soft cushions behind your back and his big hand caressing your cheek.

He had crawled on top of you and was now watching you with those brown eyes that you had learnt could go from being the most loving and caring to being cruel and cold. Right now you would describe them as covetous.

Joel leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose which made you giggle but the sound quickly turned into a gasp when his hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your bra. He massaged your flesh for a few seconds before reaching behind you to take the piece of clothing off. In a matter of seconds he had torn it off you and threw it somewhere behind you and then his eyes regarded your bare upper body.

The smirk on his face that followed made you melt and you were so grateful for him being gentle with you now after having degraded and humiliated you like this. The palm of his hand rubbed over your hard pink nipples while he kneaded your breasts and the sight of his big and rough hands on your body alone almost made you moan out loudly.

"Look at you…," he hummed his eyes not leaving your chest for a second. Joel Miller was a boob guy after all as you had figured out soon after you had met him. No matter if it was about touching and toying with them, licking your perky nipples or pressing kisses on your soft flesh, he just couldn't get enough of them.

"That's my fucking body and these are my fucking tits. You belong to me, you haven't forgot that, have you?"

His voice was so husky and low that you really had to concentrate on listening to the content of his words rather than the sound but you eventually rapidly nodded with your head.

"Of course not, daddy."

"Good," he breathed. There was this determination in his eyes as well as the desperate need to claim you as his and despite wishing he would just take you in his arms and squeeze you like you were the only person on this planet for him his expression made your heart beat louder.

"Cause these fucking moans are only mine to listen to. These eyes are only meant to look at me. This fucking brain is supposed to only think about me. And I swear to god I ain't have a problem with remindin' you in case you forget." 

You quickly shook your head but your words almost got stuck in your throat when Joel's thumb brushed over your left nipple.

"I-I won't forget it, daddy," you stuttered which gave only gave him even more satisfaction.

"Hold still," he then said as he noticed the way your hips were buckling and shifting and you only managed to do so with difficulty. He hooked his fingers into your waistband and slightly pulled at them.

"You think you deserve to get this pussy eaten?" he growled and for the first time tonight you weren't sure how to answer him. All you knew was that you needed preparation because taking his fat cock without it would hurt you like hell.

Not knowing how to best answer him without pissing him off you waited while he inspected your panties and then slowly dragged them down your legs. His head was on the same level as your belly now and he kissed your soft skin. You felt his beard scratching against you but in the most beautiful and comforting way.

"J-Joel," you whimpered and buried your hands in his soft curls. His eyes wandered up to you and the two of you made eye contact.

"What?" he hissed and before you could answer he had crawled up to you again and sucked on the delicate skin of your neck. 'So he won't give me a treat tonight?' you thought with a hint of disappointment. You knew how good he was able to make you feel with his tongue and had already looked forward to it when he had kissed his way down your body.

But if you were being honest to yourself you weren't surprised. He had this mean look in his eyes tonight and this crinkle in the corner of his mouth. You really should've known better.

While his mouth was still occupied with leaving bite marks on your neck his hands were quick to run over your slit.

"Fucking drippin' all over me," he growled and without giving a warning he slapped your pussy which made you jolt. It earned you another smack and this time he pressed your down on the couch with his free hand.

"Stay still, m'not gonna say it again."

For a brief moment his thumb connected to your clit and he rubbed it in tight circles but you had just started to relax in his arms when it already stopped.

"Open wide f'me," he ordered and when you looked down to your stomach you could see his hand wrapped around his shaft. You were glad about being soaked so his cock wouldn't hurt too much but you were still a little worried. In most cases Joel prepared you by fingering you and scissoring you open for him and you feared that it would be too much now.

You inhaled deeply and placed a hand on his hand that guided his tip through your folds.

"Please be gentle, daddy," you said with a thin voice. His eyes found yours and you couldn't exactly read his expression.

"Always," was all he said and then he entered you.

The feeling was so intense that you gasped out and you felt your eyes getting round like coins. Instinctively your hands gripped his strong arms and your nails dug into his muscles.

"Joel, fuck," you whimpered and felt your eyes filling with tears. There was a sharp sting in your core but not so much that you would want him to stop. All you would've needed was a few moments to adjust but unfortunately he didn't grant you this.

Too caught up in his pleasure and perhaps also indifferent to how you were feeling he started to fuck you at a steady pace and you had no choice but to do your very best and try to relax around him. You knew that this was the best medicine to the pain you occasionally felt when he was too fast or you weren't prepared enough which both was the case tonight.

"That's a good girl, yeah," he hummed sounding pleased with the way you tightly hugged his member. "Takin' me so fucking well. Like you're a fucking virgin," he chuckled and his hand came down to gently rub over your neck.

"But we both know that ain't true. Both know you're a slutty bitch who can't keep her legs closed."

You choked on a cry at a sharp thrust and Joel rolled back his eyes at the delicious feeling of your nails scratching his arms. All you wished for was that the pain in your core would finally vanish and you could fully embrace him but for some reason it just didn't happen. He was so big that it felt like he was everywhere. His scent, his voice, his big cock were the only things in the world you could perceive right now and it was overwhelming.

He went so deep with every thrust that you could feel him hit your cervix and the burning stretch of him splitting you open made your facade crumble.

"J-Joel," you whined and begged him with your eyes.

"What, babygirl."

You moved underneath him feeling your eyes fluttering and you firmly held on to his arms.

"Hurts," you managed to bring out.

"What does?" Joel demanded to know and moved your sweaty hair out of your face so he could look at you better.

"S-So deep. S'too much, daddy, please."

He chuckled lowly and the sound gave you goosebumps. "S'too much for my babygirl? Daddy's fucking you so well that you can't take it anymore? Too much for you little pussy?"

You nodded feeling your legs tremble and you almost weren't able to breathe with each sharp thrust and the following pain knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Please, I can't. Can't take it, daddy, m'sorry," you whimpered on the verge of crying.

"Oh you can, little girl. You wanna please your daddy, don't ya? You're gonna take it for daddy. I know it hurts but it makes daddy feel so good so keep those legs spread open until I'm satisfied."

What were you to answer to that? He didn't care about your discomfort because to him it was a fair price for his pleasure. A few tears left the corner of your eyes which you tried to blink away.

"S'worth it, baby. C'mon, look at me," he mumbled while his hands reached down to play with your breasts.

At first you refused and stubbornly turned your head away from him but he grabbed your chin and forcefully adjusted your head.

"None of that bitchiness, baby. You know better than to behave like this."

You formed your lips in a pout still trying to ignore the pulsating of your walls that seemingly refused to adjust to his size tonight.

"You're a big girl, y/n, aren't you? Just let me use this fucking body. Do it for daddy. Squeezing my cock so fucking well, christ."

Once again your facade crumbled because how were you supposed to play it strong and defiant when he was talking to you that way? Your lips trembled and suddenly all you were able to think about was pleasing him.

"That's right, babygirl. Wipe away those tears and be a brave girl. Maybe gonna make you feel good in the morning if you behave yourself now. Gonna eat your sweet pussy as a reward."

This was a rather promising prospect and further motivation for you to do your very best to please him. You forced your body to hold still and took each of his painful thrusts with a newly formed determination not to twitch or jolt away. It seemed like you were doing a good job because Joel let out a grunt and his grip on your tits tightened.

"Fuck, yeah. Gonna come in that little pussy of yours. Oh fuck."

And then after a few more thrusts he collapsed on top of you and you felt his cum filling you up. You didn't move an inch while waiting for him to calm down from his high and while still panting heavily he slowly moved out of you only to push back inside.

"Gotta make sure my cum stays inside, mhm little kitten?" he smirked crookedly and ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Mhmm daddy," you sighed because despite not having finished you felt warm and comfortable in Joel's arms. And perhaps he would satisfy you in the morning.

He gently brushed over your head and inhaled deeply.

"That's a good girl," he mumbled against your forehead and you buried your face in his chest. These were the moments when you wished time would stop and all you had to feel and see for the rest of your life was him.

You wished Joel and you would never have to leave this room, would never have to be confronted with what was happening outside these walls and could just stay wrapped around this blanket until the end of time.

[millers-angel]

having an affair with professor miller ୨♡୧

you got severe issues with your parents and get into an affair with the only person you find comfort with, your college professor, without knowing he was also your best friend's dad.

if you wanna read it—illicit affairs♡

[jazzy96scorpio]

A Spark in the Darkness

Chapter 2 Attitude

Description: You continued your trip with Joel and Ellie. You came to Bill and Frank's house. Joel hates your attitude, but he loves how you handle things 😉 Little smut at the end.

Pairing: You / Joel Miller

Warnings ⚠️: mention of death, angst, dirty and bad words, jerking off.

Word Count: 2386

🖤

After a long day of walking, Joel suggested you stop at his old stash spot. "Need to check on things and leave a somethin' " he said, his voice gruff.

Ellie, eager to explore, announced, "I'm gonna see if there's anything left."

"Everything's already picked over," Joel grumbled, but Ellie was already slipping inside room.

You sat there, watching Joel, a curious glint in your eye. While he was checking his stash, you rummaged around and stumbled upon an old box of condoms. You couldn't help but laugh. "Well, you always need these," you teased.

Joel looked at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He called for Ellie.

Ellie emerged from the small room, looking disgruntled. "Picked over my ass," she muttered, holding up a box of tampons. You laughed.

After that you continued your journey, heading towards Bill and Frank's house. Joel assured you that these two men would be able to help you.

While you were walking through the fields, Ellie, ever curious, turned to Joel. "How did this all even start?" she asked.

Joel sighed, a grim expression on his face. He explained everything her.

Then he stops her saying "We are crossing our path through the wood."

Ellie asks "Why are we going through the woods?"

"There are some things you shouldn't see," Joel said gruffly.

"Well, now I need to see," Ellie declared, and before anyone could stop her, she took off running.

You looked at Joel, a flicker of concern in your eyes. He watched her go, a grim look on his face.

Ellie soon reappeared, her face pale. She had stumbled upon a ditch filled with the skeletons of people. "What… what happened to them?" she stammered. Joel explained. "The army…they killed them."

Ellie looked at you, her eyes searching for answers. "Those people weren't sick?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No, probably not" you confirmed, the memory of those dark days flooding back. "Our government…they were fucked up. I've seen worse things than this."

You pulled Ellie close, hugging her tightly. "Let's go," you said softly.

Joel watched you both, a sadness etched on his face. He wondered about the things you had seen, the horrors you had endured. You were a survivor, tougher than you looked, but the weight of the past was clearly evident in your eyes.

🩶

The house was eerily silent. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that pierced through the boarded-up windows. "I'm gonna check the other rooms," Joel said.

You nodded, watching him disappear down the hallway. Ellie, sitting at the worn wooden table, picked up a folded piece of paper. She read it slowly, her brow furrowed. Then, she handed it to you. Bill and Frank were gone.

Joel returned, his face grim as he saw letter. "They're dead, isn't? he said, his voice barely a whisper. Ellie showed him the letter. "You read it," he said.

As she read, Joel watched you, his eyes searching your face. You felt sad.

He went outside, checking the garage and a truck. He returned a short while later.

"I found a car battery," he said, "Should be charged up soon."

He looked at you. "I have a brother, I need to find him" he said, his voice rough. "He is in Wyoming. He was with the Fireflies… maybe he knows something, maybe he knows where that lab is."

You nodded, understanding.

"If we're going together," he said, his voice firm, "there will be rules."

"Number one: Don't mention Tess. Ever. We keep our history to ourselves."

You agreed, though the words felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

"Number two," he continued, "You don't talk about your condition to nobody. Understand?"

Ellie nodded solemnly.

"And third," he said, his eyes fixed on you, "You are gonna do what I say, when I say it. Are we clear?"

Ellie said, "What you say it goes."

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, "I fuckin' hate that rule." Joel shook his head.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Hell I won't." you say it with harsh voice.

"What are we going to do now?" Ellie asked, her voice small.

"Let's grab what we can," Joel said, already heading towards the basement.

The basement was a treasure trove of supplies. "Shit, this guy was a genius," Ellie muttered, her eyes wide with amazement.

Joel was at the computer, methodically turning off the radio signal and silencing the music player. "Grab some canned food," he instructed.

Ellie, however, was drawn to the wall, a veritable arsenal of firearms. "Dude," she exclaimed.

Joel looked at her, his expression hardening. "No."

"But there's a whole wall of them!" Ellie protested. Joel continued to stare at her, his jaw clenched.

You, ever the opportunist, stepped forward and grabbed the largest gun you could find. "What?" you said, grinning. "I like them BIG! Look how it fits perfectly in my hand." You raised the gun, inspecting it with a predatory glint in your eye.

Joel was taken aback. He was both angry and surprised by your audacity. Ellie burst out laughing.

Joel, after a moment of stunned silence, simply shook his head. "Alright, alright," he conceded, a grudging smile playing on his lips. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop you anyway.

You spent the next hour collecting supplies.

Joel was at the garage, tinkering with the truck. Ellie was in the shower. You returned to check on him.

He was at the work table, fixing the car battery. "Ellie's in the shower," you announced, "and I'm next."

You paused, a mischievous glint in your eye. "And I think you really need one."

"Cuz really, pfff. You smell bad."

He looked at you with that mad face.

"What? You don't like jokes?" you asked.

"No, I don't," he growled, "And I don't like your attitude."

"Oh really?" you retorted, "Well, I really don't like yours either, grumpy asshole."

He got more mad, coming closer to you. "What did I tell you about talking to me like that, darlin'?" He grabbed your wrists, pinning you against the wall.

His touch sent a jolt through you. You were close, dangerously close, and for the first time, you felt a raw passion emanating from him. He was angry, yes, but there was something else there – a simmering intensity, a desire that surprised you both.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Miller," you teased, a playful glint in your eye, "will you teach me a lesson?"

He leaned closer, his breath hot on your face. He growled, his body burning with a lust. He still held your wrists firmly against the wall, his grip tightening. You liked his attitude.

He looked at your face, then lower, his gaze lingering on your breasts. "You… you wanna see them again, don't you?" you continued to tease him.

"Shut up," he muttered, his eyes darkening.

"Come on, Mr. Miller," you purred, "I bet you've dreamed about this, don't you?"

You managed to free your hand from his grip. Then, with a mischievous grin, you placed your right hand on his bulge. He was rock-hard, he enjoyed in your earlier teasing. "Ooh," you breathed, "impressive for an old man like you. So hard, and I didn't even touch you."

He leaned closer, his eyes burning with desire. He liked your touch, liked the way you were pushing his buttons. "Don't stop, please." He muttered.

You started rubbing his pants, a slow, deliberate motion. He groaned, his head thrown back.

"Imagine what I could do if you'd let me," you whispered, your voice husky with desire.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough.

You add "I feel it's the big one."

He looked at your face."You… you like them big, don't you?" he growled.

"Fuck yes, I do," you whispered, your eyes locked with his. You slipped your hand into his pants. He was so hard and throbbing, already leaking with precum. He groaned, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. He hadn't felt this in years. He enjoyed your touch, the way your hand explored his length.

"Your hand is so soft," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "You handle a cock just as good as you do a gun, darlin'."

"Fuck, I really wanna have this cock in my mouth," you breathed, your voice husky with desire. He groaned again, "I'm so close…"

You increased the pressure, your movements faster, harder. He arched his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, he erupted, a wave of pleasure washing over him. He came hard on your hand, a low moan escaping his lips. He was breathing heavily, his body trembling. You slightly move a thumb across the tip of his cock.

"Looks like your cock likes my attitude, Mr. Miller," you teased, a triumphant glint in your eye.

He cursed, "Fuck, that was good."

"Well, look at the mess you've made," you said, a playful smile on your lips. "Can I get some kind of compliment at least?"

He stammered, "I… I'm sorry. Thanks…" He didn't know what to say. He was still reeling from the intensity of the moment.

You found a rag and cleaned your hand, then left the garage, heading towards the bathroom. You left him standing there, his breath still ragged.

His mind reeling like What the fuck was that?

You went into the shower, your mind still reeling from the ongoings in the garage. The way he looked at you, the way his body had reacted… It was exhilarating and strangely satisfying. You wanted him, badly.

After showering and dressing, you came downstairs. He showed up looking surprisingly sexy and clean.

"Well, don't you look pretty," Ellie teased, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, like some DILF from a magazine," you added, a playful smirk on your lips.

He blushed slightly, "Shut up," he muttered. You went into garage, then you climbed into the truck. Ellie squeezed into the passenger seat beside Joel, while you settled into the back. Joel glanced at you from the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. He was still surprised, still processing what had almost happened back in the garage.

"Here," you said, handing him a small CD case. "Play this. It's my favorite."

He slipped the CD into the player, and as the music began to play, a soft melody filling the truck, you leaned back against the seat, a comfortable silence settling between you. You glanced at Joel, who was focused on the road, but you could feel his eyes on you every now and then.

And as the truck rumbled down the road, disappearing into the fading light of the setting sun, you knew that this journey, already fraught with danger, was about to become a whole lot more interesting.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Chapter 1

Please like, reblog and comment. Send me your reviews. ❣️

Chapter 3

[pedropascalsx]

Release {Joel Miller x F! Reader}

Summary: You convince Joel to let you take control and he agrees but only once.

Warnings: sub/dom dynamics, consensual use of restraints, handjob, oral (male receiving), edging, orgasm denial, brief mentions of previous sexual encounters and cum eating.

Word count: 1441.

Authors note: i have not successfully finished a fic in over a year and i wrote this today in two hours, so i can’t promise you it’s very good. but i’ve had no confidence in my writing for the longest time and honestly im just really proud that i’ve finished something and i’m able to post.

i would really really really appreciate feedback as it’s been so long since i’ve written anything (positive or not! constructive criticism would be helpful if you have any!)

thank you guys! i hope you enjoy!

The sounds of metal clanging against metal momentarily drowns out the sound of his groans, as he attempts to lift his hands despite the restraints keeping them behind his back.

Sweat stains his skin and his chest heaves up and down as his eyes widen in protest as you threaten to stop. He’s taken it for so long, that the hard exterior that he’s spent years and years building has started to crack, leaving behind a man that’s desperate and unashamed to beg for you to give him what he needs.

He was reluctant at first, but you knew he would be, he has always been in complete control of every situation especially when it came to pleasure. From the moment he knew he had your consent, everything was on his terms - every position and the amount of times you’d be coming would be up to him. Until now.

You had spent weeks whispering filth into his ears, or begging loudly as he brought you to orgasm with his fingers or his cock and finally his reserve slipped.

“Just once.” Joel growled at you, earlier that day as exhaustion lingered in his bones, you had promised to take care of him and make every second worth his while and you were doing just that.

The second you have him firmly in place with the handcuffs he frequently uses on you, you take your position, kneeled in front of him with everything you’ll need ready to make him squirm, groan and curse your name.

You start off slow, squirting a little bit of oil on your hands and working it up and down his shaft, gently squeezing the tip of him with your thumb and working your hands back down again. Your hands stroke his cock in a slow languid manner, your tongue occasionally lapping up the liquid leaking from the tip before moving your head back.

As your speed increases, you twist your wrists with every pump of his cock, loving the way his groans become more frequent and he stops attempting to conceal the delicious sounds, letting them fall freely as you work him towards his pleasure. “How does it feel, Joel?” You whisper, before taking the tip of him in your mouth and sucking, still stroking the rest of his cock.

He grunts in response too lost in the way your mouth feels wrapped around his cock to attempt to make a coherent statement. You respond by hollowing your cheeks and sucking even harder, before pulling off him with a loud pop.

Sitting back, you admire the way the tip of his cock is flushed red and is leaking with pleasure. Your fingers wrap back around his shaft, and you start stroking and squeezing until you know he’s on the edge, ready to burst, and that’s when you pull them away. Loving the way he growls in response, demanding that you give him his pleasure, but you don’t, instead you cover his lips with yours and swallow every last grunt of frustration before standing up and moving backwards.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growls at you, as you walk across the room, saying nothing as you start to rifle through your bag.

You don’t respond. You keep looking until you find what you’re after, and only then do you make your way back to him. Saying nothing as you resume your kneeled position in front of him. You tear open the plastic and discard it somewhere beside you, presenting him the ring you’re about to wrap around him. The sound he makes is nothing short of feral, and it makes your cunt throb.

You gently roll the ring down to the base of his cock, and give him a few more languid strokes. “You have a gorgeous cock, Joel,” you mewl, before leaning closer and running your tongue around the tip. Wasting no more time, your strokes are fast and steady, each stroke synchronized to his breathing. ”Good boy,” you praise, as his cock throbs in your hand. His breath hitches as you take his balls in your other hands and gently squeeze his sack, while pumping his length.

“You’re so fucking hard,” you tease up at him, “I bet you’d wreck me with this on,” you say, as your fingertips trail over the ring and his cock twitches in response.

“Untie me and find out.” he growls and you simply shake your head.

“Next time, baby.”

His chest starts to heave harder and faster and you know he's getting close, he’s been denied an orgasm already and the way he’s started rocking his hips and fucking into your hands makes you think he’s determined not to be denied again, but you’re in charge, you look up at him and pout your lips and slowly shake your head before pulling your hands away, loving that way his cock bobs up and down after you let go.

“Not yet, Joel.” The tips of your fingers gently stroke his cock, as he grunts in frustration.

“Make me cum.” He demands, as you bring your face up to his, and bump your nose against his. “Now. And I won’t be as rough on you as I was planning for your punishment.”

“Punishment?” With a shake of your head, you tut. “A punishment for making you feel good? For worshipping this gorgeous cock, Joel? That’s not very nice.”

You don’t wait for his response, instead you drop back down to your knees and take him in your mouth as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard. Looking up you keep your eyes trained on his eyes and you lick from base to tip, before taking the tip of him back in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him and you moan in pleasure at the taste of him and the liquid spilling from the tip. He groans your name, as you wrap your fingers around the ring and increase the tightness.

The only sounds he can make of groans of pleasure as you bob your head up and down moaning around his sensitive flesh. You take him as deep as you can and hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him for as long as you can before pulling up for air. Momentarily feeling as wrecked as he looks. The telltale sign of him reaching the edge comes a lot quicker than you’re expecting, and you question whether he’s at his limit before deciding that he can take it a little longer and letting him fall out of your mouth. You wrap your fingers back around him giving him a few soft strokes - barely squeezing tight enough for him to feel any pleasure and look up at his wrecked exhaustion self.

You expect to hear a barrage of curses and moans, but instead he just whimpers and groans a few times. And that’s when he starts to thrash his hands and the sound of the metal handcuffs hitting the metal chair floods your ears and you know he’s at his limit.

Drenched in sweat, and clearly desperate for relief as he eyes focus on your hands - clearly concerned you’re going to stop.

“Please,” he begs, and it’s all you need. You reach down and roll the ring off his cock and let it fall to the floor, before wrapping your hand around him firmly.

“You ready for some release, Joel?” You ask, before stroking him hard and fast. Twisting your wrist as you pump him in even strokes, keeping your pace nice and steady. His tip is flushed an angry red, and leaking more pre-cum with every stroke. You swipe some with your thumb and work it into his cock. Keeping him nice and slick. You shower him with praise as his cock starts to throb and twitch in your hand. The sound he makes as he starts to cum is delicious, it's a pleasure like you’ve never heard from him before and it fills your chest with warmth.

You stroke him with both hands, and with every flick of your wrists he rewards you with another spurt of his cum. Your hands and wrists covered in his pleasure, ready for you to taste once you’re finished.

Finally with a loud groan and a final spurt of his cum you know he’s completely spent. His eyes widen as he watches you taste him off your own skin, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“You were perfect,” you praise him, as you push and press a kiss to his lips. “And I’ll be ready and waiting to take whatever punishment coming my way.” You tease with a wink.

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 7

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11 @liciafonseca @senoratess @denisanoemi @lovefreylove @heartpatch

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 6

---

***WARNING*** Allusions to r**e and death.

You ran to the doctor’s house, as well as Ike’s, telling Lucy Maria’s water broke. You ran home to change, going back to Maria’s to help in any way you could. You were excited. The last time you held a baby in your arms was when your cousin Julie gave birth, years before the outbreak. But at the same time, you couldn’t help feel scared for Maria. You lived in a world where medical equipment were scarce. Anything could happen, and there would be no hospital to go to. No ERs to visit. No specialist doctors and no NICUs if the baby had complications.

You spent hours boiling water. You had no idea why so much boiling water was needed, but you boiled away, wanting to be useful, helpful in some way. Lucy berated Maria for not saying anything – she had been having contractions for two days, it seemed, and at the party, the frequent bathroom visits were apparently to bite a towel through contractions from what she vehemently insisted were pre-labour pains.

She just wanted to have a tea party, she told you. That was all. It wasn’t as if she gave birth while sipping her tea.

Tommy was beside himself. Nothing he did seemed right. For the first time since you met him, he was quiet. Whenever he was not holding Maria’s hands, he was massaging her back.

The minutes crawled by. You walked past the nursery about five hours in to see Joel assembling the crib he made, having trouble keeping the parts upright as he tried to put them together. You remembered Tommy telling you the two of them were supposed to put the crib together today. So you knocked on the door a little, asking him if he needed help holding the pieces together. He nodded, holding up a piece for you to hold. Neither of you spoke throughout the assembly, save for when Joel asked you to hold things a certain way. The nursery was across the corridor from the master bedroom, you and Joel were in full view of the expecting parents, the doctor and Lucy, as well as Liv and Diana.

Joel’s voice giving you instructions was unlike anything you’d heard whenever he addressed you before that day. It was soft, gentle, and you felt your heart weep at the thought that he could’ve spoken to you like that all this while, he had the capability to be gentle with you but chose not to.

It must’ve shown on your face. He kept looking at you, regret clearly written all over his face. Once he finished assembling the very sturdy crib, you placed the mattress and in it and helped him move it to the spot Maria had pre-approved.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his gentle voice bordering on pleading.

“I don’t think this is the right time, Joel.”

“Elena!” Maria called out to you. You took three of the biggest steps you’d ever taken in your life to get to her as fast as you could. Just then, Maria had another contraction, holding on to Tommy as her breathing went into a pattern you remember seeing on medical TV series way back when. You stood there patiently, waiting to hear what she needed from you.

“Elena, go talk to him. Hear him out. Please.”

“Maria, now? Really?”

“Last I checked I’m the one in labour, not you. Go!”

She went through another contraction and ended her extremely painful scream with a huge glare thrown your way you got scared and went downstairs, Joel following behind. You went straight into the kitchen, making yourself a cup of coffee, realizing you hadn’t slept the whole night. Oh well, at least you were not in pain on a bed trying to get a baby out of you. You asked Joel if he wanted some, and shockingly, he nodded.

He stood awkwardly in the kitchen while you boiled the water, finally settling by leaning on one of the counters, his hands behind him. He straightened when one of his hands touched something.

The dices.

He turned around to pick them up, studying them.

“Yeah, they broke last night,” you told him. “Snagged it on something and they just broke. It’s been a while since Tess gave me that one,” you said. “I miss her.”

“Me too,” he said.

The two of you leaned on the counter, nursing your hot coffees. Maria’s scream echoed through the house. Both of you looked towards the stairs, worry enveloping both of you.

“She’ll be alright, right?” he asked you. “If anything happens to her, I don’t know if Tommy…”

“She’ll be fine, Joel. Women used to give birth while farming, you know? Just squatted, pulled their babies out and carried on farming.”

He looked horrified by the notion. “Really?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I saw that in a movie somewhere.”

He laughed. A belly laugh. Pure and true. For a moment, you forgot you and him were not speaking.

“She said her contractions started two days ago? I didn’t know labour could take this long,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“How long was the labour for Sarah?” you asked.

You could see him stop sipping. Shit. You shouldn’t have asked. Did he even know you knew about Sarah? Fuck!

“Erm… I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” he said, playing with the mug, his massive hands making it look like a tea cup.

“You weren’t?”

He shook his head.

“Her mother, Jen, was someone I had a one night stand with. We went to the same college. Hooked up at a frat party. When she told me she was pregnant, I offered to marry her. We were young, I was 20. She said no. She needed me to prove I can take care of them financially. So I got a job, part time, but she shut me out. I went to all the appointments, I was there for her, but she was not really interested in being with me for real, so we sort of agreed to co-parent, I guess? Sarah came a week early, she didn’t call me. Didn’t let me know. Baby was out an entire day before word got to me she was born. I rushed to the hospital. Jen was already packing her bag then. She let me hold Sarah and told me she was going to get the birth certificate. I was so in love with that little girl I didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t notice what?”

“That she took her bag with her. She never came back. The hospital attorney came to find me after, told me she signed away her parental rights. Just like that.”

You were at a loss for words. You had never had children, but you couldn’t imagine leaving the child you grew in your belly for nine months a day after she was born.

“I had to drop out of college, got a full time job, my parents helped, Tommy helped. We were doing okay. Saw Jen again when Sarah was maybe eight? She was with a man, married, successful, judging by the rings on her finger and the way she was dressed, didn’t even look at Sarah. So, that was that. She really didn’t want her.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Sarah was the best thing to ever happen to me. When she died, I almost… I didn’t see the point of going on. The world was in chaos, Sarah’s gone…” he took a deep breath. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

You smiled a little, nodding. “Ellie,” you said.

“Ellie,” he nodded.

The two of you continued sipping your coffee.

“Why did you move out, Elena?”

Maybe it was the fact that he finally opened up to you about something, but you were not as angry as you were when he first asked the night before.

“I just… didn’t feel like being somewhere I am not wanted.”

His calm expression changed. “You think I don’t want you around?”

Just like that, the less than anger feeling you felt earlier flew out the window.

“I don’t know, Joel. You don’t speak to me, you don’t eat the stuff I cook, you don’t drink the coffee I make, you don’t let me do stuff around the house, you avoid me like I’m the plague. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

He went quiet for a second, as if contemplating what to say next.

“I don’t… there are things you don’t know, Elena, I need to explain things to you. It’s just, all this while, the time was not right. I want to explain, I swear, but…”

“Explain what, Joel?” you asked him, exasperation clear in your tone. You were so tired. “Joel, you’ve known me 16 years. All those time in Boston, that last night we were there was the most you’d ever spoken to me. Heck, you hardly even looked at me before that. It wasn’t a secret you hate me, Joel. Fuck, we travelled for almost a year together, and you hardly spoke to me. But oh… if I didn’t do things your way, you had no problem letting me know how wrong I was, how badly I screwed up. You’re all chatty then. And don’t get me started on…”

You had to stop. The hurt was welling up your chest, coming out of your eyes, of all places.

“Started on what?”

“You left me to die, Joel. In Salt Lake City. I nursed you back to health, and you just left me to die! Stupid me, I actually thought you would come back for me once you got Ellie. But nope. You were just gone. I waited three weeks, Joel. You didn’t even try, did you? Did you tell Ellie I died? Was that why the two of you went straight to the hospital and not bother to come back for me? Well, guess what, you want to have your little family alone with Ellie? You’ve got it. I’m gone. I’m out of the house. You could live your dream life now, without me in it. I know I’m the last person you want to spend your life living with, Joel, but we live in an apocalypse, and I don’t have the resources to get myself an extra thick set of skin to put on. I know I’m not wanted, so I left. Go get Esther or Vanessa to play house with you instead. And feel free to shove how much you prefer their slutty companies rather than…”

He got in front of you, his movement so fast it knocked the wind out of you, your words, your thoughts, all stopped. Your breaths came out as if you had just ran a marathon. His body was so close to yours your knees were touching. He loomed over you, his eyes looking down on yours, his hands caging your body on either side. His face was… something… you didn’t recognize that expression. You didn’t think it was anger, but… what was it? His chest heaved, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were letting it all out and now, he’d had enough.

“You think I want Esther and Vanessa rather than you? Hmm? You think I hated you all these years? You think I don’t want to share a life with you?”

His questions snapped you out of your shock. You huffed a laugh, shaking your head a little. You gently pushed his hand out of the way, shocked at how easy it was for you to do that; he put up zero fight in it, so different to the hard demeanour he had shown you in the past five seconds, placing your now cold cup of coffee in the sink.

“I heard you talk to Tommy, Joel. I know you don’t want me around. That you would never, ever, want me around. Anyone but me. So I know I’m not wrong in thinking that, Joel. But, those conversations I heard aside, let’s not just breeze through the fact that you left me to die, Joel,” you said, defeat in your voice as he stared at you with regret in his eyes. “Like I said, I know when I’m not wanted, so I left. You don’t get to act shocked. You don’t get to act all regretful. You got what you wanted. Now you can ignore me in peace.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Liv knocked on the kitchen entry wall, telling you Maria’s crowning. You’re needed upstairs. You left right away, leaving a flustered Joel in the kitchen as Liv boiled more water.

“Tell me something, Joel.”

Joel turned to look at Liv, who was now placing the pot of water on the stove.

“Why’d take you seven weeks to realize she moved out? How do you sleep across the corridor from someone and not realize they’d moved out?”

“Our schedules are different, I tried to see her, but she’s never at the greenhouse… I saw her at the hall once, but she disappeared on me. I always figured she was asleep whenever I got back and left before I woke up.”

“You don’t think knocking on her door on the off chance she was still awake would help?”

“She put a latch on her door, she obviously didn’t want to be bothered.”

Liv’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know she put a latch on her door?”

“Erm… I installed it for her.”

“No you didn’t, she did. I helped her.”

Joel’s insides went cold. Damnit. Caught.

“So… how did you know she put a latch on her door? Unless… you tried to open it when she wasn’t around… or after she fell asleep, perhaps?”

Joel went quiet. He was suddenly very interested in the mug he was holding.

“Joel, I know you don’t know me well, or at all, even, and you’re probably not gonna want to hear this coming from me, but I’m gonna tell you this anyway,” Liv said. Joel stood up straight, preparing himself for the lecture he knew he deserved.

“The only person who doesn’t see the truth about how you feel about her, is her. And that’s because you acted like she didn’t exist, and now, it’s too late for you to prove otherwise. In my opinion, there are two things you could do now, to make up for your behaviour. One, is to leave her alone. Let her be. Let her have a life again. Let her be happy. Men in town are interested in her, you know. She’s gorgeous, kind, funny, smart, she’s definitely not without interested parties. They’re just worried you might run amok if they tried. Like I said, everyone could see how you look at her, except her. You’ve blinded her to that privilege. She’s had enough of you ignoring her to the point that she no longer sees you, everything you do now is just another form of rejection for her.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“Grovel, Joel. On your hands and knees. Like your life depended on it.”

**********

Jacob Joel Miller was born at nine in the morning, almost three days after Maria felt her first bouts of contractions, named after his grandfather and uncle. Tommy looked like he was floating on air. Maria managed to look happy despite her exhaustion. Mother and son doing really well. Ellie cooed at her new cousin, excited at the prospect of babysitting and teaching him to say Ellie as his first word.

Joel held his nephew for hours, eyes just fixed on his, happy tears falling from his eyes. He told her he would tell him all about his cousin Sarah one day. Jake had Sarah’s eyes, he kept saying. Tommy agreed.

You, on the other hand, were about to topple over. You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself yet another cup of coffee. You drank it greedily while Diana was blearily going around the kitchen making breakfast for the new parents, telling you that you could go home and sleep if you wanted to. She’s going herself in a few minutes. You downed your coffee and went to pick up the dices off the kitchen counter. Maybe you could figure out how to fix them, and if you couldn’t, you’d like to save them. You made a mental note to take the necklace off for safekeeping. You were not going to lose one more thing Tess gave you.

But they were no longer there.

You searched the kitchen, looking for them, even checked the trashcan. Nothing. You were seriously on the verge of tears. Those dices meant the world to you. They were proof that Tess was in your life, a friendship you would treasure forever. You finally sat down on the couch and laid your head back after searching for hours, disappointed that you had left them out like that in the first place.

You must’ve fallen asleep. When you opened your eyes, you were lying down on a couch. You had that dream again. That dream where Joel was caressing your face, tucking your hair behind your ears, placing a blanket around you. Except, this time, you also dreamt that he carried you.

You sat up, feeling a bit disoriented. What time was it? How long had you been asleep? Fuck, you were hungry. Fuck! You had to work! You jumped up, going for the door, only for Ellie to pull you back and tell you that you didn’t have to go to work that day. They knew you were up all night with Maria. You’re okay.

It was only then you realized that you were at Joel and Ellie’s, not Tommy and Maria’s.

Erm… how did you get here?

“Come on, Joel got you lunch,” Ellie said, pulling your hand to the kitchen. 

“Ellie, how did I get here?”

“Erm, you walked. Joel and I helped you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, she busied herself plating the food from a Tupperware container for you. She pushed it towards you, telling you to eat.

“Where is Joel?” you asked, shovelling the tater tots into your mouth.

“He went to send Tommy and Maria food. I think he’s gonna stay there a few hours. Help them out.”

You nodded, eating your food like you might never eat again ever. Ellie watched you eat, filling the time gushing about how cute Jake was. When you finally pushed the empty plate away from you, she got up and placed the plate in the sink. She asked if you had some time to talk. It’s important, she said.

The two of you got comfortable on the couch.

“Elena, Joel told me you thought he left you to die in Salt Lake City.”

You didn’t answer, just busied yourself folding the blanket you found wrapped around you.

“Elena, that’s not true. He couldn’t tell you, because it involved me. And I asked him to not tell you yet. I wasn’t ready. I am now. I want you and Joel to be okay again.”

Your entire body morphed into concern as you saw the previously happy teenager made herself smaller, he knees up against her chest, her chin on them, her eyes averted from you. So concerned, you forgot to tell her the two of you were never okay in the first place.

“When I went to distract the men, they caught me. Shot my horse. They kept me in a cell. Elena these men were cannibals. They eat people. There was this man, David,” she brought her knees closer to her body. “He was like their leader or something, he was the one who asked his men to give me the penicillin. He… uh… he wanted to make me his wife.”

You couldn’t hide your mortification from your face.

“He… uh… he tried to… you know… but I managed to… kill him,” her tears fell involuntarily as she started to rock herself forwards and backwards. You rushed towards her and took her in your arms as she sobbed in your chest.

Oh dear God.

Oh, my sweet BabyGirl.

My sweet, sweet, Ellie.

Took her a while to calm herself down. She’s okay, she assured you. She’s okay now. You could only nod, thick blobs of tears falling down your own face now.

“Anyway, Joel found me. He tried to take me back to where you were. But Elena, I was catatonic. I couldn’t function. I was in shock. And Joel, he had reinjured himself trying to get to me, he wasn’t really healed in the first place, so it took us longer than it would’ve.”

You listened, still wondering how was it that you were alone for three whole weeks, and still managed to get the hospital at the same time as they did. Even if they were slow at it, they had a three-weeks start over you.  

“When we were about a couple of days away from the housing area, there were bodies on the ground. Burnt bodies. One was a bit farther from the rest, a lady. The body was badly burnt, but… we found your scarf, Elena. And the blanket we used to cover Joel. We thought…” her face scrunched up and she began to sob uncontrollably.

“We thought you died, Elena.”

She lunged at you, crying into you again, repeating her statement over and over. We thought you died. We thought you died. We thought you died.

“Joel was devastated. We both were. He buried you. Cried at your grave. We stopped at this gas station and Joel couldn’t function. He was gone, Elena. His wound was bleeding, he didn’t want to eat, I had to force feed him, I begged, pleaded, I think he only took what I gave him to shut me up. He didn’t want to sleep, he just gave up. We were there for about two weeks. He didn’t want to go anywhere, didn’t want to do anything. I found a bottle of whiskey in a car a few streets away, I thought we could use it to clean his wound, you know? But he drank it all, mumbling to himself, talking about you over and over again. He fell asleep for a whole day straight after that, and when he woke up, he just said, let’s go. So we went. He was different after that. Like he had a new lease on life. But we thought you died. We made peace with it. That’s why we were so shocked to see you.”

You waited until her sobs lessened, finally understanding why they didn’t come back for you.

“He wouldn’t let me tell you about the lady he buried. I don’t know why. But trust me, Elena, we didn’t leave you to die. We thought you died. And judging from how devastated he was when he thought it was you, I don’t think he hates you, Elena. When Tess… went away, he was quiet… he didn’t speak… he mourned, but when he thought you had died, he… I don’t think he hates you, Elena.”

You stayed quiet, not really knowing what to do with this information. But knowing that he didn’t leave you to die, your heart felt lighter.

The front door opened and an exhausted looking Joel walked in. He stopped when he saw the two of you wrapped around each other. Ellie told him she told you. He nodded slowly, closing the door behind him and sitting himself down on the couch across from you.

Ellie got up and went into her room, mumbling she was giving you two some time to talk.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You should’ve told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath, running his hand over his face, looking like he was about to cry.

“Story for another day? A less exhausting one, perhaps?” you asked.

He laughed a little, nodding.

“Story for another day.”

**********

You, Liv and Diana were helping Jessie get his house straight. Three men had come in the night before, now in quarantine. They were healthy, uninfected and skilled with combat and survival. Tommy dragged himself away from his week old baby to handle the situation, Joel by his side as usual. They decided the men would stay, their skills and manpower would be extremely useful for the town. They would be staying with Jessie, seeing as he had the room to accommodate them.

As you finished, a knock came at the door. Joel was there to pick you up, walk you to the hall for your shift. He had been doing that since that day Jake was born. Things were better. Much better. Of course, you never told him about your crush. You figured, being friends for the first time since meeting him 16 years ago would be wiser. You were not going to move back in with him, but perhaps you could hang out a bit more? Just friends. You thought you saw a glint of disappointment when you told him that, but he composed himself and nodded. That sounds nice, he said. Let’s hang out. Just friends.

Ellie joined the two of you as you approached the hall, the lunch crowd starting to gather. As you walked into the hall, a familiar voice called out.

“Elena?”

You looked around. Two men stood from their table, staring at you as if they had seen a ghost.

Two very familiar looking men.

No, it couldn’t be.

Could it?

“Will? Benny?”

The two men got in front of you, the older man placing his hands on your face, teary eyes checking your entire body as if looking for injuries. Their faces blurred from your sight as they enveloped you in a bear hug. Words failed the three of you.

Your two big brothers. They were here. They were alive. They found you.

When they finally let go, you introduced them to Joel and Ellie, Joel shocked that they were related to you. He knew about your brothers, of course, Tess had told him. But last night, as he took their names as William and Benjamin Miller, he only smiled when Tommy joked about the similarity of their family names. He didn’t think that they were ‘the’ Will and Ben, your big brothers. Ellie was excited, having heard a lot about them from you on the road.

You felt as if your life couldn’t be better right now. Your big brothers were back, and they were going to live here with you, in Jackson.

“Hey, we’d like you to meet our friend…”

“Elena?”

You looked at the source of the voice. The third man. The one who arrived with Will and Benny last night. A familiar face was staring back at you, eyes disbelieving.

“Marcus.”

---

Part 8