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grayandthyme · 3 months ago

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something like easy ; chapter 1

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pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x teacher!reader synopsis: in a small Texas town in early 2002, a young English teacher is barely keeping it together. her car is barely drivable, her students are restless, and her lesson plans are falling flat. though, a shitty car leads to an unexpected carpool arrangement with her next-door neighbor, Joel Miller, a single father with a quiet drawl and a soft spot for his daughter. warnings/tags: each chapter will have separate tags. no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'ma'am' on occasion, domestic fluff, slow burn, tension, maternal fluff, bonding over sarah, dialogue heavy.

w/c 8.3k

2002

Coffee pot. Turn it on. Turn on the damn coffee pot.

Shit—grab the other bag. Lipstick. Where’s the lipstick? Did you brush your hair? What were you going to pack for lunch—too late now. Way too late. Shit. Coffee. Just turn on the fucking coffee pot.

You were late. Not just a little late—thirty solid minutes behind. You should’ve left long ago. You should’ve been in the classroom by now, setting up, printing handouts, doing everything you promised yourself you’d stay on top of. But the alarm had gone off at five, and your hand found the snooze button. Again. And again…. Six, maybe seven times.

You tore through the house like a storm, leaving disarray in your wake—papers, bags, a half-eaten granola bar. Coffee splashed into a tumbler. Fingers dragged through tangled hair. You shoved open the car door, tossed everything inside, slid into the seat, and went to start it.

Brrsshk.

Start it.

Brrsshk.

Start it... ?

Brrssshk.

The engine tried. It coughed. It gave up. No ignition. Just that hollow, broken sound.

No. No, no, no. The car can’t be dead. Not today. Did you leave a light on? Is it the battery? Or the engine? It's practically an antique—twenty years old, if not older.

Fucking antique.

You slammed your palms against the steering wheel, more theatrics than solution, but it was something. Something to relieve the stress coiled in your stomach.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock. And everything had already come undone.

"Trouble?”

The voice was low, rough around the edges—one of those gravel-laced laughs that came from somewhere deep in the chest. You glanced toward the next driveway over.

“Been a hell of a morning,” you said, eyes landing on your neighbor—and his daughter.

Sarah. She’d been in your class since the semester started, the quiet one who always raised her hand and turned things in early. You recognized her face the moment roll was called back in January.

The girl next door. Her dad was around your age, blue-collar, kind, and easy to be around. The kind of man who knew his way around town and made it a point to invite you over whenever there was too much food. Nothing complicated.

Just… neighborly. Yes, neighborly.

“Good morning, ma’am!” Sarah called out, already halfway into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Morning, Sarah,” you replied, offering a quick smile—one that lingered just a little longer when it shifted to her father.

“Well,” he said, arms crossed and shoulder propped casually against the truck, “… since you’re both headed to the same place, I can give you a ride. Tight squeeze, but it’s better than being stranded.”

There was something calm about the way he said it. No pressure. No teasing. Just an open door when you needed one.

“I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Miller,” you said, exhaling a laugh that scraped out more nervous than light. “If I don’t show up soon, I think they might just about fire me.”

It took a moment to gather your things, every motion feeling slower than it should. The weight of the morning still clung to you. But when you climbed into the truck, the world felt just a little more manageable.

The fit was snug. His truck—an old Chevrolet C/K 10, dark blue and time-worn—smelled faintly of wood and sun-warmed fabric. It was dirty enough to show the dust of long days and dirt roads, but not enough to be neglected.

You sat in the middle—knees brushing lightly against his, careful not to crowd Sarah. The cab was quiet but not tense, broken by the hum of the road and the occasional rattle of something loose behind the seat. Screwdrivers, maybe. A toolbox.

“Are we going to go over the reading chapters today?” Sarah asked, turning from the window, her voice gentle and curious.

“Chapters five and six,” you replied, straightening the collar of your shirt, which still felt slightly wrong after the rushed morning. “Did they bore you?”

It wasn’t the question of a teacher, not really. Just a sincere check-in—human to human.

“I liked it,” she said, smiling. “I like the bird."

Her gaze drifted back out the window, toward the wide fields stitched with fences and the occasional slow-moving cow. You liked that about the countryside. Never saw cows when you were a kid.

Joel’s voice chimed in, warm and casual. “You guys are readin’ a book?”

His left hand rested on top of the steering wheel. The right tapped absentminded rhythms against his thigh.

“Jonathan Livingston Seagull,” you said, returning the smile. “It’s good for students to read allegorical satire. Helps them start asking questions they didn’t know they had.”

He let out a short breath of a laugh. “Never heard of it. Never read it. And, don't ask me what a fuckin' allegorical is.”

You glanced over. “You’d probably like it more now than you would’ve in school.”

“Back in school,” he said with a smirk, “I wasn’t much for readin’. Could barely sit still long enough to get through a page.”

“Most people can’t. Not really,” you said. “It’s a skill you grow into—if life lets you.”

There was a pause, not awkward, just thoughtful. But no one was in a rush to dive in, the morning still clinging to your consciousness.

The road stretched out ahead, light and cracked, under a sky washed pale by morning sun. A few questions bounced between father and daughter, easy and familiar, their rhythm well-worn. You listened more than you spoke, content in the quiet, in the soft country drawl of their conversation and the hum of the road beneath you.

It was peaceful.

You didn’t feel like a guest. You didn’t feel like a burden. And for a morning that had begun in chaos, that was saying something.

The school crept up on the horizon—its brick walls catching the morning sun, buses already lined along the curb. In a blink, the truck eased to a stop at the front.

“Hey,” you said, your hand pausing on the door handle. “I really appreciate this. A lot.”

Joel turned toward you, eyes meeting yours with a brief, searching look—like he was trying to read something unspoken in your face. Then he smiled, easy.

“My kid can’t learn if you’re not there to teach,” he said.

Touché.

He cleared his throat, almost like he hadn’t meant to say the next part. “What time do you get off? I’m usually back around three to pick Sarah up.”

“Three forty-five. I’ve got bus duty,” you said with a faint shrug. You glanced toward Sarah, who was a few steps ahead, idly rolling a small rock under her sneaker, waiting.

“How about dinner as a thank you?” The words came out lighter than you expected, almost airy—your fingers fidgeting at the strap of your work bag.

Was that your heart picking up a little?

Get a grip, girl, oh my god.

Joel’s brows lifted slightly, surprised—not put off, just maybe not used to being on the receiving end of offers like that.

“You cook?” he asked, a teasing note there, but gentle.

“Only on days when my car dies,” you deadpanned, smiling.

He let out a low laugh, hand brushing over the back of his neck. “Alright then. Deal.”

Sarah glanced back at you both with a curious tilt of her head, then turned toward the school doors.

You stepped back onto the sidewalk, the truck rumbling into motion behind you. And for a second, you let yourself watch it pull away—feeling just a little more awake than you had an hour ago.

The school day wasn’t bad. In fact, it moved with a kind of ease—fluid, almost gentle. Most of your students stayed on task, heads down in their books, pens scribbling half-heartedly in the margins. The lessons were simple: annotation, discussion, light analysis. Theories floated through the classroom like soft echoes, some half-baked, others surprisingly sharp. It was steady. Predictable.

At lunch, you slipped into the cafeteria like a teenager sneaking out of class, leaning across the counter to charm an extra salad out of the lunch lady. It wasn’t great—but it filled the space, the kind of space that had been gnawed open earlier that morning by a dead car and a voice that wouldn't leave your head. The space that was only filled by rushed coffee, and no breakfast.

That voice.

Rough around the edges, like a match dragging across gritted paper. Those dark brown eyes, heavy-lidded and knowing. And his arms—tendons of muscle flexing casually beneath a worn t-shirt.

Distracting.

But he was a parent. Your student’s father, specifically.

That made it all feel dangerous in a way that wasn’t thrilling. Like walking a little too close to the edge of a cliff, one you’d promised yourself you’d never climb too high on.

Still, the thought lingered, and it crept in between stacks of ungraded essays and half-finished lesson plans.

By the time dismissal rolled around, you were decaying. Bus duty was its usual slow, aching pace—standing beneath the heavy Texas sun, watching yellow buses puff clouds of smog into the air. Your sundress, collared and ironed just hours ago, now clung to your skin like a second, far less glamorous skin.

You adjusted your sunglasses and scanned the parking lot, squinting through the thick, warm air. A familiar blue truck rolled into view, crawling forward beneath the glare.

And there he was.

Joel Miller, one arm hanging out the window, looked just as effortlessly composed as he had this morning.

You hated that. And also… didn’t. Maybe.

He pulled up slowly, the engine humming low. Sarah hopped out from the group of kids, waving once before trotting toward the truck.

“Still standin’, huh?” Joel called, his voice lazy and amused.

You arched a brow. “Barely.”

He chuckled. “You still up for that dinner?”

Were you? You weren’t sure if it was sweat or nerves prickling at the back of your neck.

Ugh, you're so fucked. Why did you offer that in the first place? Could have sent yourself into a nice, cooled, ice cream rotted binge on your couch.

You nodded anyway. “Yeah,” you said. “I think I’ve earned some of your air conditioning.”

Joel leaned across the center seat, hooking his finger in the door and opening the passenger side. “Then climb on in, teach'. Let’s get you somewhere you can breathe again.”

The ride back was nice—windows rolled down, the late afternoon air sweeping in to soothe your sun-warmed skin. It carried the scent of cut grass and hot pavement, of summer sweeping into the Spring semester. It was roughly mid April. Your sundress fluttered at the hem, and you leaned into the breeze like it might cool something deeper than just the sweat on your back.

Maybe it'll blow away your stress along with it.

Sarah had launched into a breathless recap of her day somewhere around the end of the school parking lot. Now, she was mid-rant—animated, scandalized—telling a story that involved two classmates, an on-again-off-again relationship, and a betrayal. Middle school drama.

“They’re eleven—You're eleven,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the open air.

“You better not be datin’,” Joel cut in from the driver’s seat, voice rough with playfulness. He flicked his eyes toward the rearview mirror with a practiced kind of ease. “You’re too young to be dealin’ with heartbreak.”

“Ew, Dad,” Sarah groaned from the side, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “No. God.”

You laughed—genuinely—and shook your head. “The things I’ve overheard from these kids will always blow my mind,” you said, flipping your sunglasses up to rest on your head. “They talk like they've lived three lives already.”

Joel smirked, hand resting casual on the wheel. “Middle school’s a war zone now. Nothing like when we were that age.”

You nodded. “Now it’s pager beeps… sneaking their iPod into class… myspace…"

Sarah cringed, visibly. Old people.

He let out a low whistle. “I’d never survive.”

“Mmhhmm,” you hummed, softly. And for a second, you both just listened to the road.

The sky was shifting now—smeared with burnt orange, the sun dipping low enough to cast long shadows on the dashboard. The quiet between stretched, not awkward, not strained.

“Home’s just ahead,” Joel said, his voice gentler now.

You turned your head, looked at him—really looked this time.

“I can bring wine,” you said. “Figured it was safer than tryin' to cook with a power tool…” Lacey accent slipping off of the edge of your words.

He chuckled, the sound deep and raspy. “Good call. I’ve got ribs that need finishin' on the grill.”

Sarah practically cheered, a dramatic, “I love when you make ribs!”

“Then it’s settled,” Joel said, pulling into the driveway with the practiced motion of someone who’s done this a thousand times—but today, it felt different. Like a routine just slightly rewritten. You're an extra character, perhaps.

You stepped out of the truck and into something that, maybe, wasn’t so routine at all.

It didn’t take long—just enough time to slip home, peel off the sundress that had long since clung to your skin, and breathe for a minute in the stillness of your space. The kind of stillness that only exists in the hours of the afternoon, when the light comes in low.

You changed into something casual—soft. Nothing bold, nothing inappropriate. But not something you’d ever wear to teach sixth graders about symbolism either. The fabric settled gently over your arms, still chilled from evaporated sweat, the heat of the day finally breaking.

A bottle of wine—cheap, screw top, a last-minute grab from the grocery store last week. A Tupperware of homemade cookies from a restless baking spree the night before. Some fruit, slightly bruised but still sweet, collected into a bag you tied off with a ribbon you found in your kitchen drawer. It was an offering, of sorts. Not extravagant. But thoughtful.

Honest.

Shit, did you want to impress him?

As you locked your door and stepped back into the fading gold of afternoon, it occurred to you how strangely normal this all felt. Like you’d done it before. Like you might do it again.

Hoped you'd do it again.

You made your way next door, your arms full, your heart doing that quiet, uncertain stutter it sometimes did when life shifted just a little out of its usual orbit.

Joel was already on the back patio, sleeves rolled, one hand gripping a pair of tongs as he turned a rack of ribs with practiced nonchalance. The scent hit you before you even rounded the house—smoke, spice, a hint of char.

He glanced up as you approached, and gave a nod like you were right on time.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, the side of his mouth lifting. “We don’t mess around when it comes to ribs in this house.”

You held up the wine and the cookies like a peace offering.

“Well,” you smiled, “I figured I’d at least try to earn my keep.”

Dinner was simple, but good—the kind of meal that stuck to your gut and made the world feel a little smaller, maybe your pants too. Joel plated the ribs with a quiet sort of confidence, tossing a bowl of greens beside the meat like an afterthought.

Sarah had eventually taken her plate to the living room, sprawled on the floor with a tv-show humming from the television, volume low enough to let the hum of cicadas sneak through the open screen door.

You and Joel stayed outside, the patio lights strung overhead flickering to life as the sun dipped low. The wine was already half-gone between the two of you, and the fruit sat untouched on the table—sweating in the heat.

“You always cook like this?” you asked, moving around food with your fork.

He huffed, almost sheepishly. “Only when I’ve got a reason to. Usually it’s just whatever Sarah’s willing to eat without a fight.”

“She’s a good kid,” you said, tone softer now. “Sharp. Thoughtful. Sometimes I catch her looking out for the other students when she thinks no one’s watching…”

Joel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed like he was weighing something. “She likes your class. Says you don’t talk to ‘em like they’re stupid.”

“Well, they’re not,” you replied. “Even when they act like it.”

That earned a low chuckle, his head tipping back, the sound rattling in his chest.

The silence after it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavier.

You glanced at him—really looked—and felt that slow, creeping awareness settle in again. The line. The complication. The tension that had existed ever since this morning when you’d slid into the passenger seat of his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The stares between bringing the mail in, or doing yard work in the summer.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said, after a pause too long to be casual.

You blinked. “What did you expect?”

He shrugged, then shook his head slowly. “I dunno. Most teachers I’ve met don’t come over with cookies and wine. Or talk about books like it’s gospel. Or…” He stopped himself there, jaw working as he looked away.

You swallowed. Your fingers fidgeted with the stem of your wine glass. “Or…?”

He didn’t look at you when he answered, voice lower now. “Or make me wonder if it’s a bad idea to enjoy the way you laugh.”

That silenced the evening air. Even the bugs seemed to pause.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure if it was the wine or the warmth or just exhaustion, but your voice came quieter than you meant it to:

“She’s your daughter. I’m her teacher.”

Joel’s gaze lifted, met yours. Steady. Serious. “I know.”

You didn’t look away.

“Doesn’t make it go away though, does it?” He said, almost a whisper.

The porch light buzzed above you, moths circling like they knew something you didn’t.

From inside, Sarah laughed at something on the TV. A reminder. A tether.

You stood, smoothing your flannel, suddenly aware of the way the night had curled itself around you.

“I should head home,” you said, not moving just yet.

Joel didn’t try to stop you. He just nodded once, like he understood exactly what you meant—and also didn’t. He didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know.

“Thanks for dinner,” you added, voice a little shakier than you wanted.

He looked up at you then, and his voice was quieter now. “Thanks for showin’ up.”

You turned to go, your shoes quiet on the worn patio boards, when his voice caught you—gentle this time, like it didn’t want to startle you.

“Wait—”

You stopped, half-glancing over your shoulder. The wind fizzling out against you, carrying with it the scent of smoke and sugar, and something that lingered between the two of you.

Joel stood slowly, one hand running along the back of his neck, the other dangling at his side, “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed it,” he began, already cautious, already apologetic. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, I know. But I gotta run down to Tommy’s place. His breaker’s been out since Tuesday and he’s useless with wires.”

You don't question who Tommy is, guessing you'll find out sooner or later.

He smiled faintly—just enough to take the edge off the ask. “Figured it’d only take me half the day. Was wonderin’ if maybe you could… keep an eye on Sarah?”

Your brow arched, not from offense, just surprise. “You want me to babysit?”

He huffed, shaking his head like that word didn’t sit right with him. “She’s eleven. Barely needs watchin’. Just someone around. Someone she trusts.”

Questionable.

You hesitated—not because you didn’t want to, but because it suddenly made everything feel a little closer, a little less theoretical. You weren’t just a neighbor now. Not just her teacher. This was something else.

No, this is something entirely different.

“She’s welcome to come to my place,” you said finally, voice careful. “I’ve got air conditioning, cable TV, and leftover cookies. That should be enough to keep her entertained.”

Joel’s mouth lifted into a genuine smile. Not cocky. Not performative. Just grateful.

“I appreciate it. Really.”

You gave him a look—measured, but warm. “You're lucky I like her...”

“Have her knock around ten?”

He nodded, and for a second it felt like something else passed between you. A thank you, unspoken.

As you finally stepped back toward your own yard, his voice floated out behind you—low, but not uncertain.

“Night.”

You paused, smiled without turning. “Night, Joel.”

. . .

Ten came quicker than expected. The morning had been gentle—sunlight pouring through the kitchen window as you swept the floor barefoot, your coffee gone lukewarm on the counter. Cracked the windows to let in the breeze, the sound of birds and distant lawnmowers carried through the air. You’d even lit a candle, something citrusy and clean.

You weren't doing this for her, per se, but it did help spur your motivation.

When Sarah knocked, it was exactly on time.

She stood on your porch with a small canvas tote slung over her shoulder, the strap nearly sliding off. “I brought homework and bracelet stuff,” she announced, stepping inside like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Good,” you smiled. “I’m making you do all my grading.”

She laughed, setting her things on the coffee table and plopping down on the floor. Out came the beads, a half-finished paperback, and a spiral notebook with messy notes in the margins. She settled quickly, legs crossed, humming softly as she untangled some elastic string.

The morning unfolded easily.

You sat on the couch, red pen in hand, a pile of essays to your right, and your planner open on the cushion beside you. The rhythm of your work was slow but steady. Sarah didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t strained. Every now and then, she’d ask a quiet question—about the reading, or if you liked a certain color pattern for the bracelet she was working on. You answered without looking up, then looked up anyway.

She was comfortable. Focused. There was something familiar about it, something that softened you without asking permission. The quiet company. The peacefulness of just being in a room with someone, no performance required.

You caught yourself looking around once, eyes drifting across the living room: the soft sunlight over the coffee table, the slow spin of dust in the air, her bent head over a half-tied knot in the string. Coiled brown hair that was messily tied up. It hit you how still it all felt—how whole.

The thought unsettled you. In a good way. In a scary way. One you felt like you might not deserve.

Sarah looked up, suddenly, like she felt you were thinking. “Do you think I should make one for my dad?”

You smiled, leaning back into the couch. “Would he wear it?”

“Probably not.” She twisted the beads between her fingers. “But he’d keep it.”

“Then yes. Definitely.”

She nodded, satisfied.

You went back to your grading, and the clock kept ticking. The day crawled in that slow Saturday kind of way. And still, neither of you felt any rush to break the moment.

Around noon, you made sandwiches—simple ones. Toasted bread, turkey, tomato, a bit of mayo, nothing fancy. You called Sarah to the kitchen, and she wandered in with a half-finished bracelet still looped around her fingers.

She stood beside you while you cut the sandwiches diagonally, eyes following the knife. “You always eat lunch this late?” she asked, biting into a pickle from the plate you slid her way.

“Only on weekends,” you stated. “School days, it’s usually whatever I can sneak between grading and yelling across the room to keep kids from doodling that damn S in their essays.”

Sarah snorted. “Justina wrote about teen vogue in her book report last week.”

You gave her a look. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear.”

You both laughed and sat on the barstools at your little kitchen island, legs swinging absently under the counter.

Halfway through her sandwich, she asked, “Did you always wanna be a teacher?”

The question came out of nowhere, but not in a challenging way. She just sounded curious. Genuinely interested.

You chewed thoughtfully, then gave a shrug. “I think I did. I liked books. I liked figuring people out through how they wrote. And… I liked the idea of being someone who noticed things when no one else did.”

Sarah nodded like she understood that more than someone her age probably should.

After a beat, she asked, “Do you like it?”

You leaned your elbows on the counter and looked at her—really looked. Tan skin, freckles. “I do. Even when it’s chaos. Even when it’s too hot and no one read the chapter. And someone’s crying in the bathroom. And another kid’s sneaking cheeto puffs under their desk… I still like it.”

That made her smile. Not just polite—but full, like she was letting you in on something private. “You’re good at it.”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She twisted her straw around in her drink. “You don’t talk down to us. You don’t act like we’re stupid… And, you're funny."

“Well,” you said with a small grin, “…. some of you are suspiciously smart.”

She took a long sip of her juice. “Do you have a family?”

You paused—less because of the question, and more because it reminded you how rarely you got asked anything personal by your students. It just wasn't the type of thing they were curious about.

It was obvious you lived alone.

“Not really,” you said gently. “My family’s kind of scattered. A few phone calls here and there, but I’ve made my own little version of it along the way.”

Sarah looked at you. Not pity. Just a kind of knowing. “I think my dad’s doin’ that too.”

You didn’t say anything to that—just reached over and gently nudged the plate of cookies toward her.

“Eat another, that’s your payment for getting deep on a Saturday.”

She giggled and took one. “Deal.”

. . .

The night had crept in without warning. You hadn’t even noticed the sun setting, not really. One moment, the room was bathed in gold, and the next, it was all deep, dark, and warm lamp light. The hum of your box fan filled the background as Lilo & Stitch played on your TV, slightly fuzzy.

Sarah had curled up beside you with a blanket around her shoulders, popcorn long abandoned. At some point, she’d pressed a throw pillow into your lap and laid her head down on it without a word. It felt natural.

Like this wasn’t new.

You sipped from your mug of tea, still warm in your hands. The weight of her head on your lap wasn’t heavy—just present. Comforting. Her hair smelled like cheap shampoo and sun—like Joel clearly didn't know what hair products to buy for her—like maybe you'd have to fix that too.

You watched the movie for a while, but your eyes kept drifting to her instead.

She looked peaceful. Deep asleep, breath even, lashes soft against her cheeks. You reached for the remote slowly, lowered the volume down to a murmur, letting your other hand rest loosely on the arm of the couch

It made your chest feel oddly full. Not in a heavy way. Just full.

You liked it. You liked this.

And then came a knock. Soft. Three times.

You looked toward the front door and instinctively glanced at the clock. A little past ten.

The door creaked open before you could get up—Joel stepped in, gently closing it behind him as he spotted you on the couch. He didn’t speak at first. Just took in the sight.

Sarah, asleep. The dim TV light flickering across the room. Your hand halfway frozen mid-sip.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to wake her.”

“She’s out cold,” you whispered with a soft smile. “Movie night hit harder than expected. It was a rager.”

He walked in a few steps, careful like the floor might creak too loud. His eyes moved from his daughter to you, then back again. “Looks like she made herself comfortable.”

You nodded. “She’s good company, don't worry.”

Joel’s mouth tugged into a soft smile. The kind that didn’t flash—it just settled there. “You’re good with her,” he said after a moment. “I mean—I knew that already. School and all' but this…”

He looked down at his boots for a second, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was stepping over a line just being here.

“I appreciate it,” he added, quieter this time. “Today. All of it.”

You swallowed and nodded, fingers curling around your mug, “Of course.”

There was a pause then. Just long enough for it to stretch a little. He looked like he had more to say, but didn’t know how to frame it.

“I can carry her out,” he offered, voice still soft, stepping forward.

You nodded and gently began to shift. “Let me help.”

Joel leaned in carefully, one arm sliding under his daughter’s legs, the other under her back. She stirred only slightly, murmuring something in her sleep as he lifted her with practiced ease.

She fit into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world. A practiced ritual. Love and devotion.

You stood nearby, arms crossed gently over your chest, mug long discarded, watching him adjust her in his hold.

He looked at you—really looked.

“Maybe next time,” he said, “we make it dinner and a movie.”

Your breath caught, just a little. Then you smiled, faint and genuine.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Maybe we do.”

Joel nodded once, Sarah curled against his chest, and turned to the door.

But it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the first page of something. Quiet. Earnest. Real.

He was halfway down the walkway when you spoke—quietly, but with enough clarity to carry through the still evening air.

“Joel?”

He paused, turning just slightly over his shoulder. The porch light spilled a golden hue across his back, catching the faint tousle of Sarah’s hair as she slept, her head tucked close against his collarbone. Hair slightly messed from the long day of wearing a hat.

You stepped forward, one hand bracing the doorframe. You weren’t sure exactly what gave you the nerve—maybe it was the way he looked standing there, solid and warm in the night. Maybe it was the weight of Sarah’s sleepy trust still lingering in your lap. Or maybe it was just the ache of wanting company.

“When you put her down,” you said, voice quieter now, “… you can come back. If you want.”

Joel tilted his head. Not in surprise—more like consideration.

“I’ve got whiskey,” you added, your tone lighter, a little smile playing at the corner of your mouth, “Might not be top shelf, but it’s not the worst.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there holding his daughter, looking at you like he was seeing something he didn’t know he needed to find.

Then came a nod. Slow. Sure.

“I’ll be back in ten.”

You watched him go, the weight of that promise hanging in the air even after he disappeared down the drive.

Ten minutes stretched, but not in a bad way. You rinsed your mug, straightened a blanket. You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t change your clothes or fix your hair. This wasn’t a date—it wasn’t anything like that.

And still, your heart thudded a little when the knock came again.

You opened the door, and there he was—no daughter this time, no arms full of responsibility. Just Joel. Shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair a little tousled, eyes softer than you’d seen them all day.

“I brought glasses,” he said, holding up two tumblers from his own kitchen. “Didn’t know if yours had dust in ‘em.”

You grinned. “You don't take me for a whiskey girl?" The jest came out easy.

The two of you ended up back on the couch—poured the whiskey, handed him a glass, then settled back with your knees pulled up beneath you.

At first, it was small talk. Work. The heat. The horror that was sixth grade social dynamics. You laughed more than you meant to. So did he.

And then, somewhere between the second to third pour and the second silence that followed it, the mood shifted—not heavy, just quieter. The kind of quiet that stretches like a soft duvet, not a wall.

Joel swirled the whiskey in his glass. “She adores you, y’know.”

Your brows lifted. “Sarah?”

He nodded. “You’ve only been her teacher for a little while, but… she talks about you. More than I think she realizes. Always been a little cautious with people. But you? She lets her guard down… and I'm sure I'll never hear the end of tonight.”

You exhaled, your fingers tracing the lip of your glass. “She’s easy to care about.”

Joel glanced at you, then looked down at his lap, his thumb rubbing the base of the tumbler. “So are you.”

That stopped you.

Not because it was forward. But because it was honest.

You didn’t answer, not at first. Just let the moment hang there, warm and undemanding.

Then you gave the softest response you could manage, your voice barely above the hum of the fan:

“You didn’t have to say that.”

He looked over. “I wanted to.”

Another pause. Your legs shifted, stretching out toward the edge of the couch, and Joel turned slightly to mirror you. Closer now. Not touching. But close enough to feel it.

You lifted your glass between you. “To honesty, then.”

He clinked his against yours. “To whatever this is.”

And you both drank.

. . .

Sunday settled heavy over the neighborhood, the heat of the day finally loosening its grip as night crept in through the windows.

It's hot as fuck, per usual.

You’d spent the day on the phone—tow truck, auto shop, then the shop again. No answer. Then one more call that went straight to voicemail.

The car wasn’t going anywhere. And neither were you.

By early evening, you were pacing your Livingroom barefoot, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt as you weighed your options. The silence in your house only made it worse.

You weren’t stranded, not really. You could call a Taxi. Call a coworker. Figure something out.

But you didn’t want to do any of that. It costs money. It costs social awareness you lacked with your older co-workers.

So you grabbed your keys—habit, really—and crossed the short driveway barefoot, the concrete still warm beneath your soles. You didn’t knock immediately. Just stood there for a second, hand raised, heart giving a small, stupid thud.

Then you knocked—three soft taps.

It didn’t take long.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d been doing dishes. He blinked at first—surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Hey,” he said, that familiar rasp curling around the word like warmth.

“Hey,” you echoed, then glanced down, “I—uh—I hate to bug you, especially two nights in a row, but I think my car’s officially given up on life.”

Joel leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “That the same one you tried to nurse back to health Friday?”

“The very same,” you sighed, arms crossing in mirror of his. “I’ve called the shop three times today, and nothing. Was hoping you might have a mechanic, some advice? A brand new supercar?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I know a guy—used to work with him. He’s good, won’t try to fleece you.”

Relief bloomed in your chest, enough to make your smile genuine. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Lemme grab his number,” Joel said, pushing the door open wider in invitation. “C’mon in. You might as well get comfortable while I dig through the drawer.”

You stepped inside, that familiar warmth of his home wrapping around you. There was something about the smell—cedar and clean laundry and something that felt lived-in. Sarah’s backpack was dropped by the couch, her sneakers nearby. Brown paint clung nicely to the walls.

Joel wandered off toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Want some water? Or whiskey again?”

“Water, please. I’m trying not to turn into a problem,” you called back, a small jest.

He returned a minute later with a glass in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.

“Here’s the number. Name’s Eli. Tell him I sent you, he’ll probably bump you to the front of the line.”

You took both, fingers brushing his—barely. But it was enough to send a small jolt through your system.

Easy, girl.

“I owe you,” you said, softly.

He looked at you then, for a beat too long. Not in a way that asked anything from you. But in a way that made your stomach flutter and your breath slow.

“Nah,” he murmured. “You don’t.”

A silence fell. Not awkward, not pressing. Just… open. You stood in his living room, water glass sweating in your palm, and felt that strange comfort again—like you belonged there more than you should.

You cleared your throat gently. “I, uh… I’ll let you get back to your night.”

Joel didn’t move. “You don’t have to rush off.”

You raised a brow inquisitively.

He shrugged, one hand running down the side of his neck. “Just sayin’. Sarah’s already asleep. It’s quiet. I’ve got a couch and a half a pizza left in the fridge.”

You tilted your head, smiling despite yourself. “Is that your way of asking me to stay for dinner?”

“I’d say it’s more of an open invitation,” he replied, eyes soft, “No pressure.”

You lingered in the doorway, fingers curling tighter around the cool glass in your hand. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you—like you were someone who mattered. Like this quiet exchange, wrapped in casual tones and easy smiles, meant more than either of you wanted to admit.

But your mind pulled elsewhere. You had a stack of unfinished grading waiting at home, a lesson plan to finalize, a classroom to reset before Monday at eight. As much as you wanted to sit back on that couch with him, legs tucked beneath you and the low hum of some old movie playing in the background… reality tugged at your sleeve.

Fuckin' reality.

“I’ve got papers to grade,” you said softly, your voice an apology more than anything. “And a few things to prep for tomorrow. My classroom’s a mess and the kids are expecting answers to questions I haven’t even thought of yet.”

Joel gave a small nod, not disappointed—just understanding. “Yeah,” he said, that low drawl, “Duty calls.”

You smiled faintly, setting the glass down on the kitchen counter. “I wasn’t expecting to be here this long, anyway.”

“Didn’t seem like you were in a rush,” he offered, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

“No,” you agreed, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I wasn’t.”

You crossed the room slowly, letting the silence fall again. At the door, he opened it for you, the night air brushing cool against your skin.

“You’ll let me know if the car gives you more trouble?” he asked.

You looked back at him. “Promise.”

His eyes held yours for a moment too long again—warm and steady, like he saw straight through to the parts of you you kept hidden.

“Night, Joel.”

“Night,” he said, voice low. “Grade easy.”

You stepped out into the dark, your heart just a little heavier in the best way.

Back home, your papers waited. But so did the memory of the way he’d looked at you—not asking for anything, not needing to. Just seeing you. And that, somehow, was the part that lingered the longest.

. . .

Monday rolled in like a wave—heavy, gray-skied, and a little too fast.

You rubbed your eyes in the soft glow of your kitchen light, coffee in hand, toast forgotten in the toaster. It was too early, your body still half-asleep, and the stress of the week already sat on your shoulders like a full backpack. Ironic, right?

Your car still wouldn’t start, and the mechanic hadn’t gotten back to you over the weekend. The thought of repair bills danced in the back of your mind—bitter. Bills you might not be able to pay. Bills you know you aren't going to be able to pay.

At exactly 6:53 a.m, the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck echoed outside your window. You peered through the blinds and saw Sarah swinging her backpack onto her shoulder, Joel stepping around the truck to help her up with an ease that made your chest ache in some unspoken way.

You met them outside, travel mug in hand, your sweater pulled tight around you to fight off the last of the early morning chill. Joel gave you a nod as you climbed in—Sarah already chatting from the passenger seat about some comic she’d stayed up too late reading.

“Morning,” Joel said, voice still gravelly with sleep, “You alright?”

“As good as someone without a working car and a pile of essays to grade can be,” you muttered, flashing him a tired but honest smile.

He glanced over at you, one hand on the wheel. “You hear anything from the shop?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping it’s just the battery,” you sighed. “But knowing my luck, it’s probably the whole damn engine.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Just fact.

That small sentence landed heavier than you expected.

We’ll. As if this was shared. As if your problems were something he was already invested in. It was comforting, and terrifying all at once.

Sarah turned toward you from the passenger seat, holding up the beaded bracelet from the day previous. “If your car’s still busted tomorrow, I can make you one of these. For good luck.”

You smiled, genuine and soft. “How'd you know that's exactly what I need?”

The rest of the drive was quiet in that peaceful early-week kind of way—radio low, wind slipping through a cracked window, Sarah humming something tuneless in the front seat. Joel didn’t say much more, but you felt his presence beside you like a steady drumbeat. Reliable. Unspoken.

When the school came into view, you felt yourself straighten, the teacher version of you slowly surfacing.

But before you unbuckled, Joel’s voice cut gently through the quiet.

“After school,” he said. “We’ll go to the shop,"

"Together.”

You looked at him.

Tired, maybe.

A little stressed.

But steadier now.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft.

. . .

The day was rough from the start.

Your first-period class barely looked up when you entered. Heads on desks, a few pencils half-heartedly scratching at papers. Jonathan Livingston Seagull sat untouched on more than one corner of a desk. You gave the same opening you’d practiced—about individuality, purpose, flying beyond expectations—but it landed with a thud.

By third period, someone asked if Jonathan was just suicidal, and another asked if they could switch to reading The Lorax instead. You scribbled a note to rework your discussion questions during your lunch break.

Damn kids.

Lunch came late and cold. The meat was… questionable. You ate a granola bar instead and skimmed through a few ungraded reflection assignments.

A few of them weren’t bad. Most of them wrote, 'he just wanted to be alone and fly,' in different ways.

Good observation. It's not like he's a fuckin' bird or anything.

The copier jammed halfway through printing your last worksheet of the day.

By the final bell, your nerves were strung tight. Your voice felt hoarse from repeating yourself. Your lesson plans for the next day were untouched. And your car was still out of commission.

You walked out into the bright Texas sun, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder, the heat already slick on the back of your neck. And there it was: the blue Chevy, idling quietly in the car line.

Joel gave you a small nod when you opened the passenger door. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” you said, sliding in. “I think the seagull’s going to be the death of me.”

He gave a low, amused sound—not quite a laugh. “Still on that book?”

You buckled your seatbelt. “Yep. Today’s takeaway was that he should’ve just stayed with the flock.”

Joel didn’t look over, but you could see the smile pulling at his cheek. “Not exactly the message, huh?”

“No. But I’m not sure anyone in my third period cares much about metaphors.”

He adjusted the gearshift and pulled away from the curb. His forearm rested lightly against the wheel, steady. You let yourself sink back into the seat, eyes half-closed against the sun filtering through the windshield.

“How’s the car?” he asked after a few moments.

You sighed. “We talked on the phone. Mechanic's ordering a part. Might be a few days.”

He nodded. “Well—I’ll be here.”

You glanced over, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, not missing a beat. “I mean, it’s not out of the way. Sarah likes the company. And I don’t mind.”

You looked back through the window, a small smile curling in despite the heat and the bad day. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

That made you glance over. He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just kept driving, a slight edge of amusement in his voice.

You shook your head, but you didn’t stop the smile.

"Speaking of Sarah," you murmured as you settled into the truck seat, tugging your bag into your lap, "Where is she? Doesn’t she do a sport?"

Joel kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the open window ledge. “Yeah. Soccer. Practice runs a little later on Mondays. I'll swing back ‘round after I drop you off.”

You nodded, letting the quiet hum of the engine fill the pause.

“Soccer, huh. Is she any good?”

“She’s scrappy,” he said, mouth pulling into the start of a grin. “Got no fear. Don’t matter how big the other kid is—she’ll steal that ball like it’s hers by right.”

That made you smile. “Sounds about right. She’s sharp. Doesn’t say a ton in class, but I can tell her wheels are always turning."

Joel glanced over at you briefly, brow lifting. “Yeah? She don’t talk much about school, other than about you. I ask, but y’know—middle schoolers. Everything’s ‘fine’ or ‘I dunno.’”

“Well,” you said, chuckling, “… she was one of the only ones who turned in her seagull reflection on time. So she’s already ahead of the curve.”

That got a low, amused noise from him. He clears his throat, dramatizing, “She said that book was ‘weird but, like, kinda deep.' Her exact words.'

“She’s not wrong,” you replied, settling a little more comfortably against the seat. “Bird’s dramatic, sure. But you can’t knock his drive.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. He just drove, letting the warm spring breeze drift in through the window. Town rolled by, familiar and soft around the edges.

After a minute, he spoke again. “You got a second to breathe tonight, or you buried in papers again?”

You laughed under your breath. “A little of both. I always trick myself into thinking I can stay ahead. Then I assign open-ended questions and immediately regret it.”

“Rookie mistake,” he teased, lips twitching. “You’ll learn.”

“Oh, so now you’re givin’ me pointers?”

He shot you a side glance. “Hey, I know how to spot a burnout comin’. Seen it plenty. You teachers push too hard, too fast.”

You raised a brow, but the smile that crept in was genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, then with a quieter edge, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with askin’ for help, y’know. For what it’s worth.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. You looked over, but he was already turning onto your street.

“I’ll keep that in mind too,” you said gently.

He pulled up in front of your place and let the truck idle.

“I’ll let you get to it,” Joel said, nodding toward your bag. “Unless you’re plannin’ to school me on seagull philosophy.”

You laughed, reaching for the door handle, “Careful, I might. I’ve got quotes.”

He smirked, voice low and teasing, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You stepped out, the truck door closing behind you with a soft clunk. As you walked up your porch, you glanced back.

He was still there. Engine still running—but he didn’t pull away until he saw you fully enter your house.

Shit.

This is going to be the start of something pretty dangerous, huh?

author note:

omgheyyyy... guess who is hooked to this idea (me, it's me). i think this is going to be my first thorough series. very slice of life and fluff heavy. eventual smut chapter... and ofc it'll lead all the way up to outbreak because angst, and I'm evil? maybe okay anyway thoughts r appreciated...

comment for next chapter tagging.

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dankmemes23 · 5 months ago

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#dank memes #american girl #measles #outbreak

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whimsywhisper0899 · 1 month ago

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Sweet girl

POV: Joel is, probably, the maddest you’ve ever seen him. You’re not sure why, all you did was go out for drink with a man at the tipsy bison.. that wasn’t him. However, he hasn’t claimed you, in fact the last time you had relations with him he told you, you could never be together.

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: established (kinda) relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), minors DNI, softdom!joel, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (receiving), fingering, squirting, drinking, alcohol consumption, porn w a bit of plot, age gap (25&50), enjoy sluts!

a/n: was horny and this is the result, so y’all better eat this up

————————————————————————

Joel was mad, he was sitting alone in the corner of the tipsy bison watching you. His knuckles had gone white from gripping his whisky so hard, he was surprised the glass hadn’t broken yet.

You were across the bar with some young guy, he had to be around your age, maybe a little older, but not as old as Joel. He was maybe 20 years older than you, and unfortunately that did nothing but turn him on more.

He was beginning to lose his sanity watching you and this boy, you touching his shoulder leaning over so close to him. He made you laugh, what was so fucking funny he wondered.

You are laughing so hard you barely notice what is going on around you. That is until you can feel that stare, his stare. Burning into your back from across the bar. You know it’s Joel. The way he commands a room with his presence, taking up more space than it should.

You only when out with this guy, his name was Ethan you think, because he is new in town and you wanted to make him feel more comfortable. You remeber what it was like coming to Jackson all alone, it was fucking terrifying.

“Where did you go” Ethan asks, you realize you’ve been zoning out. “Sorry, tell me again what you said”. He shakes his head and laughs a bit to himself, “I was saying do you want to get out of here?” You feel a bit taken aback by this offer, but it would make Miller jealous, and you are in the mood to push his limits.

“Sure, why not” you say, feeling Joel begin to stand behind you. You realize he had been listening to your conversation from afar. His white knuckled grip on his drink only encouraged you more to see how far you can get before Joel would intervene.

Joel slams his drink down on the bar, making a few heads turn before marching over to you. Damn he was hot when he’s mad you thought. You can feel Ethan’s had on your back guiding you outside the door, and Joel’s boots hitting the floor inching further to you.

“Darlin’ where the fuck do you think you’re going” he asks you. “With me” Ethan answers confidently, not aware of the wrath he is about to face. “S’at fucking right” Joel slurs. “Umm yea… man I don’t know what the fuck is your problem, we’re just trying to have a little fun”. Ethan continues, not realizing the hole he has just dug himself into.

In about 2 seconds flat Joel’s fist collided with Ethan’s face, making a sickening crunch. “What the fuck Joel” you yell, pulling him off of Ethan. “What, don’t like it when your man gets a little upset” Joel mocks. “Jesus, you’re in a relationship” Ethan says, a bit shocked. “No, I’m not in a relationship, am I Joel” you push.

“She’s fuckin mine” Joel demands gripping your wrist hard, shit that’s gonna bruise you think. He begins dragging you out of the bar despite your protests. “Joel at least let me say goodbye or apologize”. “Not gonna do that sweetheart” he lulls. “You know what I’m gonna do with you” he begins. “I’m gonna fuck you till you’re screaming my name, that way everyone will know what’s mine”

Fuck that sounds hot, but you can’t let him know that. You can feel the ache building between your thighs at his words. “How does that sound doll” he asks, knowing fully well what he is doing to you.

He sees the way you blush, watching you squeeze your thighs for a little relief. “Sounds good don’t it” he drawls. All you can do is nod your head and obey. You’ve finally reached the end of the street, Joel’s house in sight.

He continues to drag you, the grip on your wrist not as tight as it was before. Once you reach his home, it is like a switch has flipped, he is feral. The way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like your clothes could melt off under his burning gaze. He takes you inside, closing the door, caging you between him and the wall.

“Baby” he says sweetly now. “Need you bare for me” he says, sounding more desperate. “Joel” you whine a bit. He’s so close to you, you can smell him. That sweet pine, woody, and the salt from his sweat.

Joel moves even closer, his breath on your neck driving you insane, until his lips finally meet skin. Each kiss he plants making you whine more and more, growing so needy for any kind of friction at your core.

That white hot heat beginning to pool. Joel finally stops kissing your neck “baby, you need me bad don’t ya” feeling you grind more against him. “Gonna take care of ya” he taunts. He kisses you, hard, strong, crushing his lips against yours.

His hands begin to roam, down, down, down, until they finally catch on the seam of your jeans. He undoes the button, still kissing you, and slips his hand beneath. You moan into his mouth, and he only swallows it.

His fingers trace the seam of your folds, and you’re wet, embarrassingly so. “This for me angel” he asks. You nod feverishly, needing more. “What are we gonna do with you” you breathes.

You feel his fingers continue to explore, pushing his thumb down on your clothed clit. You gasp at the contact. Then he pushes your panties aside, slipping a finger inside you curling it to reach that sweet spot.

“J-Joel, feels s-so good” you stutter, unable to think. “I know baby, and I’m just getting started” he continued to pump his finger, thumb staying pressed on your clit. “Fuckk” you breathe out, and you can see the way your moans are driving him wild.

He can feel his jeans becoming tighter, your sweet little pussy making him do damn hard. “Baby, that pussy is squeezing my fingers so nice, I can feel her gettin’ so close”

“Mmm” you moan unable to form words. You can feel that tight coil building in your stomach, your knees starting to go weak. But Joel doesn’t stop, instead he adds a second finger into you, stretching your pussy a little further. You love feeling this full.

You can feel your orgasm building, legs beginning to shake, “it’s alright baby, I got you.” Joel says softly. “Atta girl, keep riding my fingers” you rut your pussy against Joel’s strong hand, cumming hard.

“So pretty when you cum for me baby, I wonder how many more we can get outta her, huh” he grins. You feel weak, pliant, Joel could do anything he wants to you in this state.

“Joel, need to feel you inside me” you plead. “I know baby, I just gotta taste your first though” his words sending a deeper ache to your core.

Joel picks you up over his shoulder, and roughly puts you down on his worn couch. “Gonna devour this sweet pussy baby” he hums. He pulls your jeans down roughly, taking you panties with them. He scoops your soaked underwear in his hands putting them in his pocket.

He was a man obsessed, he couldn’t get enough of you. Even when he pushed you away, you were all he thought of. And now, here, he was not going to waste time.

He began licking you, up your thigh, making your hips buck toward him. “No baby, gotta stay right there for me” he says holding your hips down. You sigh exasperatedly, needing his mouth on you. “I know sweetheart, gonna taste you soon” he says continuing to suck and kiss your thighs, marks blooming in his wake.

Finally he makes it up to your core, his teasing making you so desperate for his mouth. He licks through your folds, stopping at your clit to suck, hard. You scream involuntarily, shocked by how sensitive he’s made you.

“Mmm” he groans into you, the vibrations making your head spin. He continues to lick and suck and kiss your pussy, eating like a man starved. “Joel, I close, i think I’m gonna..” oh fuck

“I know baby, gonna make you feel so good, takin care of my sweet girl” he adds two fingers inside, sucking your clit, and the pressure you feel is unfamiliar. “Joel stop, I think I’m gonna.. oh my god”. “That’s right baby, you gonna squirt on my mouth, need you to come for me”.

He continued to suck your clit, fingers hammering inside you “Joel” you squeal pussy flooding. Joel laps it up, tasting your juices. “Taste so good for me darlin’ ” he says.

Joel lets you ride out your second orgasm, moving up your body, shifting your shirt off of you. Kissing his way up your stomach, he loved how soft your curves were, the stretch marks on your hips, the soft peaks of your tits. Around you, he was a man starved. He needed you, needed to be inside you.

He kissed up your body, sucking one tit in his mouth until your nipples pearl, then moving on to the next. “Joel, need to feel you, please”. “Such a good girl, askin so nice for my cock” he drawls.

He slides his jeans off, taking his hard cock out, sliding it between your folds, “oh sweet girl” he tuts, “always so wet f’me”.

You grind your hips, feeling your heat press against his cock. “You wanna ride me baby don’t ya” he asks. “Yes Joel, please”. He grips your hips, flipping you on top of him, lining up your entrance with his cock.

You slowly sink down on his cock, taking your time to adjust to the size of it. “Good girl, stretching that sweet pussy f’me” Joel slurs. You finally sink down on his cock, feeling it hit your cervix. “So full a’me” he says. You rise again, feeling more confident to ride him now. You grind your hips, bouncing on his cock, and Joel loves it. He sees the way your tits bounce with each movement, his dick twitching inside you.

You can feel his precum dripping out inside your pussy. “Squeezin’ me so good Angel, look so fucking good on my cock” he praises. “You know you’re mine baby, gonna make you mine” he says, snapping his hips up to meet your bounces halfway.

“Yes Joel, I’m yours” you say, feeling him hit that spot inside time and time again. “Joel I’m so close” you whine. “Me too baby, but I ain’t cummin till I get one more outta ya” he said, sounding a bit desperate.

You continue to ride him, focusing on the pressure building at your core, your legs begin to shake and Joel notices your close, he flips you in your stomach, putting you on all fours, and begins to pound into you.

He reaches around your hips rubbing your clit until he feels your walls flutter around him. “Fuck Joel, just like that, please don’t stop” you whine, cumming around his cock. “Such a good girl, sucking my cock into that sweet pussy, holdin’ me there” he drawls.

“Gonna make you mine baby. gonna cum. in this sweet. pussy” he says punctuating each word with a trust. You feel each thrust getting sloppier, more feral, as he finally cums, filling you up.

“Claiming this pussy, she’s all mine”, “did so good f’me baby” he soothes. You can feel yourself coming down from your high, as Joel holds you against him. You stay like this for a while, he comes and cleans you up, and you just lay on his chest in the sweet bliss of the moment.

“You know..” Joel starts, “I think we could be together, if that is what you want”. You look up at him, a little surprised “why don’t wanna see me with another man” you mock. “Never fucking again” Joel says kissing you hard. “All mine” he says. “All yours baby, I’m all yours” you reply. “My sweet girl”

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Notes-

AHHH I hope you enjoyed, this is my first little fic but yk im kinda proud.

Please tell me your thoughts, send me request of what you would like to see

Xoxo- WW

#joel miller smut #joel x you #daddy Joel #the last of us #outbreak #pedro pascal #joel miller #smut #softdom #tlou fanfiction #justify #feral

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saywhat-politics · 6 months ago

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#texas #measles #outbreak #unvaccinated #make americans hospitalized again #rfk jr

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ironaparrot · 1 year ago

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Not related to my previous post.

HOWEVER No-Name wants upsies from Shadow

Art by @carrrrino

#undertale au #utmv #shadowtale #utau #shadowtale sans #shadow!sans #Outbreak #No-Name Sans #No-Name #undertale #shadowtale fanart #shadowtale meme

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hellsgate-roadhouse · 1 year ago

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carrrrino · 1 year ago

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Hi, i like your animations an drawings very much and i have a question,on what programm do you animate?

UPCOMING Teaser Animation called "Standby". Voiced by CJDoesVA, BlankSceneVA, and Anger-Is-Flawed. I'm very excited for this!

Toon Boom Harmony, formally used Adobe Animate 2024 + Clip Studio Paint!!

All three of these are products of Toon Boom Harmony.

DISCORD: https://discord.com/invite/kCVZgumyEv

#animation #outbreak #welcome to outbreak :)#undertale multiverse #undertale au #killer sans #dreamtale nightmare

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athena5898 · 5 months ago

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(Quds) The World Health Organization is hoping for the ceasefire to last to avoid a risk of the Polio spreading.

The WHO implemented two rounds of vaccinations across Gaza in September and October last year, in which it managed to reach 95 of the target.

However, six samples tested positive for the poliovirus in December and January.

“The virus is still being detected in the sewage samples. There were also small pockets of children where access could not be obtained. Now [that] people have moved back north, the worry is that this may give a boost for virus to start spreading again," Hamid Jafari, director of polio eradication at WHO.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #current events #yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #israel #palestine news #WHO #outbreak

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year ago

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New Brunswick has declared a provincewide whooping cough outbreak, two months after an outbreak was initially declared on the Acadian Peninsula. "We are expanding this outbreak to the entire province due to a higher number of cases of whooping cough than usual in multiple health regions," Dr. Yves Léger, acting chief medical officer of health, said in a statement late Thursday afternoon. A total of 141 cases have been confirmed so far, compared to the five-year average of 34 cases annually, according to the Department of Health. While most of the cases have been in the Bathurst and Acadian Peninsula region, Zone 6, more than half the new cases in recent weeks are outside that region.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#whooping cough #outbreak #healthcare #health #new brunswick #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian news #canada

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grayandthyme · 3 months ago

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thinking about firefly!reader and joel miller ;

inspired by THIS post.

firefly!reader, stunned into silence when Marlene tells you the impossible: there’s a girl—immune. The word doesn’t even seem real. And you? It's a myth. You've heard it before.

You’re expected to help get her across the country. Not just you—but you. Personally. Because there has to be a firefly with her.

For protection. For assurance. For the cause.

firefly!reader; your heart dropping when you realize what that actually means. That the mission isn’t just a handoff. It’s your burden. One girl. One miracle.

firefly!reader who meets Joel. The introduction brittle. Brittle like the ice you’re forced to walk across together. Tess stands between you like a reluctant bridge, laying out terms neither of you like. You don't mind her. You knew he'd be difficult—hell, you'd heard stories. But you didn’t expect the weight of him. The silence. The grief in his bones. He looks at you like you’re a waste of space. You return the favor. He's an asshole, you think. That's it, end of story.

firefly!reader who greets Ellie with a smile anyway. A real one. Because someone has to. She’s a kid, and you're the only one who seems to remember what that even means. While Joel scowls and Tess counts bullets, you tell Ellie stories of Fireflies who did the impossible. Individuals who blew through enemy lines, stitched the world back together, piece by shining piece.

You don’t know if they’re true. But it doesn’t matter. Someone has to believe in something. Right? Right.

firefly!reader who watches Tess die. The bite deep within her skin, crawling and licking at your consciousness. This time it’s not just another name to add to the list—it’s a blow you feel. She wasn’t a Firefly. She wasn’t one of yours. She didn’t believe in the cause. But she was real. Human. Brave. And she died for your mission. Your cause. You think about the empty building, about the lie Marlene might’ve told. About whether any of this is still worth it.

firefly!reader who grows quieter. Dimmer. No more bedtime stories. Joking with Ellie. No more laughter echoing down ruined hallways. Just silence, and the crackle of campfires, and the hollow sound of your own breathing. You let Joel take first watch more often. Not because you trust him—but because you're too tired to keep pretending you don’t. Sometimes you switch with him, letting him take the much-needed rest. Not because you care about him. But, because it'll get you to the end faster.

firefly!reader who starts to notice the way Joel looks at you. Not kind, not soft, but different. Like he’s trying to solve you. Like he doesn’t hate you as much as he used to. Like maybe you’re the only other person still standing in this ash-covered world who knows what it means to have lost everything. You’re both bleeding hope. You both want to stop caring. But you don’t. Not yet. You’re too stubborn.

fuck the light. fuck.

but you still carry it. it's the only thing you have.

firefly!reader who’s learned to watch his hands. The way they twitch before danger. The way they clench when he talks about his past. You think, maybe, he's done terrible things. You think, maybe, so have I. But you don’t ask.

firefly!reader who patches up Joel’s minor cuts and scrapes without speaking. Hands practiced, efficient, but gentle in spite of yourself. You’re not sure when that change happened—when the anger faded into calm, silent understanding. Maybe it was when he let you take first watch for once. Maybe it was when he didn’t complain about the firefly emblem on your jacket anymore. Maybe it was just time.

firefly!reader who starts dreaming again, even if you hate yourself for it. Of what comes after. Of a world where the girl makes it to the hospital. Where you find a place to rest. Where people stop dying for a cause that’s already half-dead. You don’t share these thoughts aloud. But sometimes, you think Joel sees them in your eyes. You miss the light. You missed when it shone so brightly.

firefly!reader who wakes up with frost biting your fingertips in Colorado, the wind howling through broken windows. Teeth chattering so loud you feel as though they might shatter. You’re used to discomfort by now, but Joel drapes his coat over your shoulders before you can reach for your own. You say nothing. Just nod. He doesn’t meet your eyes. Though, you can't help but tense at the feeling in your stomach.

firefly!reader who learns Joel isn’t as heartless as he seemed. Not really. He suggests Ellie like she’s his own—except he doesn’t at the same time. Not directly. Not with words. But in the way he watches her. In the way he teaches her to shoot, to listen, to run. In the way he touches her shoulder when she’s scared. You see it all. And you never bring it up.

firefly!reader who gets grazed by a shot in the side outside Salt Lake City, and Joel panics. Really panics. Blood all over his hands, cursing under his breath, cradling you like you’re made of something fragile. You try to laugh through the pain, say something witty, but his voice breaks—"I ain't playin' around, stay still, damnit."

The concern in his eyes made your breath falter.

Like it meant something. Did you.. mean something?

firefly!reader who hears Joel yell before you see the fall. One second he’s pulling you up the stairs, the next—he’s gone. Crashing through glass, landing hard, the metal rod impaling him like the earth itself wants to take him. The sound that leaves your throat is something raw, something not human. You didn't know the light could vanish that easily. That the darkness would swallow you whole. Leaving a rotten, sickening taste in your mouth.

firefly!reader who scrambles down with trembling hands, blood slick on your palms as you press into his side, trying to stop the flood. “Stay with me, Joel. Stay with me.” His face is ghost-white, eyes slipping. “You’re gonna be fine, we’re gonna get out of this—Ellie needs you—fuck—fuck…"

"… I need you."

firefly!reader who has to help Ellie drag him through the snow, each step a prayer, each breath a promise. You sleep sitting up, holding his hand, whispering nonsense stories like you used to—about cities lit back up, about summer days, about stars no longer hidden by ash. You're not sure if he hears. But you need him to.

He'll wake up.

Yeah. He'll wake up soon.

firefly!reader who wakes one morning and finds Ellie gone. The tracks in the snow lead away from the cabin, and your heart sinks so fast it steals the air from your lungs. You nearly tear the door off its hinges, waking Joel. "Joel—She's gone, okay? You stay here—Please, just rest… I—"

firefly!reader who watches him stagger to his feet, nonetheless, still half-dead, fury in his eyes like fire set loose. You load your rifle. You don’t say a word. Because you know exactly what it means to love a child who didn’t come from you.

firefly!reader who finds the Silver Lake cabin with Joel, your breath coming in panicked gasps. The smell of corpse rot, of smoke. The gut-deep feeling that something is wrong. You search every building. Then you hear it—Ellie’s scream. And it shatters you. It's not a mission anymore. You know that for sure.

This is your girl. Your girl.

firefly!reader who kicks the door open seconds after Joel, and finds Ellie bloodied, clutching a knife, trembling. He runs to her, pulls her into his arms, saying, “It’s me, baby girl. It’s me.” You stand there, stunned. Watching the girl who’s fought everything now collapse like a child.

firefly!reader who sinks to your knees beside them, one arm around Ellie, the other on Joel’s back. Fingers grasping for any semblance you can. They're alive. You're alive. Fuck, that's all that mattered.

firefly!reader who sees Ellie cry for the first time when winter ends. You comfort her like a sibling, like a parent, like someone who remembers what it’s like to be a child forced to grow up at gunpoint. Joel watches, quiet. Afterward, he sits beside you and doesn’t say a word for hours. But his leg touches yours the whole time. Knees softly brushing against each other, but eyes toward the fire.

firefly!reader whose fingers softly graze against his as you sleep, only a few feet away from each other. The silence between you is no longer awkward but heavy with meaning. You don’t talk about what’s changing. But it’s there. In the way he lingers beside you when Ellie runs ahead. In the way he tells you to sleep first, that he’ll take both watches. In the way your names start to sound softer in each other’s mouths.

firefly!reader who kisses Joel first—under the highway overpass, after Ellie nearly drowned. Fingers threaded through his curls, it tasted of coffee from the morning previous. It's desperate. It's like clinging to life. He holds your face like he’s afraid it’ll vanish. Like you might vanish. You don't say it. Neither does he. But the kiss is the kind you only give once you're already in love.

You don't talk about the kiss after it happens.

You don't say anything to each other.

firefly!reader who wakes up in the back of a hospital truck, dazed, alone. The Fireflies found you. They sedated you. Took you away. You ask where Joel is. No one answers. You already know. Breath hitching as you look around the room. Begging, pleading to take you to him. Take you to Ellie—for something. They look at you like you're a threat. Their stares no longer filled with light, and hope—now tight, and knitbrow.

You're an outsider.

firefly!reader who hears what they plan to do to Ellie. That the cure will kill her. And the screaming in your chest doesn't stop. She's a child. She's a person. And when you try to stop them, they lock you in a room like you're the one who betrayed the cause. Thrashing against the wooden door, slamming your shoulder repeatedly. Throwing objects in the room against the small pane of glass in the door. It feels like a lost cause. You're caged. A caged fucking dog. Betrayed by the light.

firefly!reader who hears the gunfire echo through the halls, and knows it's him. Of course, it's him. The blood trail, the dead silence. Joel kicks open the door, panting, wild-eyed. "Come on," he says. He doesn't explain. You don't ask.

firefly!reader who drives away from the hospital in a haze, Ellie unconscious in the back seat, Joel's hands tight on the wheel. Your fingers brush his thigh. He doesn't move away. His jaw tightens. "They would've killed her," he mutters, "I couldn't let them."

You nod.

firefly!reader who sits beside Joel later that night, both of you watching Ellie sleep under a canopy of stars.

And finally, finally, you say it. "I would've done the same." Joel looks at you, eyes full of something too raw to name.

And he says, simply, "I know."

"Y'know.. they used to force it into our heads," You inhale deeply, "when you're lost in the darkness… look for the light." Eyes dazed against the stars, then back to Ellie, as if she might disappear if you look away too long.

Who were you if not a firefly? If not, someone who believed in a new hope?

A few long beats of silence pass before he finally speaks:

"Used to think that meant somethin’. Lookin’ for the light." He shakes his head, voice low, "But turns out, light can lie, too."

Then he looks at you. Long, thoughtful.

"You? You ain’t a lie. That counts for more."

reader who loves him.

Not in spite of the monster. Because of the man. Because of the things he still tries to protect, even when the world gives him no reason to do so. Because even when hope dies, he still chooses you.

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