#adrenaline junkie joel miller

[agentmarcuspike]

"a minute from home"

biker!Joel x f!reader no outbreak au

cw: creepy date, reckless driving, tommy kinda cockblocks, soft joel, idk a/n: this was just a thought i had when i saw a silverfox with a motorbike and was too shy to ask if i could go for a ride with him, so i wrote this instead. kinda juvenile but you love it wordcount: 3k

The chill air of the evening brushes your skin as you push open the door from the restaurant. You’ve been swallowing the lump in your throat all evening, but the second you reach the parking lot outside you can’t hold back anymore, and a sob escapes your throat as you heave for air.

Through watery eyes, the city lights become a blurry haze. You get a glimpse of a gang of bikers outside the diner down the street as you look around to see if Colin has followed you outside. You don’t have time to assess before he grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“Where are you going?” His voice is harsh, demanding. “I paid for your meal and you’re just gonna run off? You think I’m some kind of charity or something?” 

He stands too close, looking down at you, holding onto your arm hard enough to leave a bruise. 

“Everything alright here?” A dark voice suddenly booms from behind you. It’s one of the men from the small group of bikers. 

“Yeah, mind your business,” your date replies, pulling you towards him.

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you,” the leather clad man says as he steps towards you both. He’s looking at you, trying to meet your teary gaze as you whisper a “yes”. 

“What’s that?” He asks again, hands on his hips. He’s bigger than Colin, and while he could probably take him out, he could take you out too, and you’re not sure who you’d rather be alone with: your terrible date or a strange man with a motorcycle. 

But something about his presence, the way he’s looking at you, makes you feel safe. 

“I just wanna go home…” you muster in a low voice. 

“Alright. And is this guy gonna take you home?” 

Colin is still holding onto your arm, but his grip is loosening now. Both men are looking at you, waiting, while you’re looking at the ground, not able to form a single word even though your body is screaming resistance. 

But then you lift your gaze to what you hope is your rescuer, and you don’t have to say anything for him to read between the lines. The answer is “no”.

“Right,” the man says, and takes a step towards the other guy. He’s holding a hand out, carefully nudging at him. “Why don’t you run off, mister, leave the lady alone.” 

He refuses to move, but lets go of your arm and staggers a little as the biker’s hand pushes him. 

“She’s literally my date, dude. Why don’t you run off.” His voice is nowhere near as confident as when he was alone with you, and the pitch a little higher, but it might just be compared to the other’s heavy bass of a voice. 

“I don’t think so, man.” The biker moves seamlessly in between you and your date, and you’re suddenly hidden behind his broad back.

You look behind you, and see that the rest of the bikers are paying attention, and they all look ready to pounce if anything escalates. 

Colin takes a few steps backwards, trying to get a look at you, but failing as the broad man moves to block his view. When he still doesn’t back off, the broad man takes a step towards him, and Colin finally steps back.

“Do you even know this guy?!” 

Colin’s talking to you now, backing away. When he gets no response, you hear him huff, and his footsteps disappear. It’s a few more seconds before the man turns to face you. 

He takes a step back, giving you space, and you finally get a good look at his face.

Dark eyes are boring into you, seemingly looking for any signs of injury. His lips are plush for a man his age, the streaks of gray in his hair giving him away as at least 50, but the scars across his crooked nose and his temple could be making him look older. 

Salt and pepper stubble give him a rugged look, which paired with the leather jacket and biker boots would have been too much, but the concern in his eyes softens him up just enough to not be scary.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes still on yours. You nod in response.

“Gonna need some verbal confirmation, sweetheart.” 

You clear your throat, not realizing until now how dry your mouth is, and give him a weak “yes”. He nods back at you, looking back to his gang. 

“Alright,” he begins. “I understand you not wantin’ to go off with a strange man right now which you shouldn’t normally, but my friend Maria and her husband Tommy are right over there, and I’d like to ask Al at the diner to fix you up with something to drink.”

 The words still don’t come to you, and you just stare at him.

“Somethin’ sugary, for the shock.” And then he adds: “A nod’ll do here.”

And you do. You nod, and he gestures to the diner behind you, which you walk towards together. He makes sure to keep a distance, walking next to you instead of behind so you can see him in your periphery at all times. 

The woman, Maria, stretches a hand out to you, and you take it.

“You alright, honey?” You nod for what feels like the tenth time in a minute. She gives you a warm smile, and the mustachioed man, which must be her husband, smiles as well. 

Maria caresses your arm as he points to the man who saved you. “That’s Joel.”

Joel gives you an affirming nod as he leans over to the other man, whom Maria tells you is Tommy. He leans in and whispers something in his ear, and Tommy heads inside the diner.

The woman’s hand on your arm calms you down, and it seems she can sense it.

“You’re safe here, sweetie. You’re safe with us.” 

Your eyes meet hers and she's smiling warmly. She’s probably right, and you do feel safe, but you’re still a little shaken up. Colin had paid for your meal, but you’d been too uncomfortable the whole time to eat much, and your low blood sugar is starting to make you a little dizzy. 

As if on cue, Tommy emerges from the diner carrying a cup with a straw and a paper bag. He holds them out to you. You look at him quizzically, and reach your hands out to grab the items from him. He nods, and goes back to stand next to Joel, who is leaning on his motorbike, arms and ankles crossed in front of him.

You’re left clueless for a second, looking from the cup to the bag, before Maria takes the cup from you so you can open the bag. The bag is warm and greasy, and peering into it you smell the french fries before you see them. Suddenly nothing has ever seemed more appetizing than greasy deep fried potato wedges, and you shove a handful of them into your mouth at the same time, washing them down with a big gulp from the cup Maria hands back to you, which turns out to be filled with strawberry milkshake. 

The relief is immediate, and you take a deep breath as you let the much needed calories reach your system. When you look to your liberator to thank him, he’s looking down at his boots, kicking at a crack in the asphalt. So instead you look to Tommy, who is already looking at you, smiling the same warm smile as before, and you breathe out a “thanks” between eager gulps. He nods, and looks down just like the man next to him. 

Joel clears his throat, and you take it as your sign to get out of their hair. 

“Thank you,” you repeat, as you crumple the top of the paper bag in one hand and wipe the other on your skirt. “For this and…” you lift your drink and nod towards the parking lot where you were rescued earlier. “That.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, finally looking up for you, lifting the corners of his mouth slightly. “‘course.” 

Your eyes lock. For a moment it feels as if he’s looking straight through you, and you really believe that standing up for you was no big deal to him.

The silence is broken as Tommy claps his hands together. “So!” he says, looking between the two of you, landing on you, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get you home.”

You’re taken aback, you didn’t expect them to do you any more favors. “Oh that’s okay, I can get myself home! You guys have already done enough for me tonight.” 

“How?” Joel’s question is accusatory. 

“How what?”

“How’re you gettin’ yourself home?”

“The… bus?” You try, worried there’s a wrong answer. There is, and you just gave it.

He shakes his head. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Tommy adds. “We’ll take you home. We’re just riding around anyway, it’s no big deal.” He turns to Joel. “You’ve got Sarah’s helmet, right?” 

Joel gives a singular nod. “Shouldn't be walking alone this time a’night anyway,” he says, more to himself, as he fiddles with the extra helmet strapped to the backrest of his bike. 

As you watch his competent fingers loosen the strap and put down the extra pair of footrests, you catch yourself wondering if Sarah is the woman waiting for him at home, and why she isn’t riding with him. Maybe she’s too scared. Unlike you, because you’re not scared, you unconvincingly lie to yourself.

Pushing the nerves aside, another feeling interrupts your thoughts, and you can suddenly see Joel up against a wall with you, where the warmth of his electric touch sends shivers down your spine. His proficient fingers exploring every inch of you–

Shaking off the idea, you down the last of your milkshake, throw the cup into a nearby bin, and walk up to Joel and his big gray motorbike. 

Maria jumps effortlessly onto the back of Tommy’s, where he’s already sat. Joel holds out the helmet to you, and you grab it cautiously as he goes to put on his own. Sensing your insecurity, he puts it down again and takes yours back from you. He shoves it under his arm as he delicately brushes your hair behind your ears. 

“Got a hair tie or something?” he murmurs. “Gets windy.” 

You nod, taking the scrunchie off your wrist and pulling your hair together to put it into a ponytail, but Joel shakes his head, and indicates with his finger for you to turn around.

Gathering your hair in his hands, he divides it neatly into three sections and starts braiding them loosely together. His fingers in your hair makes the images return, and you catch yourself wishing he would pull it. But he’s careful and soft as he finishes, quickly caressing  the top of your head to smooth the hairs down, and he reaches his hand over your shoulder for you to place the hair tie in his palm. 

After securing the braid, he taps your shoulder to make you turn back to him, and he carefully pushes the helmet onto your head, making sure not to pinch your skin as he fastens the buckle under your chin. 

“Ever rode on one of these before?” he says as he squeezes your shoulder and turns to put his own helmet on. You shake your head. You’ve never really been interested in trying either, the only experience you have with motorbikes coming from rolling your eyes when someone revs one up and down your street too late at night. 

He reaches his hand out to you, and gently holds it while you throw your leg across the seat, helping your feet find the footrests. Then he seats himself in front of you, and he’s suddenly between your legs. “You just slide down a bit,” he urges you, and reaches behind him to softly guide your arms around his waist. “And hold on tight.”

“Where to?” Tommy yells from behind you. You tell him which part of town you live in, and Joel nods once before he kicks the kickstand and turns one of the handles causing the motorcycle to roar to life. It’s the same sound you’ve spent nights complaining about, but this time it’s different.

The roar of the motor makes the seat shake under you, and you automatically close your legs together around Joel. Feeling your thighs clench around his own, he stretches out a hand behind him again to give your knee a quick comforting squeeze.

The bike stutters slowly forwards, Joel using his feet to move it. It’s vibrating violently between your legs, and you suddenly become very aware of the jeans covering Joel’s hips rubbing against the skin of your inner thighs.

As you glide out on the road, the vibrations from the grumbling motor move through your body to your head, and you feel like you’ve just been hit by a nicotine rush. Except it’s not nicotine, it’s adrenaline rushing through you where you’re sitting on a motorcycle with a stranger, in the middle of traffic with no seatbelts or doors or walls to protect you. Only Sarah’s helmet.

Your hands clench around the soft leather of Joel’s jacket, and you shut your eyes tightly. The visor protects your face from the wind, but you can still feel your eyes water, and you’re not sure why. When you turn your head to the side and finally look, you’re met with a blur. You must be going at least 75 miles per hour, not even on a highway, and the speed makes it impossible for your eyes to focus on anything you drive past.

Even though it’s summer, the wind is freezing at this speed, and the skin on your legs and hands feels frozen. For a second you regret not wearing tights or anything, but why would you, you’d shaved your legs today, and wasn’t exactly expecting this to happen.

You’re not sure why you trust this man, but you do, so you let yourself relax a little bit, trying to enjoy the feeling of flying down the road with him. Without loosening your grip around Joel’s waist, you lean back a little so you can see more.

To your surprise you’re almost home already, and you’re almost disappointed when the motorcycle slows down and turns onto your street. You let one of your hands move to your driver’s arm and tap it lightly to let him know he’s at the right house.

He swerves into your driveway, Tommy following close behind. Maria is off before you’ve even managed to move your hands from Joel’s waist. He pulls out the kickstand with his foot, and Maria grabs your hand when the bike tilts slightly. Joel gets off before you, and takes your other hand. You hadn’t realized how hard you’d been clenching every single muscle in your body, and you wobble as you manage to get off.

"Careful, honey," Joel murmurs quickly as he steadies you. His hand must be just as cold as yours, maybe colder, because it feels almost warm in yours. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, his eyes fixed on you, giving you the same look as earlier, looking for signs of damage.

Tommy walks up and puts a hand on Maria’s shoulder, and she grabs it casually.

"Alright," he almost yells, interrupting your little moment, and you both look up. "You feelin’ okay?"

You nod. You are. "Thank you," you say to all of them, Maria and Tommy nod and smile politely, and your eyes land on Joel, who is looking around. He sniffs quickly, running a hand over his stubble and clears his throat, before he meets your eyes. "Thank you," you repeat, and you think he understand you don’t just mean for getting you home.

"Yeah," he replies, shyly. "I’ll, uhm…" He gives Tommy a quick glance, who responds with taking Maria with him back to their bike. "I’ll walk you in. F’you want."

The silence is thick with expectation as you walk together the few steps to your front door, and your hands shake as you struggle to unlock it. Joel comes to the rescue for the third time that night, saving you from your date, getting you home, and now having to help you get into your own house. You give him a grateful but embarrassed smile as his turns the key in the lock without any struggle, but he just pushes the door open for you without any judgement.

Leaning on the doorway you try to decide on how to end the night, and it must be the adrenaline still in your veins that causes you to say what you say.

"Do you wanna… come inside? For a drink, or something?"

Joel shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and you swear you see a subtle smile before he speaks.

"I’m drivin’."

You almost roll your eyes at your own stupidity. Of course he’s driving, he just drove you home.

"Right," you grimace, and he chuckles back at you, which you only hear, because your eyes are fixed on your doormat, embarrassed.

"But, uhm…" he continues unexpectedly, and you look up at him.

"F’you ever need a ride…" He shrugs. "Or anythin���. You know where to find me."

You nod before your mind catches up. "Wait, where?"

"Al’s diner," he clarifies, another grin making a quick appearance on his face. "Right," you chuckle again. "The diner."

Something suddenly startles you both, and you realize it’s Tommy starting the motorbike. He revs the motor to get Joel’s attention, who turns to look, and takes a few steps backwards.

"Like I said," he says as he turns to leave. "If you need anything…"

You watch his broad form make his way back down your driveway towards the big motorcycle. Your stomach makes a jump as he straddles it, and right before he pulls his helmet down over his head you swear you see him wink at you.

[soullumii]

carnival lights | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you take joel to the yearly summer carnival.

warnings/tags: pure fluff, little bit of sexual humor, fake gun use! (water guns), carnival fun, no outbreak!joel, soft!joel, modern au, food, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 40s), pet names (peach, darlin', sweetheart, baby), established relationship. (can be read as part of the stranded universe!), NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 3.5k

a/n: something cute while i work on stranded part 2. there's no plot, just vibes

taglist: @hecatombix @thatmemechick @sexygaypalpatine

“I can’t believe you dragged me out to this mess,” Joel grumbles. 

Warm summer air settles over the both of you as screams from excited kids and terrified people on rollercoasters echo around you in the night. Joel’s scowl is illuminated by flashing lights from various pop-up mirror mazes, haphazardly put together ferris wheels, and scandalously painted funhouses.

Seriously, though, why does the children’s funhouse have a mural of a Parisian can-can dancer plastered on the front of it, her fish-netted vagina visible from quite literally any angle within this carnival?

It’s so incredibly ridiculous, and you absolutely love it. You just love carnivals—always have. 

Even if they’re probably a safety hazard, even if the creepy clowns wandering about scared you a lot as a kid, and even if the sweet aroma of funnel cakes and fried Oreos and cotton candy mixes with the skunky smell of cheap weed. It brings back memories. And yeah, it might give you a headache after a few minutes, but it’s everything you adore, even if you’re in your late twenties now. 

“It’s fun, Joel. Have you ever heard of fun?” You tease, dragging him along the dirt path littered with cigarette butts and mystery liquids. You get a whiff of hot dog.

Joel must get it too, because his nose scrunches and he steps aside a dubious pile of something inscrutable. “My definition of fun ain’t exactly this.”

“Look! That looks fun!” You point excitedly toward a ride called “The Zipper” rising high in the sky, its metal capsules filled with adrenaline junkies swinging back and forth as the entire ride spins on an axis.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel swears under his breath.

“What? Don’t you want to ride it?” 

When you glance over at him, he’s looking particularly green, though you can’t exactly tell if that’s from the spinning cups next to you flashing green and white or if he’s truly feeling unwell.

“Are you okay?” You ask, sincerity coating your words as you turn to him. 

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head. “I just—you should’ve taken Ellie and Sarah with you. I’m not any fun at these kinds of things.”

“Joel…” you say, a teasing smile growing as your hand lands on his arm. “Are you scared?” 

He scowls, but hesitates in his answer, gaze darting away from you. “No.”

Liar. “Joel, it's okay if you’re scared,” you say. “We don’t have to ride any rides. I wanted to come with you just to spend time with you.”

His gaze softens and he sighs. “I know, peach. I wanna spend time with you, too. And for the record, I’m not scared, I’m just concerned about… my back.”

“Riiight,” you smirk. “Let’s go find something to do that won’t hurt your back then.”

You find a funnel cake stand charging $15 per cake. Joel grumbles about how ridiculous, and frankly, illegal it is that they’re charging so much for what is basically a scribble of fried dough as he pulls out his wallet.

“It's about the culture of it all, Joel,” you declare as you take a bite of doughy and powdered sugar goodness. “It’s just what carnival goers do. It’s only once a year, they can make the sacrifice.” You tear off a piece of it and give it to him. 

“I guess seein’ Sarah smile after eatin’ fried oreos was worth it," he relents as he takes the cake and plops it into his mouth, humming gratefully and yes! you’re starting to wear him down! 

“Exactly.”

After you both finish your funnel cake among a screaming swath of kids, you drag him toward the farm animals. This, he has to like. 

You enter into the tent, Joel’s hand tucked in yours, and the smell of manure and dirt immediately choke the both of you, the scent trapped in by the heat and the plastic material of the tarp. Joel somehow seems to look even worse than he did when you mentioned the Zipper.

“These poor animals,” he whispers, eyes wide as he takes in the fences sectioning off llamas and sheep and highland cattle. “They should be out wanderin’ in a field.”

“They do, Joel,” you insist, squeezing his hand. “It’s just for tonight. Come on, let’s go pet one.”

After a snot-nosed child stumbles away from the sheep pen, Joel makes his way over. He frowns down at them, reaching a hand in through the fence to pet them. The sheep inch forward, pressing their wet noses into his palm, and he strokes their soft wool lovingly. Your heart flutters at the sight.

And then you hear him whispering to them: “I’ll get you out of here.”

Before Joel can do something drastic, like wrench open the fence on pure strength alone (which you know he is absolutely capable of), you drag him out of the tent. Your spirits are extinguished, the night feeling more and more like a failure. You have to get him to have fun, somehow.

“Those poor animals,” he says again, shakes his head as you draw him toward the game booths.

“They’ll be okay, Joel,” you reassure gently, rubbing his shoulder blades. 

He just shakes his head again, and your heart fractures. You plaster on a smile and set him in front of a booth with two plastic water guns tethered to a ledge, at the far end of the booth are targets bobbing up and down, moving along a track.

“Let’s play this!” You say, handing the teenage booth manager a dollar bill. He chews his gum apathetically, and pulls the lever to start up the game. 

This piques Joel’s interest and he watches you grab the pistol-shaped water gun, aiming it at a target, your eye winking as you train your gaze on a target. 

“No, no, I can’t let you shoot like that,” he says, grabbing the pistol. He maneuvers your hands, “Left squeezes on the right, darlin’.” He then adjusts your arms and tries to grab the pistol from you, but it's sturdy in your new grasp, not going anywhere.

“There,” he says, proud, and grabs the other gun, pointing it at the first target. “Good luck, peach. You're gonna need it.”

“We’ll see about that,” you tease. You have no idea what you’re getting into.

“Start,” the booth manager monotonously drawls.

Before you can even pull the trigger, three of Joel’s targets are down, and he is cackling as he obliterates the others on his side. Your jaw drops, eyes widening.

Because, what the hell?

You scramble to catch up, pressing the trigger rapidly at your own targets, but only a few hits land. By the time the bored teenager calls ‘game’, Joel’s got his arms over his chest, watching you with a satisfied smile as you try in vain to shoot the last three targets on your side.

You turn to him in shock, but your bones feel light, your pulse beating rapidly because at least he’s finally having fun. And, admittedly, his skill is attractive.

“You should see your face right now,” he laughs.

“You won this,” the teenager drones, holding out a big fluffy teddy bear, half the size of Joel. 

“I’m keepin’ this,” Joel says, grabbing the bear and holding it close. He looks ridiculous, holding that giant teddy bear in his corded arms, peppered locks falling over his forehead. Ridiculously handsome. Ridiculously cute. You've got to keep this going.

“What? Seriously? You’re not going to give your girlfriend the bear you won?” You pout. He just smiles wider. 

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta earn this. Your shootin’ was pathetic.” He grabs another dollar from his wallet and hands it to the red-headed teen. “Another one, kid.”

Instead of grabbing his own pistol when the game starts up again, Joel comes in close around your back, warm chest pressing against your shoulder blades as his hands skim down your arms. He lays a chaste kiss on the side of your throat and your heart beats rapidly like a bird’s, warmth settling within you, a flush dusting your cheeks at his proximity. 

His broad palms land on yours, and he adjusts your hold again like he did last time. “This was good. Your aim, on the other hand…”

“I’ve never shot a fucking gun before, Joel,” you defend.

“This is a water gun, peach.” You grumble as he drags your arms up, sets them in a position that is honestly not very comfortable, but you can see how it might be easier for aiming. 

“Aim that ‘lil notch at the top of the gun in the middle of your target.” You follow his instruction dutifully. “Good, now shoot.”

It’s all in good fun, the gun light and cheap in your hand, but you treat it as if you truly are about to shoot a real gun, if only because your competitive nature likes to take over. You take a deep breath and let it out, then pull the trigger. The target goes down swiftly.

Joel pulls back, grinning down at you. “Nice job, peach.”

You preen at his praise.

“Alright, now hit the next one.” 

You do just that. He holds his hand up for a high five and you slam your palm onto his, laughing giddily. "I'm so fucking good at this!"

He hisses, shaking his stinging hand out, “Why do you always high five so hard?”

“The game’s almost done,” the teenager warns.

You turn and deflate at the sight of ten targets still standing, confidence leaving your body in one fell swoop. You have about twenty seconds to shoot the last targets, and you wilt, knowing that’s absolutely not going to happen. You gaze sadly at the stuffed whale hanging from the awning. 

Joel, noticing your disappointment, grabs his own pistol and fires off at his targets, each painted bullseye flinging back as the water hits it, the targets dropping one by one in quick succession. Even the moving ones he finds easily, spraying them with firm focus, eyebrows furrowed over his hard eyes. 

He finishes with five seconds to spare, and a smirk on his lips. He makes a show to pretend to blow smoke away from the water gun’s barrel, and you can't help but laugh. You never see him this goofy, and it makes your body tingle with happiness.

The booth manager rolls his eyes and gets the whale down, handing it to Joel. You give him the biggest puppy eyes you can manage, lips puckered in a pout, and you can see the moment it hits him right in the heart, his smile growing soft, the way he looks away from you, turning to try and hide it. But he can’t, and you tremble at the sight feeling so full, so warm. 

“Come on, Joel. I’m never going to be as good as you–which by the way, where the fuck did you learn to do that?” You say, grabbing the tail of the whale and tugging. 

"Growin' up on a farm, darlin'. Tommy was always wantin' to shoot the ducks."

"Ah, so you're a master at duck hunting, huh?"

He shrugs. "You could say that."

He tugs the whale away from your grasp, gesturing to the booth. "Alright, one more game. Come on baby, you can do it."

You groan, and he hands another dollar over. The kid looks even more bored. Maybe even annoyed at this point. You don't blame him. You grab the pistol, and get to shooting, not without spraying some water at Joel first. He doesn’t even flinch.

Five targets later (you never could get the full ten), you're whooping and hollering as the kid hands you a fluffy monkey plushie.

"There we go!" Joel praises. “Nice goin’ peach!”

You do a little happy dance, not caring if you look ridiculous, and Joel tucks you into his side, throwing another dollar bill at the apathetic teen.

“For your patience,” he says. You giggle loudly into your palm.

“I don’t get paid enough to be here,” the kid mumbles as Joel tugs you away and back through the carnival.

You look up at him, taking in his carefree expression, the content smile on his face, and the way the lights flash off his eyes, making them sparkle. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist, your cheek pressed into his shoulder.

“Finally having fun?”

He looks down at you, eyebrow quirking. “What’d’ya mean? I’ve been havin’ fun this whole time.”

You stop, pulling back to really look at him, blinking in disbelief. “What? But you’ve seemed so… upset. The rollercoasters, the funnel cake...the animals."

Joel’s smile slips, and a clear sincerity takes hold in his eyes. “Darlin’ none of that matters to me. Just bein’ with you is enough to make anythin’ fun.”

“Oh,” is all you can say, nerves thrumming, mind racing.

“I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise, I'm not very good with emotions," he says, threading his fingers with yours, and your heart stutters. You knew that. He’s always been a closed book, and even if he does decide to be more open, it can be hard to truly decipher how he feels. Though he’s always quick to assure you that you mean everything to him.

“I’ll ride a damn rollercoaster with you anytime if you really want me to.”

This is why you love him so damn much.

You beam, though it turns teasing, “Thanks, Joel, but I don’t want to hurt you.” You poke his lower back.

Joel chuckles. “My back is fine. I’m just scared.”

“Oh really? Finally admitting it, Miller?“

"You know I struggle with admitting my flaws, darlin'."

"Right, because you hardly have any."

"Exactly."

"Well, anyway, I have an idea."

"Do ya now?”

You drag him toward the giant ferris wheel stretching high into the sky, the neon lights climbing its spokes flashing excitedly, drawing the carnival goers in.

You settle in a seat with Joel next to you, though because of the long line, you're forced to be seated with another couple across the way. An older couple, with matching t-shirts and candy necklaces.

"Hey there!" The woman chirps. "What a lovely night, ain't it?"

Joel nods awkwardly, "Sure is."

"It's beautiful," you add.

It truly is, a gentle breeze stirs the warm air, driving away mosquitos and the Texan humidity. The navy sky is clear, only a few fluffy clouds sprinkled about. You’d spend the entire night out here if you could.

"I'm Sharon, my husband Burt and I have been comin' to this carnival for the past fifty years," she says, gesturing to the man in overalls beside her.

"That's amazing," you say honestly. "I’d like to have a tradition like that, too.”

You tell her your and Joel’s names, ignoring the latter’s pleading glance at you by smiling at Sharon and Burt and complimenting their matching shirts.

Burt's says: Nothing Sense We're and hers says: Makes When Apart.

You despise the shirts deeply, but you might as well be friendly to the people you'll be stuck with for the next fifteen minutes.

"Thanks darlin'! Are you two a couple?"

You take Joel's hand, "Yep! Finally reeled this slippery fish in."

"Jesus Christ," Joel grumbles under his breath. You try not to laugh.

"Older men, so evasive, am I right?" Sharon whispers, a hand coming up to shield her mouth from her husband, as if he can't hear her in this tiny space.

"I hear you, sister.”

Joel rubs his thumb and forefinger against his temple.

"Well, enjoy your ride," she beams. "Just beware, my hubby gets gassy when we get halfway up."

You choke on a shocked laugh, your palm slapping over your lips. You lean into Joel, eyes wide, who looks green once again.

"Oh my god," you hiss to him.

"Now look what you've done. We're 'bout to get chloroformed by farts."

You can’t hide your laugh this time, “Joel!"

The ferris wheel jerks, and Joel's hand tightens around yours as it begins to ascend. You notice the tick in his jaw, the way his gaze pointedly darts from the spokes of the wheel to the pole in the center of the seat and back.

"Are you scared of ferris wheels too?" You ask.

"No," he hisses. "I'm scared of state carnival ferris wheels. They set this piece of shit up in three days. How can you even trust it?"

"I just like to think about possible ways I'd survive it."

"Yeah, like what? Grabbing onto the pole and just hanging there 'til they get ya?"

"Exactly, see, it'll be fine."

"That's if the whole thing doesn't detach."

"I think it's more likely we'll die from suffocating by old man farts than this thing detaching."

That gets a laugh out of Joel, and his gaze finally finds the land stretching out beneath you as the ferris wheel rises. The moon hangs high above the clouds, bright and full, and stars dot the dark sky like jewels sewn on a blanket. The breeze ruffles his hair, and you wish to run your hands through it.

"This is nice," he says. "I'm glad I came out here with you."

"You didn't have much of a choice, but I'm glad you're enjoying it."

You hear the man across from you pass gas, and you hide a grimace.

Joel leans in to whisper in your ear, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin making you shiver. "This would be pretty romantic if it weren't for Mr. and Mrs. Clause over there."

"Watch it, you'll be approaching that age soon."

"I've got at least twenty years, peach. Maybe you'll be sick of me by then."

"Oh no," you shake your head, looking earnestly into his eyes. "I'll gratefully smell your farts 'til the end, Joel."

"You're messed up," he grimaces.

You just smile at him, and he grins back, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his thumb massaging your neck, and you melt into him, content to watch the world shrink as you near the top.

Eventually the ferris wheel comes to a stop at the top, and you gaze out across the dark world, head resting on Joel's shoulder. He pulls you in close.

"It's time for the kiss!" Sharon exclaims, grabbing Burt's fraying overalls and tugging him in to plant a kiss right on his lips. He melts right into her, and in mere seconds, you and Joel are witness to a geriatric couple making out.

"Ain't this somethin'," Joel says.

"Oh. My. God."

Sharon pulls back after a good thirty seconds, and turns to you and Joel. "Alright! Your turn!"

"Oh no, that's okay," you say, waving your hand. Joel is private in his affections, though his little show at the target booth earlier might say otherwise. Generally, he prefers keeping you to himself.

But tonight, he's full of surprises.

"C'mon, peach. Let's do it. Let’s give these kind folks a show, like they did for us."

"Yes! He gets it!" Sharon bounces excitedly. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You've been wanting to kiss him all night, so you're really not against it. Though, it's still weird, and you give Joel a pained look.

"I'll give you the whale for this," he promises.

"And the bear," you argue.

"Fine. And the bear."

You grin, and then his hand is at the back of your neck, pulling you in, his nose brushing your cheek as he slots your lips together. He tastes like funnel cake and cotton candy and you honestly don't want this night to end.

Your eyes flutter shut as he adjusts you to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. Your hands plant on his chest, nails digging into the fabric stretching over his firm pecs.

"Woo! Yeah! Kiss her hard! Kiss her really good.”

Your lip is still caught between his teeth when Joel slowly pulls away, eyes trained angrily on Sharon and Burt. He clears his throat as leans back in his seat, and you avoid eye contact with the very strange couple across from you. Joel's hand is hot on your exposed thigh, and now you really wish you weren't fifty feet in the air stuck with some very questionable folks.

Finally, five minutes later you touch the ground again.

"Y'all have fun now!" Sharon squeaks and steers Burt toward the cowboy-themed carousel.

"Have a good night you two," Joel says, faintly as they beeline away from you, almost like you were the weird ones.

He hands you the whale but holds the bear for you as you make your way back to Joel's pickup.

"Well, that was something," you say.

"I don't think I'll get that image out of my head. Or the smell," Joel's nose scrunches.

You stop, turning toward him. "I'm sorry about this. I thought it would be fun. We'd play games and share a romantic kiss on the ferris wheel and feed the animals-"

The words fade as Joel's palm settles on your cheek, his thumb running across your bottom lip, his other hand landing on your waist. "Darlin', we did all of that."

"Yeah, but it all sucked. I can't shoot for shit. And you don't like the animals being all cooped up, and then Sharon and Burt practically eating each other in front of us, then getting turned on by our kissing? You don't think I saw Burt's hard-on?"

His eyes widen in disgusted shock. "His what?"

Your eyes well up. "I’m sorry, Joel."

He shakes his head, pulling you into his chest. "Peach, I had a great time. I love doing whatever you love. I love you, okay? So next year, you can drag me out here again and we can be Sharon and Burt's spank bank material and I'll enjoy it just as much as I did today."

Your laugh is watery against his chest, and he tilts your chin up to softly press his lips against yours again, this time shielded from the hungry gaze of strange old people. He thumbs away your tears.

"By the way," he whispers against your lips. "I liked watchin' you fail at shootin'. It's cute."

You glare half-heartedly at him, pushing him off of you and rounding to the passenger side of the truck. "I always knew you were into humiliation."

"Maybe we should try it, just to know for sure," he smirks, leaning against the door frame, towering over you.

You look him up and down, eyeing the muscles of his forearms and the way his t-shirt stretches across his broad chest. Your voice comes out lower than you expect it to.

“Get in the damn truck, Miller."

"Yes ma'am."

[tightjeansjavi]

That Girl is a Problem

Part 1: “Sinful Colors”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: so this idea came to me because I rediscovered the song, ‘Problem’ by Natalia Kills. Suddenly I was like YES. Tatted up street racing Joel 😵‍💫 + tattoo artist female reader? Jesus Christ, my panties have been flung across the room. I’m blushing as I type this all out because this Joel is just on another level 🥵 get your engines revving laideaze.

~word count: 2.6k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄’𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

When Joel Miller, and his brother Tommy Miller moved to the City of Angels, Los Angeles California, they had no idea what they were in store for. LA was a cultural shock compared to their homestead in Texas. They were looking to get in on the action, live life on the high side and they had come just to the right place.

It didn’t take long for the Miller boys to find work at a local mechanic shop on the Hollywood strip. Both brothers knew a thing or two about cars and motorcycles. Wasn’t the first time they had gotten down and dirty, and it wouldn’t be the last. Joel had discovered your tattoo shop on his lunch break. Hollywood had street vendors by the lot and he stopped in front of the bright red neon sign that read, Sinful Colors.

Joel wasn’t shy of his ink. He had gotten his first tattoo at the sharp age of 18 and from there, he became addicted to the buzzing sound of the machine, and quick jabs of the needle into his skin. It was a euphoric sensation. The only way he knew how to describe the feeling without sounding entirely masochistic, was that it was a good pain. A comforting pain that eased stress and tension. Maybe he enjoyed it too much. Who the hell was anyone to tell him that he was fucked up for feeling that way? Tattoos were fucking dope, as far as he was concerned.

Curiosity got the best out of him as he pushed open the door to your shop. He was greeted with the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine and the low tremble of Led Zeppelin’s, I Can’t Quit You Baby. There was the faint aroma of cigarette smoke, mixed in with burning incense wafting through the thick beaded curtain that separated the waiting area from the room where the clients and walk in’s would receive their new ink.

You had a cigarette perched between your lips as you were finishing up on a walk in that requested a tramp stamp to piss off her ex boyfriend. Although in your eyes, tramp stamps weren’t trampy at all. They were fucking hot as hell, considering you had one yourself. “You’re doing great, babe. You’re gonna love this one. As soon as your ex sees it, he’s gonna be foaming at the mouth.”

“As he fucking should be. Fuck him. He’s never gonna get his hands on my body again.” The client glanced over her shoulder at you, letting out a low hum from the sensation of the needle piercing her skin over, and over again. Once you were finished, you lightly doused a paper towel in rubbing alcohol before gently wiping the tattoo.

“Alright babe. You let me know how this looks, Kay? If you wanna change anything, don’t hesitate.” You had your walk-in gently sit up before you handed her a hand held mirror so she could check out her new ink. The tattoo was a gothic heart in red ink. The structured lines coming from the sides of the heart were like a crown of pointy thorns. The tattoo itself was delicate but possessed that edgy vibe that she was looking for.

“Holy fucking shit, Angel. You outdid yourself again! Oh my god, this is so fucking beautiful.”

It brought you undeniable joy to see someone happy with your art. You took immense pride in making sure that your clients and walk-ins got exactly what they were looking for. It was always fun when you got to throw in your own artistic flare in your work. “I’m so happy you love it babe. You know I would be more than happy to add you as one of my clients? You keep coming back for more..so I must be doing something right huh?” You said with a small grin.

“At this point, I’m just gonna keep throwing my money at you because girl, this is insane! Thank you so so so much!” She was already reaching into her hot pink wallet, pulling out a stack of cash for you.

“You mind if I take a picture of it real quick? I’ll give you a copy as well. Just like to keep a collection, y’know?” Your walk-in, Maddi nodded. You tapped your cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, far enough away from your supplies to stay within regulation code. You opened up your drawer pulling out your Polaroid camera as you got behind the bench. “Alright baby cakes, hold your shirt up for me just a little, just like that gorgeous.”

You snapped one picture, followed by another, gently shaking the photos as they developed. Once they were finished, you grabbed a fine tip sharpie and wrote the date, along with Maddi’s name, and handed her the second copy.

“Okay, this is so fucking hot. I’m hanging this picture up on my fridge. I don't care.”

You set your copy of the picture down before grabbing her a “goody bag.” Now remember, no harsh scented soaps, no swimming for at least 2-4 weeks. Please don’t let anyone cum on your back for at least a week either. I know how you are babe. Keep it moisturized, and a little bit of the stuff I gave you goes a long way.” You wheeled your stool over as you placed a light patch off the open wound. “You can take this off in a couple hours and gently wash it with water only.”

“Sooo no cum-shots on my back for at least a week? Got it!” Maddi said with a light giggle. “Oh, by the way, is Dylan still racing this weekend?”

“Yeah you’ll just have to stick with it on your tits or ass babe. Think you can handle that? He is racing this weekend. You and the girls gonna be there?”

“I do love a good ass shot. Hell yeah we’re gonna be there! We don’t miss that shit for the world babe.” She pulled her shirt down over the bandage gently before gathering up her things. Maddi always left you a hefty tip, which you appreciated greatly. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before you counted up your money and placed it in the safe under your work area.

Maddi slipped past the beaded curtain to be met with the tall, handsome stranger in the waiting area. She shot the man a wink before she left through the front entrance.

You wiped down your work area, sanitizing everything for your next client before you stood up. You didn’t know anyone but yourself and maddi were in the shop till you slipped through the beaded curtain and were met with Joel Miller.

“Oh shit, sorry man. I didn’t hear anyone else come in. How long have you been standing there?” The first thing you took notice of was his height and the way the leather jacket he was wearing, seemed to bulge at the seams from his prominent broad muscles. You could see some ink peeking out along his wrists and the visible skin exposed beneath his t-shirt.

“Long enough to hear about cum shots.” He chuckled, Texas accent drawling smoothly past his lips.

“She’s a wild one, that’s for damn sure. You’re not from around here I take it? Based on the accent. Texas maybe?”

The first thing Joel noticed about you was your clothing attire. You weren’t afraid to show skin that was for damn sure. He took in the fact that you were wearing a short denim skirt with a tight little top that did little to cover your nipples. You wore fishnets paired with black heeled boots. You were hot, there was no denying that. You were also positively covered in tattoos. He noticed right away that your style was patchwork mixed in with American traditional. You even had a little red ink queen of hearts tattoo along the front of your ear. It easily could pass as a face tattoo. Besides your tattoos, you had a septum piercing and an array of earrings on the same ear that had the tattoo close to it.

“Based on that conversation, she does sound pretty wild. How’d you guess from my accent alone that I’m from Texas? Does it really stick out that much?” Joel asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest, stretching the leather fabric even more.

You knew he was checking you out. It was flattering to have attractive people unashamedly check you out. You knew you were hot. Something that both men, and women and everyone in between desired. You were well known in the LA nightlife. Your boyfriend Dylan hated it. He hated that you dressed a certain way, that you were naturally bubbly, alluring. You had a bit of a mouth to you but hey, momma didn’t raise no bitch. You were everyone’s dream girl, but a real damn problem.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, handsome.” you grinned and mirrored his movements, crossing your arms over your chest with a raise of your brow. “Yeah, I don’t get many Texas men wandering in here. You stick out like a damn sore thumb man.”

Joel felt his mouth go dry at your suggestion. Was he really staring that damn hard at you? Fuck. He had only just met you, and you were already scrambling his brain. He cleared his throat as he stuck with his intimidating stance. “Can’t deny that I like what I see, huh Angel? Now, is that your real name darlin’, or like one of those fake stage names like the girls in Vegas use?”

“Between you and me, I like what I see as well. Oh, I’m sure you’d love to hear my real name, cowboy. We’re not on those personal terms unfortunately.” You said with a faux sigh of disappointment.

“Ahh, I see. You’re what men like to call a class A tease. Gotta hand it to ya darlin’ you got me hooked already.”

“Consider yourself unspecial, and most definitely unlucky.” You responded with a sickly sweet grin. “So, did you come in here to flirt me up or did you want to get something done? What was your name again? I don’t believe I caught it.”

Joel liked the fact that you could banter and hold your ground. He was unlucky indeed considering the fact that you already had the upper hand on him. “I don’t believe I introduced myself at all. I’m Joel.” He held his hand out for you to shake, a small grin plastered on his lips. “I was actually lookin’ to get somethin’ done. I’m only on my lunch break at the moment so I’d have to come back later unfortunately.”

“Joel? Never heard of a man with that name before. It’s different.” You shook his hand firmly. You could feel the ridges and veins in his hand against your soft skin. “What were you looking to get done? I can pencil you in for my next availability.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and boosted my ego up a notch darlin’. I was lookin’ to get both of my hands done. The knuckles and my fingers. I was thinking American traditional. Nothing really specific. Maybe a skull, snake or somethin’ along those lines.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too fast, cowboy. Knuckle tattoos are fucking sick. I love doing American traditional as well. Tell you what, I’ll sketch something up for you and then you can stop on by after your shift? Where do you work anyway?” You asked, already penciling his name down in your little notebook.

“Damn woman. You gotta take a man out to dinner first before you just start askin’ him personal questions like that.” He chuckled, shooting you a playful wink. “I work at S&M auto body just down the strip. My brother Tommy works there as well.”

“Fuck me. There’s two of you?” You said with a light giggle. Yeah, my boyfriend actually uses that place when he’s reckless with his car. Which is about every other fucking day I swear.”

Of course you had a boyfriend. Of fucking course a vixen, such as yourself was taken.

“Yeah but if I’m being honest, I’m the handsome one. Tommy is just eh. Although, believe it or not, he’s totally a bigger ladies man than I am. Dude can’t keep it in his fucking pants for more than a day, if that.”

“Wow, he sounds like the male version of my friend Maddi. The hot babe that was just in here. She’s out here breaking guys' hearts every other day of the week. I absolutely hype her up for it though. She’s getting it good all the time.”

“No shit? Well, sounds like they would be a perfect match for one another. Maybe we’ll have to make sure they meet or somethin’.”

“Oh, we? No. Sorry Joel. There will be no we but i’m sure they’ll end up meeting eventually. You and Tommy should come to the race Saturday night. Maddi will be there and they can meet and rip each other's clothes off and all that fun stuff.”

“What kind of race are we talkin’ here Angel?” Joel asked with curiosity laced in his tone.

“The only kind of racing that is actually entertaining to watch. Street racing babe. Happens every Friday and Saturday night, right here on the strip. Well, as long as the cops don’t come and bust up our party first.”

“Street racing? Can anyone sign up for it or is it like an invite only kinda deal? Are you gonna be there?”

“Anyone and everyone can sign up. You got a car or bike and you’re good to go. Entry fee is $50 and well..there’s not many rules either. That’s what really draws the crowds in. Just some down and dirty street racing. I’ll be there. I always am. My boyfriend holds the raining title in LA county.”

Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes at you mentioning this boyfriend of yours again. Dude sounded like a total tool and Joel didn’t even know his name, let alone what his stupid face looked like. “Well, Angel. Count me in. I’ll be there and I’ll bring Tommy. How do I sign up?”

“Alright, rookie. You got a taste for some action, huh? We’ve been looking for some new meat to join anyway.” You grabbed a clipboard from one of the drawers and handed it to him. “The $50 isn’t required till the race so just need your name, pretty boy.”

“Came all the way out here for some action darlin’. Any, and all kinds of it. Whatever I can get my hands on really. Your boyfriend might have some competition on his hands. We did somethin’ similar to this back in Texas. Only difference was, it was a bunch of hillbillies and their trucks in an abandoned cornfield. Same concept, I imagine.” He grabbed the clipboard from you, lightly brushing his fingers across your knuckles on purpose. He wasted no time signing his first and last name before handing you the clipboard back.

“We’ll see about all that, cowboy. My next client will be here in about 10. I’ll work on your sketch on my lunch break and then feel free to stop by anytime after 3 today.” You set the clipboard down along the table.

“Sounds like a date, Angel. Catch ya around hot stuff.” He winked before he turned on his heel and slipped past the front entrance door.

Dylan was positively gonna give you hell for this. Did you care? Not one fucking bit. Joel Miller was hot. He was handsome and sexy and you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want to get a taste of what Texas had to offer. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wasn’t going to kill him.

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @loquaciousferret @cutesyscreenname @atinylittlepain @yazsos @kirsteng42 @777-wonders @last-girl @pedgeitopascalreads @pedrostories

[tightjeansjavi]

That Girl is a Problem

**CANCELLED**

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Pairing | AU street racing! Joel Miller x f! tattoo artist reader

Fic Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel

Chapters |

Part One - Sinful Colors

Part Two - Angel Baby

Part Three - Needy Little Thing

Part Four

[tightjeansjavi]

That Girl is a Problem

Part 2: “Angel Baby”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: I don’t know jack shit about cars but @pedgeitopascal knows I did research just for this chapter alone LOL 🤠 I went back and forth on what kinda car I wanted Joel to race in and this is what I came up with. Thank you so much for the feedback on chapter 1! This story is already sooo much fun for me to write xx

~word count: 1.9k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄'𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜��𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

“You’ll never guess where I just was.” Joel strode into the open garage area of the auto body shop with a deli sandwich and cold bottle of coke in his hand. He leaned back against the tool bench as he took a bite from the sandwich, crossing ankles over one another casually.

“The zoo?” Tommy, the younger Miller brother grumbled from underneath the car he was working on. It needed an oil change desperately and the stupid teen that dropped it off earlier was being a prick about the whole thing.

“No, you asshat. Not the fuckin’ zoo Tommy.” Joel spoke with a mouthful of turkey from his sandwich.

Tommy cursed under his breath as he rolled himself out from under the car. His hands and shirt were covered in grit and grease and he smelled of burnt oil. “So then go on and spit it out man. Where did you venture off to?” Tommy grabbed a rag to wipe his hands off, sitting up on the bench as he looked over at his older brother.

“Well, I found a tattoo shop just a few blocks from here. It’s called ‘Sinful Colors’ and a super cool chick owns the gig. That ain’t even the best part. I signed up for some street racing while I was there. Guess it's a thing folks around here do every Friday and Saturday on the Hollywood strip.” Joel took a refreshing sip of his ice cold coke. Bottled coke was always the best. Hands down, nothing compared to it.

“A tattoo shop owned by a super cool chick huh? Sounds like something right up your alley Joel. What the hell do ya mean you signed up for street racing? You don’t have a car.”

“She’s fucking gorgeous too Tommy. I’m talkin’ like drop dead fucking beautiful. She is completely tatted up too. The kicker is she’s got a boyfriend that honestly sounds like a total tool. Anyway, she said all you need to race is a car, or a bike. I got a bike so—”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous huh? Well, of course she’s taken man. All the good ones are. She’s tatted up too? Joel, you’re not gonna fuckin’ race with your bike. You know how fuckin’ insane that sounds? I ain’t about to bring you back home in a fuckin’ body bag. I know you’re searching for a good thrill and all but I ain’t about to let you die out here just cause you wanna impress some chick you just met.”

“I don’t think her boyfriend is really gonna pose a problem for me. She seemed to forget all about him when I showed up. Okay, not entirely but she was 100% flirting with me Tommy. She called me handsome and a pretty boy. She was totally checkin’ me out too. What the hell else am I supposed to drive if I wanna race?”

“Joel, she’s taken. I’m all for you healing in your own way from—” Tommy was cut off by his brother talking over him.

“Alright. I’m gonna stop ya right there before you say her name. Don’t do it Tommy, please.” Joel stared his brother down threateningly. He raised his eyebrow in his direction as if to challenge him to continue.

Seeking thrills wasn’t the only reason why Joel and Tommy moved out to California. Joel had an ex back in Texas. Delaney, Joel’s highschool sweetheart. They were engaged and set to be married in the summer. She was the love of his life, or so he thought. He caught her fucking his best friend in their home. In his bed. Joel had a fun trip to jail for the night after beating the shit out of his ex-best friend. He deserved it after all. Especially after Joel found out that Delaney was having a fucking affair for 6 months. 6 fucking months. After Tommy bailed him out the following morning, the two brothers mutually decided it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Thus, landing them in the sunny City of Angels.

The truth was, Joel was heartbroken. He loved Delaney and he thought that she was his endgame. The woman he was gonna marry and have kids with one day. Fuck her. He didn’t want to waste his breath over her any longer. He gave her everything, his all and how did she repay him? Oh, right. Having an affair with his best friend for 6 fucking months. So yes, Joel’s heart was pretty much fucking smashed into tiny little pieces but he refused to let his past rule him. Los Angeles was fresh, new, exciting, and he fully was ready to take life by horns again.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t say her name, okay? I just think you should be careful with this chick. Don’t go and get yourself caught up in this Joel. I don’t want to see you hurt again is all. You’ve been through enough as it is. The last thing you need is some pretty thing playin’ with your heart. That’s all I’m sayin’ as your brother.” Tommy spoke sincerely.

Joel let out a grumble of annoyance. He knew Tommy was probably right about you. You were a bright red fucking flag in his books. The only problem was that Joel was a creature of habit, like most human beings were. A fatal flaw to possess. You were off limits, sure. That wasn’t going to stop him from seeing you. He felt like a moth drawn to a flame. A really hot, scalding, touch it and you will shrivel up and die on the spot, flame. Fuck it. He had nothing to lose, other than his pride and ego.

“I’ll be careful, okay Tommy? I ain’t goin’ and gettin’ my heart invested in nothin’. She’s just real easy on the eyes. I can just admire her from a distance and not cause any problems. Kay?”

Tommy let out a sigh as he looked at his brother, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright Joel. Whatever you say. Now about this race, you’re not entering with your bike man. I will 100% be putting my foot down about that bullshit.”

“What’s this you kids talkin’ about a race?” Wilson, the old man that owned the auto body shop, leaned against the opened garage door, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Your brother is right Joel. You can’t enter your bike into a street race. She’s fast, sure. You will end up getting yourself killed out there though.”

“With all due respect sir—” Joel was cut off by the old man sending a glare in his direction.

“Did I say you could talk, boy? You didn’t let me finish. You can’t race on your bike but I got just the thing you can race in. She’s a real beauty too.” The old man flicked his cigarette to the side before gesturing to the two Miller brothers to follow him.

Joel gave his brother a slight shrug of his shoulders before they followed the old man to another part of the shop. One that was seemingly off limits, till now. The car was covered with a thick tan tarp that was covered in dust and debris from sitting in the garage for so long. “So she might need a bit of work. Nothing major and mostly just cosmetic. Paint touch ups here and there but she runs fast, and smooth.”

“Are you really offering me a car right now Wilson?” Joel asked in disbelief.

“I sure as hell am, sonny. This baby hasn’t seen the light of day in a long time. You’ll love her, I can promise you that.” The old man pulled the tarp down, revealing a cherry red, 1957 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz.

Joel and Tommy’s eyes bugged out of their fucking skulls when they realized just what make and model of car this was. “Sir, you do realize what the fuck you have here, right? Holy fucking shit.” Both the miller boys said in unison.

“A 1957 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz.” Wilson deadpanned to the younger men.

“You seriously want me to race in this? Holy fuck. Wait, aren’t these kinds of races usually done with more modern sports cars? Not that she ain’t fast or anythin.’”

“The hell else are you gonna race in, kid? The races around here don’t use any of those crapshoot fancy modern sports cars. Only vintage sports cars and motorcycles can race. Didn’t Angel tell you the rules son?”

Joel was already running his fingers across the untouched red and white leather seats. Feeling how smooth they were against his skin. His head snapped in the old man’s direction, looking at him like he had suddenly grown 5 heads. “Hold on just a second there. You know Angel?”

“Do I look like I was just born yesterday? Course I know Angel. Her boyfriend is one of my local clients here and her dad endorsed my shop here.”

Joel grumbled under his breath, shaking his head a little. So, you really were that well known around here huh? “So you’re just gonna hand this beauty over to me? Sir, this car is worth a fucking fortune.”

“Well, like I said, she needs a little work. Nothing you two boys can’t handle. I know how much she’s worth. Could easily sell her off to one of those fancy smancy celebs around here for 3 times the amount I paid for her. If I do that, she just sits around like a collectors item and never sees the light of day. She deserves so much better than that.”

“So what is she gonna cost me? I don’t have much to offer unfortunately so I don’t even know if I can afford her—”

“She ain’t costin’ you a pretty penny, Joel. She’s all yours. Just take good care of her and then we won’t have any issues. Got it?”

“You got yourself a deal, Wilson. I promise I’ll take extra good care of her.”

“I know you will. Keys are in the glovebox. Why don’t you boys go take her out for a spin? See how she purrs.” The old man shot the two Miller brothers a wink before he headed back to his office.

“Holy fucking shit, Tommy! Did that seriously just happen? I must be dreaming. This is fucking insane.”

“Shut up and get the keys Joel! You heard the old man, let’s see how this babe purrs!” Tommy was already hopping in the passenger seat while Joel climbed into the driver's seat. Both brothers looked like two giddy kids in a candy shop as Joel inserted the key into the ignition as the engine purred to life. He couldn’t help but rev the engine a bit, just to see what she was capable of.

He backed the car out onto Hollywood blvd and drove right past your shop. You were working on Joel’s sketch for his knuckle tats when a blur of bright, cherry red zoomed past the shop's window. You had no idea who the hell was driving the car, but the one thing you did know was that the driver had to be undeniably hot.

After taking her for a joy ride through the Hollywood Hills, the Miller brothers returned to the shop, pumped full of adrenaline. After a few paint touch ups, and an engine check, she was good to go. Joel, however, wanted to add just a bit of flare. While Tommy was on his break, his older brother had taken it upon himself to add a decal on one of the wings on the back of the car. Angel Baby. How perfectly fitting.

Tag List:@chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @loquaciousferret @cutesyscreenname @atinylittlepain @yazsos @kirsteng42 @777-wonders @last-girl @pedgeitopascalreads @tinygarbage @wonder-harley @casa-boiardi @alwaysdjarin @bellaramseygfsblog

[tightjeansjavi]

That Girl is a Problem

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader) +18

Chapter 1 coming tonight at 8pm CT

This fic is 100% going outside of my comfort zone and I have done my best to highlight all the warnings that I believe need to be highlighted. If there are any that I have missed, please let me know so I can make sure I update it accordingly! This story takes place in DTLA early 1990’s and the overall theme for the story is pretty dark. Every chapter will have the appropriate warnings so that nothing gets missed.

Summary/Warnings/Sneak Peek below the cut

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Small age gap, (Reader is 28 Joel is 30) Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

Joel wasn’t shy of his ink. He had gotten his first tattoo at the sharp age of 18 and from there, he became addicted to the buzzing sound of the machine, and quick jabs of the needle into his skin. It was a euphoric sensation. The only way he knew how to describe the feeling without sounding entirely masochistic, was that it was a good pain. A comforting pain that eased stress and tension. Maybe he enjoyed it too much. Who the hell was anyone to tell him that he was fucked up for feeling that way? Tattoos were fucking dope, as far as he was concerned.