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macfrog · 1 year ago

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checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine

hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins

word count: 8.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.

You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.

As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.

He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.

You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.

And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.

Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.

A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.

She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”

You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.

“You’re late.”

He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”

Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.

When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.

“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”

Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.

Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.

The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.

“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”

“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.

You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.

“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.

“Heard that,” he says.

“’s why I said it.”

Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”

Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.

“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”

“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”

A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.

You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.

Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.

You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.

It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.

Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.

You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.

And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”

“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”

“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”

If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?

The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.

Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.

“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”

“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.

Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”

“Language,” Joel clips.

You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.

The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.

Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.

“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.

“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.

“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”

“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”

“No? What is it, then?”

His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.

“Not a what. A who.”

You lead him inside.

A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.

“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.

Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.

You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.

“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.

The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.

“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.

Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”

“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”

“We know.”

“Dad, I–”

“Water, or nothin’.”

Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.

You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.

“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”

You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.

A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.

You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“No?” you ask, amused.

“Not my thing.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?”

You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…

Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.

It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.

When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.

You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.

A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.

He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.

“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.

Joel hums in agreement, nodding.

Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.

Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.

“You think I’m…brighter…here?”

He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”

“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”

Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.

Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”

Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”

“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.

Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”

You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?

You mock smile back and shake your head.

“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”

You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.

“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”

Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”

Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.

“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.

Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”

Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”

You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.

You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”

“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”

Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.

“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”

Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”

His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.

Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.

“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”

She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.

“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”

You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”

“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”

Nothing. You shake your head.

She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”

“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”

Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.

“That’s her.”

“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.

“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”

You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.

“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”

“Who has?”

Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”

“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”

“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”

“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.

Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?

“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”

Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.

He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.

You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.

But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.

You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.

Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.

There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.

You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.

“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”

“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”

“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.

“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”

Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”

“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”

His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.

Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.

You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.

“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”

Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?

Stick.

The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.

Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.

Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.

This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.

Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.

Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”

“’s nice, ain’t it?”

“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”

“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”

Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.

Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.

“It improve your mood any?”

“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”

“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”

It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.

“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.

Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.

“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”

His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”

You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”

He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.

“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”

You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.

You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.

Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.

“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.

“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.

“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”

The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”

You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.

The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.

You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.

What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.

But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.

Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.

Nothing I can’t do right back to him.

You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.

As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.

“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”

He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.

He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.

You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.

Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.

“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”

“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”

“So…what are we doing in here?”

Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.

“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”

Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”

Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.

“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”

You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”

Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.

“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”

His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.

His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.

“Whatever the fuck I want?”

“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”

Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.

Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”

“A bottle?”

“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”

“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”

You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.

You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”

“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Then…make me.”

Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.

You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –

In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.

“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”

The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.

He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.

And then you realize. You fucking like this.

“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.

Another sharp sting.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.

“F-fuck no.”

He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”

He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.

“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”

You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”

You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.

“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”

“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”

“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”

“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”

You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.

“Wanted you in my mouth.”

You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.

“That right, baby? In your mouth?”

You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.

“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.

Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”

Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.

“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.

Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.

He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”

You nod, eyes blown black with lust.

He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.

“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”

A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.

“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”

He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.

“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”

You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.

“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”

Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”

You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.

You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.

“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”

Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?

Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.

You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.

“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”

He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.

You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.

Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.

It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.

Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.

He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”

“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.

One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.

He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.

When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.

Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”

There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.

You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.

He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.

You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.

Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.

Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.

Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.

He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.

Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.

“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”

You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.

Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.

Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.

“You’re being weird.”

“Ain’t being weird.”

“Still not gonna let me cum?”

He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.

“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”

He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”

“Facetime you, if you want.”

His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.

“How much is it?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”

You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”

Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.

You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.

Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.

“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”

“Where did you two get to?”

Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.

Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”

“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”

“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.

Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.

“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”

Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.

You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.

The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.

“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @vickywallace @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #fic: cowboy like me

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magicratfingers · 3 months ago

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ok here's what i am doing to stave off attaques panique this time around - collecting healing pictures of animals in hats (see above, idk who its by. forgive me diety of attribution) - makin a playlist (why is it so folky idk) - writing a list of good things about work to look forward to & things I can prep to manage the rest

#trying my girlbest

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squinch-depraved · 2 months ago

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smoking with ted and he gets all shy bc he likes u so much 🥺👉👈 (another inspired by irl events) i hope u enjoy my first ted fic <3

the two of you finally have a chance to sit down and hang out; there's no work left to do for the day, so you plop down on his couch together and kick your feet up onto his lap. he turns to look at you just in time to see you pull your dab pen out from inside your bra. the sight rouses something in his gut, and he files it away for later as he continues to stare at your chest, screaming at himself mentally to look away but he can't tear his eyes from your tits.

"teddy," you snap your fingers at him, finally getting his attention after several tries at saying his name.

"hmm?" he blinks at you, zoning back in and bringing his gaze back to your smiling face. his own lips perk upwards at the sight of your soft grin.

"wanna smoke?" you ask, twirling the pen between your fingers.

he nods and tries (fails) not to let his eyes slip again in the time it takes for you to take your first hit and pass it to him. he looks away when you start exhaling. something about it is angelic and he can't think about you while he takes this hit, you make his breath unsteady and he can't cough in front of you, that would look stupid! so he fixes his eyes on a poster hanging across the room, running them over every detail while he takes as deep a breath as he can before passing it back to you. the process repeats a few times, and you put on a playlist the two of you have crafted for whenever you have a smoke sesh.

soon, the two of you are laughing, doing impressions and bits on the fly that you would never come up with sober, when you shift so that you're a lot closer to him. his face visibly reddens and he looks around, searching for something else to focus on so he doesn't make himself look like an idiot in front of you. you pick up on this and continue scooting so that you're almost in his lap.

"you okay, ted? got kinda quiet," you say, grabbing his massive hand and fiddling with one of his rings.

"uhm." his voice cracks as he says it and he nods, unable to look at you. you drop his hand and reach for his face in an attempt to make him meet your gaze, and he moans when your fingers graze his jaw. a small, pathetic noise, but still perceived by you. when his hazel eyes meet yours, his pupils are wide and dark.

"ohh, my pretty boy," you coo, climbing fully into his lap and straddling him. he remains looking up at you in pure adoration. "so sweet for me," you kiss against his neck. he whines sharply and tries weakly to push you away. "what's wrong, teddy baby?"

voice breathy and pitchy, he croaks out, "makin' me dizzy," before groaning and leaning his head all the way back. you take the opportunity to kiss more, now using your tongue to draw circles up and down his neck. "is this the stuff we usually smoke?" he asks, hands finding their way to your hips and grinding you down into him. "this shit is really strong."

you laugh and snake your hands up his shirt. "you're so cute, y'know that?"

he grins. "'m glad you think so. been tryin' to make you think that for ages."

you end up riding him as he stares up at you, lost in worship of your beautiful body, and he curses himself for waiting this long to tell you.

#chuckle sandwich #x reader #ted nivison #ted nivision smut #ted nivision x reader #ted nivison x you #ted nivison x y/n

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hugshughes · 7 months ago

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Liquid Courage J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - JJ calls you in the middle of the night, inebriated and affectionate. His confessions leave your heart heavy as he sleeps off his drunken haze on your couch. It isn't until the next morning JJ realizes the extent of what he's admitted.

wc - 3.4k

contains - UNEDITED! super cute! alcohol consumption, underage alcohol consumption, JJ gets drunk, eating, hugging. ALL WHILE SOBER: kissing, touching, makin out kinda. reader is insecure about herself (even though she's so cute and pretty), drunk confession, reader gets sad, cursing, i think that's it! oh takes place like october of last year! Rushed ending sorry

an - based on THIS request! LOVEEEEEEDDDDD THIS REQUEST SO MUCH! this was so cute loved it!! #imnotdead :D

You hummed to yourself as you pranced around your kitchen, the banana bread you just put in the oven leaving the aroma of your apartment warm. Your hair was in a braid down your back, your adorable pink striped Victoria's Secret pajamas soft against your skin. Music played from your Alexa, your nighttime playlist floating through the air, one of Olivia Rodrigo's new songs gracing your ears.

The thick socks covering your feet kept them from the cold of the linoleum in your bathroom. You took out your contacts, throwing them out before slipping on your glasses. You grabbed your phone off the counter after exiting the bathroom, seeing a couple Snapchat notifications, some from TikTok, and a few messages from your best friend. All three of her texts had said something along the lines of how you should've come out tonight. The third one said how JJ McCarthy was asking where you were. You sighed, turning your phone back off and checking on your banana bread.

JJ had been your friend since freshman year. He was very sweet and so kind. He was so mature and was one of the most polite people you knew. You'd always thought he was extremely cute, I mean, who didn't think that? He had the cutest smile, and the softest dirty blonde hair. His blue eyes were gorgeous. He'd started his little flirting game with you about halfway through sophomore year. He'd compliment you endlessly whenever you saw him, he'd randomly ask you out in the middle of a conversation. That same smile on his face, bright as ever. You, of course, took it all as a joke, a cruel one at that. You assumed JJ was just a flirty guy with a flirty personality, you'd experienced it before. There was zero chance someone like JJ McCarthy would like you.

"Come on. You guys really think he's being serious when he says that stuff?"

"Yes! We do, because he likes you, and it's so obvious. He doesn't talk to us like that, does he?"

You rolled your eyes. Starting to get pissed with them. Your brain could not compute the idea of JJ really liking you.

"Why in the world would JJ McCarthy, probably the most eligable bachelor on the campus of Michigan, like me? I'm not one of the prettiest girls at Mich, let alone am I the prettiest girl that likes him!"

Sometimes you would wonder that if you thought you were pretty, then maybe you'd believe them. You had bad underlying insecurities that stopped you from believing that any guy would like you, let alone someone like JJ.

You leaned your forehead against your silver fridge, the cool of the metal relaxing you. You could hear its low whirring and humming with your proximity to it. The sound occupying your brain as a white noise, leading you to close your eyes. You might've actually fallen asleep if the timer for your bread didn't go off, you scrambling to shout at your Alexa to, 'Please, stop!' You grabbed oven mitts and grabbed the tray after sticking a toothpick into it to check the middle. You set the pan down on your cooling rack, sliding your gloves off. You grabbed your phone and paused your music, going to sit on the couch while your bread cooled.

You stalked your friends Snapchat stories, they were all having fun at the big party everyone seemed to be attending. You halted when you saw your best friend's private story, you knew it only had a handful of people so she posted silly and random things on it.

What she'd posted was a zoomed in photo of what resembled JJ McCarthy with his head thrown back against the couch of whatever frat house they were in. His face looked miserable, and the caption on the photo was saying how that's how she too reacted when you didn't come to parties. You immediately slid up, typing in all caps telling her to shut up. You said how he was not upset over you, and how she was stupid and drunk. It was all lighthearted, you both knew it.

She immediately typed back to you, claiming he'd drunkenly asked her at least four times where you were and why you didn't want to come see him. You giggled to yourself, believing it for just a few moments. You typed to her for a few more minutes before your phone started vibrating in your hand, JJ's contact coming onto your screen. You were met with the photo you'd had him saved with, him smiling that bright beautiful smile across the table from you at Panera sometime during last school year. What was JJ calling you for? You slid to answer, holding your phone to your ear. It was oddly quiet on his end, though he was actively attending a party. He called your name, and you called his.

"JJ? What's up? Are you alright?"

"Hi! Oh my gosh, hi. I can't believe you aren't here right now, I was only excited to see you."

You smiled sadly, he was endearing, and so totally plastered.

"Aw, JJ, I'm sorry. Where are you? It's pretty quiet for a party."

"Oh, yeah. I'm just in the bathroom, standin' around. I got bored. Ya' know, I miss you."

He was so drunk, his words were melting together, but his happiness stayed solid throughout.

"Jay, are you alright? Do you need someone to help you leave? Is Blake there? Colston?"

"You should, we can hang out! But yeah, he's 'round here somewhere. Lemme go get 'im."

You said okay, letting the boy look for his friend. The noise on his end got louder as he left the bathroom. You giggled when you heard him shout hey at random people around the house. You heard JJ call your name into his phone, then again.

"JJ, I'm still here. Any luck finding Colston?"

"Why don't you jus' go marry Colston if he's all 'yer gonna talk about"

You barely heard it, he muttered it with the phone a few inches from his mouth. You were shocked at the words JJ said. What?

"What, JJ?"

"Wish y'were talkin' about me."

You smiled, still a bit confused. His drunk mind was extremely silly.

"I'm talking to you, aren't I? The only boy's call I'd pick up this late."

JJ was ecstatic, smiling brightly as he continued through the party, looking for his teammates.

"I see him! Colston! Come here buddy, she wants to talk to you."

You heard a confused colston mutter 'Who's she?' before he took the phone from JJ, seeing your contact before talking to you.

"Oh hey, what's up?"

"JJ is like, absolutely plastered if you couldn't tell. Are you all good? I asked him and he told me he wanted me to pick him up. If I come get him can you bring him to my car? I'm already in my pajamas."

"Yeah, think Jay'll definitely love that. Kid hasn't stopped asking about you since we got here. I'll have him outside whenever 'ya get here."

You responded with an affirmative, thanking Colston. He handed the phone back to JJ, who was very happy to hear your voice again.

"Hey! What's up? Colston said you're coming to get me."

"Yeah, I'll see you in a couple minutes, okay Jay?"

"Awesome."

He hung up and you giggled. How did you go from an innocent call with the boy to asking him if he needed to be picked up? You shook your head at yourself, standing and grabbing your keychain.

You left your apartment and drove to the house you knew the party was at. Your friends had told you which house it was in case you changed your mind and came. It was less than ten minutes before you were in front of the bustling house, seeing two boys standing on the sidewalk.

You rolled down the window as they walked over, shouting hey to them. JJ was visibly drunk, stumbling just a little as he leaned into your car, a big smile on his face.

"Hi, pretty."

"Hi, JJ."

Colston helped his teammate into the car, making sure you were good to take care of the boy.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, Colst. I'll let 'im have my couch for tonight. I'll text you if I need anything!"

He nodded, lightly slapping the side of your car twice before retreating to the house. You turned your music back on, leaving it at a low volume as you turned around to drive home. You glanced at JJ and noticed the biggest pout on his face.

"JJ McCarthy. I know I didn't just drive over here to get you just for you to be pouting when you get in my car."

"Just text Colston about it, why don't you?"

You busted out giggling. Drunk JJ was such a treat. His jealousy over your friendship with his teammate was incredibly hilarious.

"I might if you don't start bein' nice t'me."

"Sorry 'm being mean."

He barely murmured it, though it was all you needed. You smiled brightly at him, laughing to yourself. JJ never got drunk, he usually opted for just a drink or two, or being the designated driver.

You got home quickly, making small talk with the now sleepy boy. You parked in your spot, hopping out of the car and walking around the hood to help JJ out. He'd stayed at yours after a party once or twice before, but it had always been with a couple other people. Tonight it was just you two.

You walked in, stepping into the elevator right behind JJ. The two of you stepped out of the elevator as the machine dinged and the doors slid open. JJ grabbed your hand as you walked down the hall to your door. You glanced at him, softly smiling. His eyes were barely open, but he still had a smile on his face. You didn't take the action as anything serious, JJ was a physical touch kind of person. He was always hugging people, patting shoulders, bumping fists. He was extra physical with you though, not that you noticed. You were the only girl he ever really acted like that with, again, not to your acknowledgment.

You wouldn't let yourself believe he liked you. Convinced it would hurt too much when eventually he got a prettier, skinnier, bubblier, more likable girlfriend and left you in the dust. JJ had eyes solely for you, though. He only ever looked at you. He asked anyone and everyone if they knew where you were or if you were coming to the party for God's sake.

You closed the door behind JJ and locked it, telling him to make himself at home. He took his shoes off, trying to neatly organize them in your shoe cubby. He wandered over to the couch as you kicked your shoes off and entered your kitchen. You grabbed a cold water bottle, two Ibuprofen tablets and two Tylenol tablets, the perfect hangover cure. You noticed your still warm banana bread sitting on the counter, perking up.

"Jay, do you want some banana bread?"

You heard his footsteps then saw him come around the corner, his eyebrows raised.

"Hell yes."

You giggled, gesturing for him to come stand by you. You flipped the pan over onto the cooling rack, opening the drawer directly in front of you, pulling out a bread knife. You felt a head slip into the crook of your neck, warm breath on your neck. Heat rushed your face, JJ's contagious smile spreading to you.

"Hi, crazy."

You pointed to the water and pills on the counter as you swerved out of his reach, going to grab a cutting board and a plate.

"Take those and your head won't hurt in the morning. Well, I don't know how much you drank, but that'll definitely make it better."

He nodded, immediately following your directions. He gulped down half of the water bottle while you came back over, laying the loaf of bread on the cutting board. You cut a couple pieces off, setting one onto the plate before sliding it over to JJ. He smiled at you, beginning to devour his snack. Hopefully it would absorb some of the alcohol in his stomach.

"You're amazing, you know."

He said it in a way that made it seem like he meant it on a deeper level than you'd usually assume. He said it like he truly did believe that, and it wasn't just because you fed him warm banana bread. You shook your head, brushing it off as you tore of pieces from your slice.

"No, don't shake your head a'me. You are. You act like you're not but y'are."

He was too good at making you feel special. You were just too scared to believe any of it.

"I just like to take care of people I like."

You smiled innocently at him, shrugging your shoulders as you moved to grab a proper storage container for your bread.

"And I just like when the girl I like believes me when I tell her she's amazing."

You froze in your spot. Sure, JJ had flirted with you for about a year. But, he'd never downright told you he liked you. He's drunk out of his mind. You sighed when you turned around, trying to smile at the boy as you stared into his sleepy eyes.

"You're so sleepy, JJ, and drunk."

He nodded a little, his eyes never leaving yours, that smile never leaving his face. He didn't really notice that you'd downplayed his feelings, he'd noticed even less that he'd straight up told you you were the girl he liked. All he could really notice was how beautiful you looked in the dim light of your kitchen, in your cute pajamas and glasses, hair in a messy braid.

You set JJ up on your couch, getting him another water and some thick and soft blankets and a pillow. You ran your hand through his messy hair as he laid in the couch beneath you. His eyes were begging to close, but he still smiled at you. You quietly told him to go to sleep, turning to leave. You'd only made it to the light switch before he called your name.

"I really do like you, 'm not just drunk. Just get too nervous to tell you, 'm sorry."

Your heart was heavy. You wanted to believe him, but how could you? JJ had never shown what you deemed as genuine interest in you when he wasn't inebriated. All he did was toss flirty comments around, throwing his arm over your shoulder every once in a while.

You couldn't lie and say you didn't notice the different look in JJ's eyes as he peered over the back of your couch. The truth in them.

"If you even remember this in the morning, we can talk about it. Alright?"

"That's perfect."

He smiled at you one last time before sinking below the back of your couch, out of sight.

"Goodnight Jay."

"Night night, pretty."

His words made your heart squeeze. You knew that the affection you felt for JJ wouldn't change, no matter if they were just drunk fibs.

You switched the living room lights off, heading into the kitchen. You set out another water and more pills for whenever JJ woke up in the morning. You checked the locked once more before turning all of the lights off. All you heard as you headed back to your bedroom was JJ's heavy breathing, it calmed your racing heart. You left your door cracked open incase JJ woke up needing something.

Your glasses slid up your head as your rubbed your eyes, sighing. You kept reminding your heart that JJ didn't really know what he was saying, that he would regret it.

The bed you slept countless nights in was uncomfortable as ever tonight, you tossed and turned for most of an over before climbing out of bed. You threw your cute pajamas onto the hardwood floor and traded them for a Lululemon bra and some shorts.

You fell asleep after another forty minutes of shifting every minute or so. Your sleep was light and poor. You woke up a little after four am, just three hours after finally falling asleep. Sleep finally took you again for a couple more hours, just until a little after nine.

After lying and staring at your ceiling for half an hour, you slowly sat up in bed, getting up. You exited your room, dragging yourself to the living room. The couch was empty, the blanket JJ had used folded neatly on top of the pillow. How sweet was he? You turned and walked into the kitchen, finally spotting the dirty blonde boy you wanted to see.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, smiling. He was holding a water bottle, his eyes tired and his hair still messy.

"Good morning, JJ."

"Hi."

You felt nerves wash over you. This was it, where he either apologizes and regrets everything he said last night, or you got everything you'd hoped for. You went over to where he was leaning against your counter, hopping up to sit on the counter by him. His head fell to your shoulder as if by reflex.

"How do you feel, Jay?"

"Good, better 'cause y'took care of me."

"I just gave you some meds, Jay."

"Still."

You smiled, leaning your head on his. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe he would be in love with you. You took a deep breath, now or never.

"Jay, do you-"

"Yes."

You pulled your head from his, turning to give him a look.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I remember what I said."

You bit your lip, still nervous. You look to where your feet dangled in the air, suddenly scared of his gaze on you.

JJ was nervous as hell too, though. You hadn't said that you liked him back, he definitely remembered that. He was beginning to take your silence as disinterest. He just stared at you, waiting for some indication of how you felt.

"And?"

"'And?' And, I like you."

Your nerves escaped from your body in a giggle, the churning of your stomach now butterflies. JJ did not appreciate the laughter though, taking it the complete wrong way.

"You don't have to laugh at me, shit."

He reached his hands to his eyes, rubbing hard as he started off, away from you. You giggled again, realizing your mistake. You jumped from the counter, sighing JJ's name out.

"Wait, wait Jay, I'm sorry. It's not like that."

You grabbed his arm, trying to halt the taller and stronger boy wasn't easy without his compliance. You shouted his name again and he stopped, turning to you.

"I'm not laughing 'cause you like me. I'm laughing 'cause I barely slept last night worried that you wouldn't like me."

JJ finally looked at you. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"What's do you mean? I literally told you I liked you!"

"JJ! You were so drunk! I wasn't about to convince myself that JJ McCarthy liked me just 'cause he said so while he was plastered."

"I wasn't plastered! And, what do you mean when y'say it like that?"

You rolled your eyes, halfway annoyed. He didn't get it.

"JJ, you could probably get with any girl on the Michigan campus if you wanted to. I wasn't convinced that out of all of them you'd actually want me."

"How could I not like you?"

The truth in JJ's eyes made you feel seen. Like he actually knew you. You smiled sappily, pulling the boy down by his shoulder, kissing him deeply. One of JJ's hands gripped the back of your head, the other pulling you closer by the small of your back.

There you were, standing in your kitchen kissing the boy you could've sworn never liked you. The boy you'd been infatuated with for a year. He was finally yours.

JJ pulled away from your lips, his hands moving to cup your face. His smile was brighter than ever. You both laughed, looking into each other's eyes for just a few seconds before JJ pulled you back in.

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

Text

Black Math. Left in Lincoln, pt. 5

8.6k words. dark dbf!Joel Miller x virgin!reader story master list / spotify playlist / joel master

🍑 amazing art by @bonezone44 💙

Now spicier courtesy of the label His smile faded as he looked at you, then he added hoarsely, “God, if you knew how many times I’d thought about you.” There wasn’t so much as a hint of shame in his voice. It had the warmth in your cheeks traveling down, down, down. . . “We’re almost there, baby, but we gotta do it right. We’re almost there, I promise.” He reached into his pants to tuck in his shirt and adjusted himself while he was there. Your eyes fixated on the bulge in his jeans. “God damn,” he exhaled. “Turns me on thinkin’ about it.”

WARNINGS: I8+, Not graphic, but it gets twisted. Lots of plot, including flashbacks, disturbing implicit horror (really), angst, brief self-shaming, big girthy age gap (reader is legal the whole time), pet names and praise, toxic dark joel/fluff, family fluff, gaslighting, manipulation, yearning, pining, obsession, grinding, mutual touching, oral f receiving. NO use of Y/N

A/N: This picks up right after part 4. Word-count wise, parts 1-4 were like half of it. There are two more after this, and I wrote a lot on those before finalizing pt. 5. Thank you all for your patience and enthusiasm. It's so rewarding to see people discuss. Additional thanks to @dark-scape for your help, Raider Joel for your support. I couldn't get the text off bold fyi.

---------------------------------------

You awoke to the sound of stairs creaking under heavy steps, a sound you didn’t often hear at home. You blinked awake, still disoriented as your eyes focused. The vanity, the dresser, the empty glass on the nightstand. The closet. Your mind was catching up when the bedroom door opened. Joel was fully dressed with his hair combed back. His brows were knitted in concern as usual, but his eyes brightened when he saw you waking up.

You lifted your head and squinted at him as you propped yourself up with one elbow.

Joel’s tone was as cheerful as you could ever expect to hear it. “Mornin’, sleepyhead. Makin’ sure you're okay.”

“What time is it?”

“Li’l past noon. Still sleepin’? I’ll leave ya ‘lone.”

“I should get up.” You put your head back down on the pillow.

He came over and sat down on the bed. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Good, once I fell asleep.”

“Does the trick, don’t it?” He nodded to the empty glass on the nightstand.

“Yeah,” you laughed.

“Dr. Miller, at your service.”

You giggled again and his eyes glazed over as they fell on your smile, your chest, then met your eyes. He leaned over and put his elbow down on the far side of you.

“Well, you’ve made me believe in beauty sleep, peaches.” He put a hand on your shoulder, dwarfing it with his massive palm as he brushed your skin with his thumb. “Always a beauty, but ya wake up even prettier.” Your face got hot and you looked away shyly.

Joel bit his lip, holding back a smile. He traced the outer curve of your ear with his fingers. “Hungry?”

“Kinda.”

“I’ll go make ya somethin’.” He looked at you warmly then kissed you on the forehead before he went back downstairs.

—-----

You took a shower and got dressed. As your hands glided over your soapy body, your palms lingered on your breasts. You imagined Joel showering and realized you couldn’t picture him shirtless. While you were picking out something to wear, you got to thinking again about the closet full of clothes. They were mostly dresses. You put on one of several soft, casual floral ones about knee length.

Before you closed the closet door, you stopped yourself. You had to face it – the dress you saw in the dark the night before. The one that kept you up. Heart racing, you reached into the far right corner and fumbled with a big, satin hanger. You squinted your eyes almost shut as you carefully brought the dress out where you could see it. You looked at it blurry through your lashes. It was more cream than white.

When you finally opened your eyes all the way, an unexpected sense of relief soothed your chest as if the dress were made of love and meant for you. It was simple, but breathtaking. Not the rigid, intimidating garment your anxiety had envisioned. It had a simple A-line silhouette. The high collar and long sleeves were a lace outer dress laid over a solid one with a sweetheart neckline. The skirt was flowy and came down around mid-calf.

It gave you butterflies and you couldn’t help but imagine Joel went out of his way to get this. It felt like a wishful conclusion, like a romantic story you wanted to believe. You tried to talk yourself away from it, not wanting to assume. But at the same time, you still couldn’t figure who would have left it behind. Your heart sank for a moment when you wondered if it could have been intended for Tess, but Ellie always said they were platonic and even slept in separate rooms. Not only were the clothes not anything Ellie or Tess would wear, but Ellie nor Tess ever lived in this house. They were gone before Joel moved down the street. You put the dress way back in the corner of the closet where it came from.

—------------------

When Joel first settled into the community, he moved into a house near Abe’s, clear on the other side of the neighborhood. You met Ellie first. You were in your backyard gardening when she appeared out of nowhere and asked what you were doing. She was a little younger than you, but much more experienced in life, having been out in the world. You were shy to ask her about the horrors of the infected, not wanting to upset her. But she told you all about it anyway – the different kinds, the way they connected underground. You were grateful for your life and recognized the privilege in growing up like you did. Growing up at all.

Bill used to remind you how lucky you were, especially as a teenager when you would have fits about wanting to go out into the world. Somehow, learning from Ellie in more graphic detail about the state of the world didn’t squash your desire to get out there one day. You asked her all about the quarantine zones and FEDRA school, and those sounded fun, even though she didn’t depict them that way. She asked you a million questions about your little community, too.

You never saw much of Joel until after Ellie left. Frank worried about Joel being all alone, having experienced so much loss, so they invited him over for dinner. The first time, Joel was surprised when you answered the door. He apologized and looked around as though he had made some kind of mistake. Then it occurred to you he might have forgotten your name. You couldn’t even remember a time you had formally met, so you introduced yourself.

He took a few seconds. “Right, sorry,” he mumbled. “I thought—well, Ellie, uh—I guess I thought you were younger.”

Joel was polite and didn’t talk much. Bill liked that about him, so they started having him over for dinner regularly. The two of you didn’t share much conversation, but when you did, Joel seemed in awe of how protected you grew up. It made you self-conscious. It wasn’t something you liked about yourself. When Joel noticed this, he clarified it was a really good thing. Rare. The terror of the world affected most people for the worse.

—

Joel didn’t move into his current house until after the Adlers died and someone needed to take care of the peach and apple orchards. He had already been helping them tend the orchards and also helped fix things up around the property as the Adlers’ age caught up with them.

When Joel moved, Frank had the idea to bake something to welcome him to your family’s end of the community. You made a blueberry cobbler. Frank combed his hair and tucked in a plain, button-up shirt. He didn’t ask you to put on a dress, but you did because Frank always had fun getting spruced. He liked to have a reason, even if the occasion was completely manufactured, like the nights he made dinner and claimed his restaurant had a dress code. You couldn’t deny it made for a nice change of pace, and Bill’s eyes brightened, too despite his obligatory grumbling.

When you were ready to take the cobbler to Joel, Bill said the two of you looked like you were going to a wake.

“It’s nice to dress up,” Frank protested. “It shows we care.”

When you and Frank were about to walk over there, Frank started tearing up thinking about the Adlers. They were your neighbors for as long as you could remember. “I can’t, I can’t do it,” Frank said. Bill didn’t want to do it either. He wasn’t planning on it to begin with.

“I’ll take it,” you offered. So they sent you.

—

You walked up to Joel’s (new) house, stopping to admire the gambrel roof. The front door was newly black and smelled like paint, so you weren’t sure where to knock. You rang the bell and it buzzed sadly in a low, broken tone, as though barely hanging on. When you were just about to walk around back and knock, Joel opened the door holding a dish towel and a salty look that softened as saw you. He let go of the door and looked down as he cleaned his hands.

His voice was deep as always, but it struck you more when you were one-on-one without anyone else’s chatter. “Need somethin’?”

“Uh, no. I don’t.” You smiled just enough to not look scared and countered, “Do you need anything?” His presence was intimidating. Handsome and muscular, with a quiet, powerful energy.

He didn’t say anything. Kept cleaning his fingers. Once he looked at you again, he didn’t look away. He stopped messing with his fingers. It was your only private conversation since the first time he came over for dinner. It was more eye contact than he had ever given you. You waited out the silence, then smiled and held out the cobbler for him. “This is for you.”

He put his hands around the dish, careful not to let his dirty fingers touch yours. “You made this?”

“Yeah,” you nodded and took your hands away. His eyes gave the hint of a smile, but his mouth didn’t budge.

“Welcome to the street,” you told him.

He nodded but didn’t offer any more words. He stood there and looked at you until you said, “Well, you know where we are if you need anything. Bye, Joel.” He nodded and watched you walk away.

—---------

Joel and the Adlers. Those were the only people you were aware of who ever lived in that house. You put on another dress. It was a lightweight, black fabric. Low-cut, flowy, came down to your knees with elbow length sleeves that were kind of see through and flared out.

You were too curious not to bring up the clothes. Over lunch, you asked, “The Adlers didn’t have a daughter when they lived here, did they?”

He seemed to be thinking it over as he finished chewing. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Whose clothes are these?”

“Ah,” he said. “Well they’re yours now, peaches.”

You smiled. “Before, though.”

“Why? Do you like’em? They look good on ya. Are they the right size?”

“I like’em a lot. They’re nice, they fit well.”

He raised his eyebrows and proudly revealed, “Picked’em up at the boutique.” His cheeks turned pink as he looked at you for approval. “Wasn’t much left. Wasn’t sure you’d like’em.” He took a bite of his salad.

“Wow,” you nodded. You were nearly speechless that he stocked that room for you. If there wasn’t much left at the boutique, he must’ve grabbed anything in your general size. Maybe that’s how he ended up with The Dress.

“Wanted to have what ya needed here, just in case.” He nodded as he chewed. “S’why it took me a few days to come by after Bill and Frank left.”

“That’s nice, Joel.” It was a little awkward. You didn’t know what to say.

He continued to explain himself. “Men like me and Bill, we’re protectors.” He put down his fork to gesticulate. “So when your papa asked me to make sure you’d be okay, I took it real serious. Did everything I could to be ready for any scenario.”

You slowly nodded and he looked at you in anticipation of further response. You said, “Well, you went above and beyond.”

Your face must have given away your shock. Joel sighed. “Might’ve gotten carried away.” He looked down and lowered his voice. “Been a while since I had someone to care for. I guess the idea of someone even possibly needin’ me. . . ” Your heart hurt for him. “Hell, maybe I wanted to remember what it felt like. Look at me playin’ dress-up, right?” He laughed at himself, but his eyes were somber.

You took his hand into yours and looked him in the eyes. “Thank you, Joel.”

“I’m glad they fit,” he said. “Glad ya can use’em.” He took a sip of water, then quickly swallowed it to clarify, “I mean, I’m not glad ya had to leave home. Just glad I could be here.”

“Yeah.” You squeezed his hand. He kissed yours and let it go. “This is really good, by the way. Love the dressing.”

“It’s basil. Grew it outside. I’ve got some herb seedlings in pots down in the basement. We can try to plant’em if ya want.”

Your face lit up at the possibility of going outside. “Yeah!”

“We’ll do the arugula, too. I dunno about the ‘berries, darlin’, but we’ll try.”

—----

It was a cloudy day, but still nice out. Joel seemed to think it might rain later. After lunch, he loaded up a wagon full of plants and supplies from the basement, and the two of you walked through the orchard. The fresh air was invigorating after being stuck in the house.

“‘Member which tree is ours?” Joel asked.

When you correctly pointed it out, he stopped the wagon and let the handle sit. You looked at him shyly as he looked you up and down. “C’mere.” He gently turned you to face him. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He cradled your head with both hands. You tilted your chin, then he planted a long, affectionate kiss on your lips.

When you got to the garden beds at the back of the orchard, Joel said, “we should plant’em together so they cross-pollinate. Where do you wanna put’em?” Joel watched your face as you walked around them and evaluated the options.

The garden bed to the right already had a pumpkin vine with beautiful flowers. That bed looked more settled, darker, and fertile. “I didn’t know you had pumpkins,” you marveled. “Maybe by those?”

Joel looked down at the garden bed. “Yeah, hopefully they’ll fruit.” He smiled up at you without raising his head again.

Joel used a spade to dig shallow holes, then you nestled the roots in the holes and both of you patted the soil down. First the arugula, then the basil, then the longshot–the strawberries,

“Pat it down, but not too tight,” he said.

When you were finished, you knelt by the vine and traced a flower with your fingers. Its warm colors were cheerful. “When the pumpkins grow, can we eat’em?”

“Sure, darlin’.” Joel looked down at the vine, squatting right beside you. “Y’know, the flower’s edible, too.”

“It is?” Your stomach rumbled at the thought of eating something new.

Half of Joel’s mouth curled into a small smile. “I reckon you’ve never had a flor de calabaza taco, then. Granted, not sure how ya would’ve.”

“Flor de calabaza?”

“Pumpkin flower. Haven’t had one in a while myself. Go on, pick a couple. Let’s try it.”

You plucked one. “Good choice,” he said, giving you a flashback to when he caught you with one of his peaches. The embarrassment flooded you all over again as you picked two more. Joel saw your face change, and he smiled, hopefully not thinking about the origin of your nickname. You wondered how often he thought about it. He picked a flower of his own, leaving a bit of vine on it, then stroked your cheek and said “c’mere.” He looked in your eyes and put his flower behind your ear. He kissed you on the lips, then wrapped an arm around you and began to stand, bringing you up with him.

Joel looked up at the sky, squinting. “Ah, hell. Gimme that cloth.” He knelt down and finished patting the soil as you retrieved the cloth from the wagon. You helped him cover the newly planted arugula, basil, and strawberries to protect them from washout.

—--

You hung out in the kitchen, helping Joel make dinner. The apple blossom in the jar still looked beautiful. He knew how to take care of things. You washed the pumpkin flowers, then twirled one against your nostrils as Joel cooked wild turkey. You inhaled the petals and tried to imagine what they’d taste like. Joel cooked the flowers with the turkey. They were delicious. Granted, anything new to eat was appealing in principle. Novelty was its own seasoning.

After dinner that night, Joel needed to do some work outside before the rain. He showed you a shelf of books and games near the fireplace, then watched your face as you browsed them. You picked up one that you liked as a girl but hadn’t read in years. Joel went out through the basement. You heard him dragging a tarp out.

There were a lot of thoughts distracting you from your book. Your feelings for Joel overwhelmed you. At certain moments, it felt too good to be true. You also reflected on your intimacy and felt like things were moving fast. You understood why: you felt safe and protected, and your body’s physical need for his was totally natural. But the speed also made it feel fragile somehow. Like if you looked down, you might be falling through the air, not realizing you ran off a cliff.

There was also the question: If a connection this special formed so quickly, could it come undone just as fast? You couldn’t rid your head of his wounded face when you said you were lonely. You hurt his feelings and panicked, as if you needed to give him everything you could at that moment to prove that you loved him. As much as you enjoyed having him in your mouth like that, it felt impulsive in hindsight. Desperate, and you hoped he didn’t see it that way. Pathetic, even. But the memory of it turned you on all the same.

You replayed other encounters in your mind and felt like you were largely the one driving things. Burying your fear and grief in his lap. It embarrassed you to think about, but you also felt relieved that there wasn’t really any pressure. It was like Joel said, whatever you want and that’s all. You said you wanted it in your mouth, and of course he wouldn’t discourage it. Then he wouldn't be giving you everything.

The sound of metal banging then scraping on concrete stirred you from your thoughts. Then the basement door opened and shut twice.

—------

When Joel came back inside, it was nearly your typical bedtime and you were cozy on the sofa. You were curled up on your side with the book on your thigh and your eyes closed. You were only half asleep, but you let him take the book. He also spread a blanket over you. When his bedroom door closed, you sat up and opened the book again. There was a black thumbprint on the open page, and it smelled like ash. It gave you butterflies to see his thumbprint. You liked the idea of having part of him in the book as you read it. You knew how irrational these feelings were, but it didn’t stop them.

Joel’s shower turned on. The walls were so thin that you could hear everything. A cabinet opening, the shower door, changes in the rhythm of the water flow. You could hear that he brushed his teeth in the shower. Maybe not just in the shower. He always seemed to taste fresh. A few minutes after the water turned off, Joel came out of his room in jeans and a white t-shirt that wasn’t tucked in. The shirt hugged his pecs and arms and gave you an even deeper, needier appreciation for his physique. The casual look was really attractive on him. You needed him so bad it hurt. If you couldn’t have him forever, you weren’t sure what you would do. If he ended up with anyone else—there was no reason for this thought to even cross your mind, but the fleeting idea of it made your temples weak. He was too perfect.

You were sitting on the couch hugging your knees when he sat down next to you. He put his hand on your knee and dipped his head to look at you. You took a deep breath through your nose. Mint and pine. His post-shower fragrance made your chest tingle.

“You okay, peaches?”

“Yeah.” You mustered a smile. “Just tired. Guess I should go to sleep.”

“Sure, darlin’. Want me to tuck you in?”

Your heart sank at the lack of an invitation. “Yeah.”

Joel took your hand and led you upstairs. While you were in the bathroom getting ready to sleep, Joel made the bed for you before turning the covers down for you to get in.

“There ya go.”

“Thanks.” You got under the covers, tempted to make room for him but not wanting to come on too strong or look desperate.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress and leaned over you like he had in the morning. “Need anything at all, I’m right downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

Joel kissed you goodnight. You were a little sad when he didn't try anything, but you had already said you were tired. In your heart, you felt like he'd always be patient with you. If you wanted to slow things down, it was yourself you had to worry about. But in your heart, that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. You just hoped Joel didn’t think less of you for needing him so much.

—-----------

You woke up in the middle of the night to a deafening clap of thunder. You sat up and your hand went to your chest. You could feel your heart pounding. The wash of your blood through your valves echoed in your ears. Outside, branches rustled loudly and snapped in the wind.

You were unsettled lying there awake and alone. You wondered why Joel didn't just have you sleep in his bed. Maybe he was trying to be respectful, but these were the things that made you second guess the pace on your end. You lay there alone, and began to hear creaking and clattering indoors that made your heart race. Joel was right downstairs, but he never felt so far away. The thunder was okay, but the other noises made your mind race with thoughts of whatever happened the other night at your house. Whatever Joel saved you from. The distorted version of Call Me echoed in your mind.

You worked up the courage to get out of bed. You crept downstairs like you did the night before. A flash of lightning startled you. When a louder, longer crack of thunder followed, you quickened your steps, hanging onto the bannister for dear life so you wouldn’t slip in the dark.

Joel’s bedroom door was cracked open, so you let yourself in. It was almost pitch black dark. He was on his back in the middle of the bed with the covers pulled half down. You couldn’t make out his face, but his breathing told you he was fast asleep. You went around to the side farthest from the bedroom door and smoothed your nightgown under you as you lifted up the comforter and gently sat down. You brought up your feet and slipped under the covers. Joel’s breathing changed, but he didn’t move until there was a louder clap of thunder. You scooted closer and whispered his name.

His head jolted up and he gasped. “You okay?”

“Yeah. But I got scared of the storm.”

“‘C’mere, darlin’.” He turned onto his side to face you and stretched his arm out. You scooted over and laid your head on it. He draped his other arm over you. “You’re okay, I got ya.” He pulled you closer and planted a kiss on your forehead.

You lay there with your arm nestled between you and your hand on his chest. He touched your hair and kissed you on the head a few more times, then dipped his head to kiss your lips, nudging your head up to face him. The kiss was languid and both your lips came to a rest without pulling away. You stayed like that, both of you breathing through your noses with your lips nestled between each other’s. His breathing slowed again, and your breath began to match his. Your lips finally fell away as you drifted off in his arms to the sound of the storm.

In the middle of the night, you woke up on your back with Joel half on top of you, one of his legs between yours. You stirred and he put more weight on you. He sighed your name without waking up, and the sound of it in his mouth gave you butterflies. Then he fisted your nightgown over your breast and slurred, “‘m sorry.” His body jerked and he gasped, then relaxed again. A few seconds later, he mumbled, “had to.” His breath deepened. “For us.”

Your mind became an empty pit, and your heart raced. “Had to what,” you whispered.

“Please." He became unintelligible. "Please," he repeated in distress.

“Had to what, Joel?”

He jolted awake at the sound of his name. He jerked his head up then relaxed as he felt you beneath him. “You ok, baby?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He took some of his weight off you, rolling back onto his side and resting a massive hand on your chest. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed and rested his forehead on your shoulder for a few seconds. Then you asked, “What were you dreaming about?”

“Hmm. . . didn’t know I was dreamin’,” he said. “But I reckon I’d dream about you, darlin’.”

“What about me?”

“Ohh, you and me. . .” He kissed your nose, then your lips, then whispered, “and the rest of our lives.” His words bypassed your mind and wrapped your heart in the tightest little hug. It was already getting difficult to imagine a future without him. You could hardly picture it at this point. What would you even be doing? The same things you’d done your whole life, at the same house, with no hope of meeting someone to share it with. Even if you met someone, you couldn’t possibly imagine anyone else making you feel this way.

—-----------

The storm had died down. By then, it was just the loud patter of rain, darkened with a steady rumble. Joel pulled you close and planted light kisses on your mouth. Then he slid his tongue between your lips and the kisses became deeper. He shifted to hover over you, and you reached out to trace his form, starting with a hand on each pec, sliding them over his shoulders and down to where his triceps stretched his sleeves. You could imagine nothing hotter than Joel with his hair out of place, shoulders and biceps bulging through his white t-shirt. He leaned down to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in days.

He lowered himself to lay half on top of you again, and you felt the warm shape of his cock hardening against your hip. You and me, and the rest of our lives. . . Between his words, his weight, and his passion, you melted under him. He rested his forearms on either side of your torso. He planted a kiss on your cheek, then your chin, then your throat. His lips opened and closed, opened and closed, crawling wetly up and around your throat without ever breaking contact. His hips pushed his hardness against you and you sighed. He sealed his lips in the crook of your neck and sucked, moaning quietly into your skin. He tore his mouth from your neck with a low sigh to say, “You’re gorgeous, baby.” His voice was hoarse from sleep or want.

He sealed his lips around yours and you could feel his affection with every brush of his tongue. You could taste all the words he wanted to say–that he was desperate for you, would do anything for you, could never lose you. You kissed him back, slowly but hungrily, your hips lifting into him, telling him without words that he could have all of you, you were truly his. You kissed harder, your mouth hanging onto his for dear life, and he moaned into your mouth. A groan was building in your chest but you just wanted to hear him.

—

He sighed as his hardness dug into you, then his hand reached down between your legs, under your nightgown. He lightly dragged his middle finger up and down the crotch of your panties, still kissing you deeply. Then he traced the same line with several fingers flattened together. He broke the kiss to try to read your eyes in the dark. Then he said, “God, I love you so much.” Before you could say it back, he covered your mouth with his. His hips slowly rolled into you as he sucked and tasted your mouth. The rhythm of his stiff cock against your hip made you physically weak with desire.

You tried to shift your hips under him. He got the message and put himself between your legs, resting both his forearms on the bed again. With his cock laying heavily against your mound, you ached with need, dying to be filled, at least by his fingers. But you were also a little shy about how needy you felt. He kissed you with so much love, and you felt just as much for him, but your brain took over for a moment and your lips stopped moving.

The moment you started overthinking it, Joel noticed and pulled back. He experimentally grinded his cock against your front. He leaned his temple against yours and whispered, “Just ‘cause it's there don’t mean ya gotta do anything with it.”

You breathed an internal sigh of appreciation, even though you were salivating to have it in your mouth again. To have it anywhere, everywhere.

—

He cupped your cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “I just wanna make ya feel good. Can I do that?” You nodded “mm-hm,” and his hand returned between your legs, ghosting your clit through the fabric. “Cause I don’t have to,” he went on. “Won’t hurt my feelings if ya go back to your bed, okay?” You nodded. “We’ll just do what you want,” he said. Except for what I want most, you thought to yourself.

Joel reached down to adjust his boxers, then he backed up and kissed his way down your body. Every press of his lips through the satin gown made you throb more. The faint silhouette of his hair made you imagine he was looking up at your face after every kiss, making sure you were still with him. Of course you were. The nightgown had already ridden up. He pushed it further, planted his head between your legs, and kissed you through the cotton of your underwear—softly, then harder. His mouth drew a long sigh out of you as the tension inside you swelled.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your panties and he slowly dragged them down. He covered your warmth with his mouth before you could feel the cool air. The underside of his tongue licked down your dripping seam as his fingers on your thighs continued pulling your panties down.

His head broke away to finish taking them off, and he breathed, “you’re my favorite taste in the world, baby.”

His mouth returned between your legs, and he devoured you just like before. Licking, sucking, flicking his tongue, moaning into you. When he began to fuck you with his tongue, your need to be filled by his cock only strengthened and demanded attention. You said, “Get me ready.”

“Hmm?”

“Ready for you. . .You said my body has to be ready, too.”

He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his wrist, and you could almost see his smile in the dark. “That what ya want?” His hair was out of place already, which made you want him even more.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“That’s what we’ll do.”

—-

He started while he was still between your legs. He inserted a finger and kept kissing your clit while you sighed. He pulled his head away and flattened his fingers. He gently rubbed you as he crawled back up the bed and stopped with his face near yours. His face hovered an inch from yours as he rubbed your desperate, slippery, beautiful mess. He stroked you just right, then pushed his finger back into you, his lungs audibly sucking in a long, deep breath.

Your head tilted up and your mouth fell open. He pushed the finger to the hilt and an obscene moan fell out of your mouth.

“Oh baby, you sound so beautiful.” He began to move his hips against your thigh. “This okay? Or you want me to take it away.”

“No, no, don’t take it away.”

He exhaled half a laugh and slowly pumped his thick finger, staying mostly inside you, curling against your front wall. “How’s it feel?”

“Really good,” you whispered. “Gimme another like last time.”

His cock twitched against you and he kissed you as he slowly pushed another finger in. He moved them in and out and his hand hugged your mound as he did it. Your hips lifted into his hand and you broke the kiss with a sigh that became a whimper. He groaned softly at your desperation and kept rutting against your thigh, fucking you slowly with his fingers. After following a steady rhythm for a while, he clamped his palm down on your mound, adding friction to your clit as he worked his hand. He began to bring his fingers out a little more to slicken your clit again. You throbbed and moaned and could hardly stand it.

“Joel,” you sighed, and struggled to find words. You sputtered out, “I —Joel, I just — I want–ugh–want you, so bad.”

His voice was low and soothing. “Ohhhh, I know it darlin’,” he commiserated. He planted a kiss on your neck as he continued the push of his fingers inside you and his cock against you. “You’ll have me, baby,” he murmured huskily. “We’ll have each other.” He worked his fingers and grinded his cock against you in opposite beats of the same rhythm.

“Another one,” you whispered.

“It’s too much, baby.”

“It’s not,” you whined.

“Let’s add one of yours.” He removed his fingers almost entirely and lifted his palm up to make room for your hand under his. “C’mon.” You nestled your hand under his and carefully added your middle finger. You slid your finger in against your front wall, nestled in a triangle with his two fingers as he pushed inside again. You couldn’t reach very far, but it was enough to feel the stretch. His hand engulfed yours and controlled the rhythm. It was a different feeling, touching yourself with your finger nestled under his. You enjoyed the stretch and his hand engulfing yours, but you could only imagine how much better the smooth tip of his cock would feel.

Moving your finger with his, Joel asked, “Feel good?”

“Yours feel better.”

He lifted his palm and you removed your hand. He kissed you as he began pistoning his fingers deeper and harder. He swirled and scissored them as though making room inside you.

“Joel,” you sighed and your spine curved, jutting your breasts into the air. Your nipple fell out of your nightgown and his mouth was on it right away.

He kissed your breast, moaning into your nipple. Then he kissed your chest, then your neck. “God damn, baby,” he murmured hoarsely.

“Just one more,” you begged.

He grunted with a strong thrust against your hip. “Ahh—Might be too much.”

He paused his rhythm and slowly added his ring finger. So slow it was torture.

“No, don’t stop,” you whined. “Just give it to me.”

He gave it to you, grouping his fingers as close as he could together. The stretch burned by the time he was half in, but you asked for more. You winced at the burn and he took the finger back out.

“I’m okay, it felt good,” you reassured him, but he went back to fucking you harder with two fingers instead, and that felt even better since he didn’t hold back. The burn quickly faded, drowned out by a throbbing tingle that consumed your whole torso, and spread to your thighs, down your legs, making your knees weak.

Before long, you were writhing under him. He sucked your breast again and you moaned his name. He sucked your neck, then whispered into it, “You’ll be a beautiful bride.” Your breath hitched and your eyes widened at his words, but you didn’t want him to stop. He continued, “You want that, right?”

You nodded and heard yourself whisper, “yes.”

Joel sighed and brought his lips back to yours. He pressed his hand into your clit as he worked his fingers to bring you over the edge. “Yeah,” he breathed. Your body jerked and you moaned. His hand hugged your cunt as you came. “Ohhh, gooood giirrrl.” He kissed one half of your mouth as your climax continued. His breath was hot against your cheek. “Love feelin’ ya like this.”

—------

The rain had slowed even more, and the thunder was fading. Joel used his wet hand to pull his stiff manhood out of his boxers with a quiet groan. You reached down to feel it and he shivered at your touch.. The tip was shiny with precum, smeared from rutting against you through his boxers. He must have been aching as bad as you were. You took your hand away, opting to wait and see what he had in mind.

“I don’t have to do this here,” Joel said, his voice weak with need. Then he added in good humor, “But it does need doin’,” and those words landed between your legs.

Your lips parted and you took a deep breath, your eyelids heavy from your orgasm. “Do it here.”

Joel gathered more slick from between your thighs, and the contact gave you an aftershock. He stroked himself and breathed heavily. He rested with his hip and forearm on the bed, and you turned onto your side to face him.

He got closer, right up against you with just enough room to stroke himself. You listened to the wet slide of his hand around his shaft, his breathing, his soft grunts. It occurred to you this was something he did regularly, and now you could imagine it so vividly. The idea of Joel thinking about you and getting himself off was almost too hot to bear. You draped your top leg over him.

He fisted himself and kissed your shoulder. He nosed your nipple, then dragged it up until his face lifted off your chest. He grunted softly as he pumped himself and pressed his nose, then his mouth, into your neck. He was farther down than you on the bed, and the head of his cock was so close to where you ached for it, you could feel the heat radiating as he stroked himself. Then it grazed you, sending a zap of energy through your loins.

“I swear I'm ready,” you whispered.

His voice became shaky. “God damn, I wanna pack you full of this.” He grunted with hastening strokes. “That’s what it’s for, baby.” He bowed his head, and his disheveled hair grazed your cheek. He brought his face up again and kissed you on the lips. “Gonna be all yours,” he murmured hoarsely into your cheek, then added, “and you’re all mine."

"I'm all yours."

"Oh, God," he shuddered as he rolled onto his back. "Baby, I—Ohhh," He exhaled loudly and his body jerked as he came onto himself, sighing "ohhh God, baby." He caught his breath and laid there in silence with you. You rolled onto your back again. He sat up and took the soiled t-shirt off, then laid on his side facing you and rested a heavy hand on your chest.

–

With your blood finally flowing back to your brain, you considered what Joel asked and what you said. Yes, you wanted to be his beautiful bride. On some level, it occurred to you that yes was perhaps the only answer, but did that matter if it was your heart’s desire, too?

You asked, “You think we’re meant to be together?”

“Oh, peaches,” he sighed. “I’m sure of it.” He kissed you and stroked your cheek, then held you tighter. “You’re my world, and there is nothin’ I wouldn’t do to be with you.” He rolled you toward him, nestling your head under his chin, and held you until you fell back asleep.

—------------------

When you woke up in the morning, Joel was freshly showered and standing next to the bed, buttoning a flannel shirt as he watched you sleep. When you yawned, his eyes brightened.

“Why don’t I always sleep here?” you asked sleepily.

He laughed silently to himself with a side-eye at the floor. “Don’t trust myself, darlin’.”

Your face burned at the implication and you shyly hid half your face. His smile faded as he looked at you, then he added hoarsely, “God, if you knew how many times I’d thought about you.” There wasn’t so much as a hint of shame in his voice. It had the warmth in your cheeks traveling down, down, down. . . “We’re almost there, baby, but we gotta do it right. We’re almost there, I promise.” He reached into his pants to tuck in his shirt and adjusted himself while he was there. Your eyes fixated on the bulge in his jeans. “God damn,” he exhaled. “Turns me on thinkin’ about it.”

He lightly rubbed his bulge in just one stroke and adjusted himself again from outside the jeans. It didn’t seem like he was trying to start anything, but he got on the bed and hunger spread across his face as he reached you. He kissed you needily and tore the sheets off you. You let him in between your legs and wrapped them loosely around his thighs, your feet resting near his knees. He pulled down your nightgown and sucked your nipple, inhaling deeply through his nose. Then he sucked his neck, and your clit throbbed against the friction of his jeans. He hardened against you and kept on for a minute, not escalating things further. Then he tore himself away with a groan.

—-

“Wish I could stay here all day and just do this,” he lamented as he got off you to sit on the edge of the bed. “But I gotta go to the QZ.”

You protested, “What for?”

“Somethin’ I gotta do every month, as long as the radio says so.”

“Can I come?”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.” You expected as much.

“You really have to go?”

He sighed. “Yeah, darlin’.”

“You’re leaving me alone?”

“Your parents left you here for a reason, ‘member? Cause it ain’t safe out there. You think they want me takin’ you there anyway?”

“I know. But you said it isn’t safe here either.”

“It’s safe-er here.”

“Just don’t go,” you whined.

“If I don't, they're gonna know somethin's wrong, baby.”

“I don’t-.”

“--nothin’s wrong, but they're gonna think somethin's wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” you reminded him. “Abe’s missing.”

“He–Abe–darlin’.” Joel sighed, shook his head, and abandoned the topic. He looked down and rubbed his temples with his middle finger and thumb. “I’m sorry, peaches. I gotta go, and I can’t take ya with me.”

“Will you check on Frank at the Army hospital?”

Joel hesitated, then said, “Sure, baby.”

“Are you going to Tommy’s? Bill’s staying there, right?”

“I’m gonna try, darlin’. Don’t wanna leave ya for too long, though.”

—----

While Joel made you breakfast, you went upstairs to change. You also sat down at the vanity and used the stationary to write a short note to Bill and Frank.

Love you and miss you so much, but Joel is taking good care of me.

Joel read it. “This is real sweet, peaches. But do you want’em thinkin’ I’m takin’ care of ya? Thought you wanted to show you could do it.” He made a good point. You went upstairs, started over.

I love and miss you both so much. Frank, Please get well soon.

When you gave it to Joel, he folded it up and put it in his pocket. He told you to stay inside, and reminded you not to open the door for anyone but him. He would be back in a few hours.

—----------------------

After Joel left, you lay around for a while thinking about him and your life together. You went to the kitchen and were about to idly open the pantry, when the counter beside it seemed to move, catching your eye. There was a trail of ants leading to the apple blossom in the jar. You stepped back. The blossom that had looked so nice the night before was yellowed and crawling with them. It was like time was moving in slow motion. You left the scene as it was. You grabbed a shiny apple from the basket on the opposite counter and went to the sofa to read. You couldn’t wait for Joel to get home and tell you how Frank was doing. The minutes crawled by, and you tried to immerse yourself in the story to pass the time.

Only a few pages into your book, you were about to bite into your apple when you heard squawking outside. You set down the book and went to look out the kitchen window. You couldn’t see where the noise was coming from. As you looked out into the orchard, you were startled by a tickle on your arm and flicked off an ant with a gasp. You hadn’t so much as touched the counter–it felt unfair. The squawking continued, and you were going stir crazy wanting to go out and see what all the fuss was about.

Less than an hour after Joel left, you decided to break his rule. You knew he was protecting you, but it also didn’t seem fair to expect you to stay cooped up inside all on your own. He could have taken you with him. You knew he could have protected you from any harm that found you. You looked around and couldn’t find your shoes. Not in your room, not by the front or back door, not in the living room. You wouldn’t let that stop you.

You went outside barefoot, careful to look in front of your feet so you wouldn’t step on anything dangerous. The sky was gray and dim and the cool air was refreshing even with its humidity. Branches were scattered everywhere from the wind of the storm. The ground beneath the peach trees was carpeted with yellow leaves sticking wetly to each other. One third of a peach tree was hanging by a thread off its trunk, the tips of the branches scraping the ground with every breeze. It could have snapped off at any moment, while the rest of the tree stood proud like it didn’t know.

You followed the squawking and found an apple tree full of crows. When you approached, they swarmed into the sky, forming a cloud before settling together on another tree. With nothing better to do, you followed them. The second tree was near yours and Joel’s. They flew toward the back of the orchard and you didn’t follow. You shuffled around your tree, looking on every branch for a fresh apple blossom. On the ground, there were layers of leaves and lots of fallen apples. You were moving your feet slowly and carefully, and your toes caught on something inorganic. Something rigid, fabric. You lifted your foot and when the bill of a hat emerged, you reflexively kicked it away as if it were alive or worse. As if you could simply kick away the pit in your gut. Your stomach turned as you looked at your Red Sox cap on the ground.

The crows squawked and squawked, and your heart pounded. You looked around the orchard as if something might be closing in on you. The trees seemed to get closer, the sky seemed to darken. Your thoughts kept repeating, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to be with you. Nothing. Nothing in the world, peaches. You refused to articulate the gut feeling into a thought. You wouldn’t dignify it. You took a deep breath and grounded yourself, focusing on the feeling of the wet leaves stuck to your ankles.

You covered the baseball cap with leaves again, burying the feeling as best you could, and rushed back toward the house. On your way back, you stepped on a broken twig. When you got inside, you saw it was bleeding.

You cleaned up your foot, then it occurred to you to check the living room closet. You opened the closet door, and the other cap—Jesse’s cap—was still there, exactly where you saw it. To your relief, you also found your shoes neatly laid on the closet floor alongside some loafers and boots. You left them untouched.

You settled in with your book again, hoping to distract yourself. You bit into the apple. Your teeth sliced right through the skin and sank into soft, mealy flesh that almost making you gag. You tossed it outside into the leaves because you didn’t want any more ants, then you locked the door behind you. You sat back down on the sofa and didn’t even try to pick up the book again. You resigned yourself to facing your thoughts.

You explored the worst case scenario of what Joel might have done to be with you. You concluded it was silly to think you had been that important to a man you hardly knew. It was narcissistic, you told yourself, to think he loved you that much. That he would really do anything, just to hold you in his arms. It was the fabric of fairy tales, and it was grotesque. Especially because it didn’t disgust you. It gave you butterflies, and not just the nervous kind.

—-------

As soon as you heard Joel’s truck pull into the driveway, your mind returned to Frank. You had a few seconds before Joel came in, and in that time you realized you should greet Joel before asking about anyone else. You didn’t want to be rude. When the door opened, you got up and kissed Joel and told him you missed him. On your way back to the sofa, you noticed a spot of blood from your foot on the flooring and hoped Joel wouldn’t see it.

You sat down on the couch and asked him how Frank was. Joel’s face was solemn as he took a seat next to you and put his hand on your knee. Your chest tightened at this gesture and the next few seconds felt like an hour until Joel spoke.

"He's doin' better, baby."

You broke down in tears of relief. You would have cried no matter what. Whether Frank was better, worse, or even if Joel didn’t see him, there would’ve been tears of happiness, sadness, or fear. Joel took you in his arms and you buried your tears in his neck.

“So they think he’s gonna recover?” you asked.

“Think so.” Joel looked at you, concerned.

“What do they think it is?”

“They’re not sure, darlin’. S’pose it could be an allergy, or environmental. So it’s a good thing you’re here with me.”

“Did you give’em my letter?”

“Yeah.” Joel leaned forward, lifted himself for a moment, and reached into his back pocket. He handed you your letter and you unfolded it so quickly it almost ripped. Joel slowly rubbed your back as you looked at the piece of paper and tried to steady your hands.

There was a note in Frank’s handwriting:

We love you so much. Protect yourself.

----------------------

Thank you all so much for reading and engaging with my unhinged story. Y'all are truly the best. 💙

I challenged myself to do the smut scene with little if any visual description, hope it worked out okay.

I do not expect the next chapter to be nearly as long.

There are more virgins on my joel master list, and you can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications for fic alerts.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

The Lincoln tag list will be on the toxicfics reblog 💙

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #dark!joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️#lincoln!joel☠️#tw manipulation #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us smut #content label #cw age gap

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