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aurorawritestoescape · 18 days ago

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HIS STAR || Joel Miller x f!reader || 2,7k

Summary: Joel and you met a few years ago, being aspiring musicians, and fell in love. Now you’re a rising star while Joel is struggling with his career. One night you come to his place and share big news.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, ANGST, fluff, unspecified age gap, Joel’s pov, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, swearing. Pics are only for the mood. Reader wears a dress.

A/n: this is written for @the-orange-tabby-cat ‘s writing challenge (my ask is here). I hope you all will like the story. I’m sending everyone who’s been hurting this week a warm hug and lots of love🫂❤️ Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST

You waltz into his apartment late at night and Joel’s dim living room seems not that dim, his sad life not that sad. Because you are finally here.

Before you came, it was quiet here, still and dull, and now you're twirling around like a shiny twister, wearing your expensive dress, dropping glitter on his faded carpet. You turn the lights on, place the take out you brought on the coffee table and pour him a glass of his favorite whiskey.

Joel's sitting on his worn out couch, watching you with a warm smile, while you're chirping with excitement, telling him about everything at once— the people you've met, the songs you've written, the places you've visited. It seems like he has grown into his old apartment while you're taking over the city, the country, the whole world.

It’s ok. He’s happy for you. Truly.

You can’t come often, only once or twice a month if he’s lucky, your busy schedule be damned, but every time you visit, Joel’s heart overflows with happiness. More often than here he sees you on billboards, beautiful and happy, your face smiles at him from the t-shirts of teenagers, passing him by on the street. You’re always on his mind and in his heart. Always were and always will be.

You both dreamed of becoming professional singers. He met you at one of his gigs in a small bar in Texas. You were too young for him, too beautiful, too talented. But at that time, years ago, he still loved himself and foolishly thought that he deserved you. You fell for each other fast and hard and started climbing that steep mountain together.

You came into his life when he was about to quit the chase but your drive, your passion and talent gave him a second wind. You wrote songs together, lying naked in bed after mind-blowing sex, sang them at the top of your lungs on road trips to various music festivals, supported each other every step of the way. He kissed salty tears off your face after every failure, celebrated with you when you succeeded, which started happening more and more often. His demos were collecting dust on the shelves while your career skyrocketed. Joel kept holding your hand until the moment he realized that he was looking up at you while you were standing on top of the mountain you both had dreamed about, too high for him to reach.

At first envy would squeeze his heart with its freezing hand - he wished to be standing there with you. But terrified of losing you, of ruining your relationship because of that ugly feeling, he taught himself to quiet the nagging voice inside his head and to be happy for you, to feel joy, witnessing your success, even from afar.

After some time it became apparent to him that he was too average, one of many. You were different. One in a million. A star. His star.

Joel continued singing in small clubs, he still needed music like air, but hope for something bigger, brighter was slowly dying in his heart.

Now you’re in his arms, on his lap, tired and slightly cold.

“These tiny dresses of yours— fuckin’ useless— gonna get sick like that,” Joel grumbles under his breath, covering you both with a throw blanket, and you immediately melt against him. Your scent is different every time you visit, he’s enveloped in something sweet and flowery today, but the taste of your lips is the same. Always. They’re intoxicating, soft and desperate. Your hands are eager to touch him, your body pressed tightly to his.

”I miss you,“ you mumble and your tongue slides over his lower lip. His heart sings when a shiver runs over your whole body. You want him. You can have anyone you want and you still choose him every time. He doesn’t know why but he’s grateful for each moment he gets to spend with you, holding you. Fucking you.

“Joel—need you,” you whine and deepen the kiss. Hungry and long-awaited, it soon morphs into a scorching fire, burning you both. A whimper falling from your lips sounds almost pained.

“Yes, baby, yes—jus’ a second,” Joel murmurs and swiftly lifts you so you could straddle him. With trembling fingers you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and take his cock out. Your panties pulled to the side, you sink on his hardening cock, without preparation, without foreplay. The desire is too strong. Joel is swelling bigger and harder inside your core as soon as your wet walls welcome him, so warm and tight around his manhood.

“Missed you, baby.”

“Yes—yes—missed you— so—so— much,“ you echo him, your words falling with the same rhythm as you move yourself up and down on his lap, bouncing on his length. Then you kiss every inch of his handsome face— his chapped lips, his scruffy cheeks, every wrinkle and every mole which you could draw by heart.

His hands leave your waist and slither down to take your dress off. In a moment you’re naked in his arms, you, the subject of desire of so many people is right in front of him, just a kiss away. And he kisses you, your neck, your collarbone, your bouncing breasts. He licks at your nipples, sucks each tit into his mouth and you sing only for him, your most intimate song.

Joel’s t-shirt rides up and he feels how wet you’re for him as your folds and clit are rubbing against his lower belly. You’re chasing your pleasure feverishly and he already feels how your little pussy starts pulsating around his big cock.

“Come for me, my love.”

His gruff voice in your ear sends a signal to your brain and the sound you love the most pushes you over the edge. You’re crying and shaking, coming all over his stiffness, always so sensitive to the ecstasy he gives you, and he lets you soak him, both with your tears and you cum.

“Yes—yeah, sweetheart— ride it out— c’mon.” He’s lifting you up and down with his strong hands, wishing to give you more moments of euphoria as you tremble and whimper in his arms and soon he explodes inside you with a groan that rings loudly in his quiet apartment. He presses you tight against his chest but without leaving any marks on your soft skin, skin that millions of people could see tomorrow. He’s nuzzling the crease of your neck while his cock is pumping you full of his warm seed.

You’re leaning against Joel’s chest now, still straddling him, his member slowly softening inside you. Your eyes close by themselves, lulled by his heavy breathing, but you drive the sleep away. You need to tell him something, to ask him.

You slide off his lap, feeling your thighs getting wetter, and pull him to lie down with you on the couch. Joel tucks his cock back into the sweatpants and throws the blanket over you two. You face him and your eyes lock. Your mouth opens but then closes again.

“What is it, baby? Tell me.”

He always reads you like a book. You seem anxious.

After clearing your throat you whisper,

“I’m going on a world tour.”

Joel is quiet for a few seconds until he grabs you and hugs you. His chest is rumbling with a joyous laugh and you giggle when he squeezes you too tight and kisses the crown of your head, your forehead, your mouth. You melt into him again, feeling his smile on your lips.

When he parts from you, his eyes are glossy and warm.

”Your first world tour! I’m so damn proud of you, my love!”

You can’t help but tear up, seeing him genuinely happy, and you kiss him again and then murmur a shaky “thank you.”

“Joel. I wanted to ask you—,” you’re looking at his chest now, eyes averted, your sweaty palms placed over his heart, ”I’m gonna be traveling for a whole year… and... I wanted to ask… Will you go with me?”

Joel’s eyes are darting between yours. You look sleepy, tired and gorgeous. He pulls you close to his chest and embraces you.

“Let’s talk in the mornin’, baby. You need rest.”

You look at him for a few moments, your eyes piercing and then ask with a half smile, “Could you sing for me?”

With you lying in his arms, Joel starts softly singing your favourite song, the one he wrote for you, one of dozens he wrote for you.

He keeps singing when your breath gets deep and slow and you’re purring like a little kitten, your head on his biceps, and Joel can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop singing to you until his voice breaks, his eyes sting, and he holds his breath, scared to wake you up with a sob, crawling up his throat.

Here it is. Joel always knew that the time would come. The time when something big would happen, and he would have to do the right thing. Would have to let you go.

He takes a deep breath again and again, trying to calm himself down. He blinks the tears away and feels them on his cheeks. Your face is blurry in his eyes at first but he keeps watching you sleep, memorizing your every feature, as if there’s any chance he’s ever going to forget them. Your image is carved into his heart forever.

It’s not like you two haven’t talked about it before— why you come to him only at night, why you need to be extra careful not to be seen by paparazzi.

It’s still hard to accept for the both of you that Joel is your secret. Your label doesn’t want him around you and Joel understands it. He’s been trying to make it in this business for too long not to know how things work. It hurts but it’s the reality.

And the reality is making him stomp on his heart and break yours.

In your sleep you snuggle even closer to him and with your forehead against his heart he drifts off too. As always he dreams of you.

A few hours pass before you wake him up, stirring in his embrace. Your smiling face welcomes him when he opens his eyes.

“Morning, Joel.”

The dust of mascara on your cheeks, your hair disheveled, you look angelic in the soft glow of the early morning sun peeking through the drapes. Joel’s breath hitches for a second, your beauty overwhelms him, until the pain hits him right in the chest. He has to tell you.

You get up and, after putting on his flannel, pad to the bathroom. When you return, Joel’s sitting up and you take your favorite spot, you get on his lap. Your soft kisses caress his scruffy cheeks until you search for his eyes.

“So—about the tour— what do you say?” you ask, giving him a little smile, your eyes full of hope. Joel feels his heart beating fast and loud. He knows you feel it too, your warm hand is resting on his chest. He takes it, brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.

“I can’t, baby.”

In your gaze he sees that you knew what he was going to say. You don’t look shocked, but you look crushed.

”Wh—why not?”

Still on his lap, you start hastily telling him why he should go, that it’s going to be fun, that it’s another opportunity for his career, and he lets you tell him all that, he doesn’t interrupt you.

“I can’t do this alone, Joel. I’m scared,” you mumble at the end, looking tired after your pitch, and press your forehead to his chest. Joel hugs you and starts rubbing your flannel-covered back with his hands.

“Remember what your team told you? I’m not good for your image. An old loser like me.”

You break his embrace and sit up, your gaze fiery, your chest heaving.

“You’re not, Joel! I don’t give a fuck what they say. I love you and — ” your voice breaks as tears start flowing down your cheeks.

You slide off his lap and sit next to him, crying. Joel wants to grab you, kiss your lips, comfort you, but he knows it’ll make it harder. For the both of you. His gruff voice is a little shaky when he talks.

“I shouldn’t go. You must understand why. And it’s gonna be ok. You’re a fuckin’ star! Now go and show it to the world.”

You turn your head to him, your wet face twisted with sadness, as you mumble through sobs,

“I—I can’t spend— a whole —year without you”.

“Baby—,” Joel takes a deep breath before ripping the band aid off. ”—I’m movin’ back to Texas”.

You turn to him on the couch.

“What?! Why?!”

Because he sees your face everywhere he goes. It would hurt too much. After this. After today.

So he lies. But only partially.

“Los Angeles isn’t for me. I hate it. Everything here reminds me that I failed.” He raises his hand when you open your mouth, ready to argue. “I’ve tried, sweetheart. You know I have. But it’s not in the stars. Tommy offered me a job. Contractin’. That’s what I’m gonna do for a start, then we’ll see.”

You drop your head and sit quietly for a few moments. Joel swallows loudly, his stomach twisted with nerves. It feels like he’s going to be sick.

When you look up at him again, your brows are furrowed, eyes reddened.

“What about us?”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I’m too old and you have a whole life ahead of you. Long, successful, happy life. I won’t hold you back. I love you too much to do it. You don’t need me.”

“Doesn’t sound like you love me,” you hiss at him, your pain turning to anger quickly.

You jump off the couch and grab your dress off the floor after almost ripping his flannel off your body.

“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me!” you exclaim, standing in front of him, getting dressed, while he’s looking up at you with a pained expression.

“You’re telling me you love me but then you say all this shit?! You won’t even fight for us! For me!”

“But I’m doin’ it for you!” He hates to shout but it’s hard to control his emotions as they’re ripping his heart to shreds.

“Then why do I feel like you’re killing me right now?!” You take a small step towards him, your hand reaching for his. “We can see the world together—wake up together every morning and—“

Joel gets up and holds you by the shoulders, trying to make you listen.

“Stop lyin’ to yourself! Go live your life! Quit returnin’ to me! I’m your past and you still come here jus’ because you’re scared of the future! We had fun together, baby, but now it’s over!”

You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth agape, and then you angrily swat his hands away.

“Fuck you, Joel!”

These are the last words you tell him before storming out. The last words you ever tell him.

He still hears you crying in the hall when he shuts the door behind you. His forehead pressed to the wood, eyes closed, he listens and feels like everything good in his life is leaving with you. He hears the elevator ding and then nothing.

His apartment is quiet again until a loud wail shutters the silence. Joel knows that he’s done the right thing. Then why does it feel like he’s dying?

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST || more angst - Always and Forever

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #TabbysYardSale #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #the last of us #pedro pascal smut #joel miller au #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #his star fic

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thelightsandtheroses · 6 months ago

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everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#joel miller x reader #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years ago

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Oh man. This is STELLAR. I love every little thing about this so damn much - the color palette, HIS HAIR, that look on his face, the moth on the guitar… ALL OF IT.

Rock on, Joel Miller. Rock on. 🎶

he’s a musician guys!

#he IS a musician guys #Joel Miller #the last of us #tlou #tlou joel #joel miller fanart #pedro pascal character #this is beautiful #i love him i love him i love him #wayfaringloser #art rec art rec art rec!!

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guiltyasdave · 1 year ago

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still bejeweled

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.4k

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'

tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3

• dividers by the lovely @saradika!

• find my full masterlist here!

You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.

But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.

You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.

But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.

That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.

All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.

Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.

“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”

Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”

You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.

“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.

Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.

You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.

Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?

Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.

The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.

“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.

It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.

He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.

He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...

Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.

Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.

“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”

“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”

She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.

“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.

You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.

You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.

“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”

Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”

You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.

You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.

The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.

His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.

“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”

Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”

“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.

You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.

“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.

“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.

Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.

Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.

A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.

“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”

There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.

You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.

He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.

He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.

“You're feeling good? You want this?”

You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”

“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”

The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.

You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.

His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.

Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.

“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.

“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.

Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.

He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.

You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.

You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.

He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.

Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.

“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.

“Me too.”

He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

“Impatient little thing.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.

“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”

He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.

“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”

“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”

You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”

“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.

“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”

His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.

“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”

You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.

“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.

“Please what?”

“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.

His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.

“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.

You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.

His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.

“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.

“I promise.”

a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

#janaispunk #janas fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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thriftedtchotchkes · 8 months ago

Text

his favorite girl, part iii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: tensions rise as your second lesson continues, but joel still refuses to admit his feelings to you—or himself. you'd concede defeat if you really believed he didn't want you. or if his actions weren't constantly contradicting his words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher au, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, angst, f!masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mentions of guilt & shame

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part i | part ii

You have no idea how you're supposed to survive another afternoon with Joel, let alone an entire semester. He's basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, hiding under the visage of an unfairly sexy, middle-aged musician, but you never know which one you’re dealing with until he pushes you away or calls you his girl.

Today, he feels like a dangerous combination of both.

After your verbal agreement to keep things professional, yet again, he concedes and finally sits next to you on the couch. Guess that safe distance he was so desperate to maintain is null and void now that he’s made his feelings clear—sort of.

You assume his proximity is an olive branch, but it sure doesn't feel like one. Now, he's close enough to smell his cologne, an earthy, woodsy scent that's so Joel, it makes your head spin. It's also making this lesson infinitely harder to focus on.

You’d never even considered the possibility of him shutting you down this hard, but then again, a hot fling with an older guy wasn’t why you showed up on his doorstep in the first place. If he'd just admit he's interested, maybe things could be different, but he won’t, will he? So, what other option do you have?

You’re not going to throw yourself at him like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, even if that’s exactly what you are. You want him to want to touch you, to crave you the way you're sure he does, but right now he wants to teach you chords. Starting with C, apparently.

“We’re gonna try this chord again, alright? Same as last time, nice and slow,” he starts, reaching back to pull something out of his pocket. He presents you with a small, black piece of plastic that looks like a clamp, identical to the one on his guitar. "This here's called a capo. Go ahead and fit it right over the third fret—it’ll raise the key of the guitar. M’thinkin' that'll make things a little easier for ya."

You push your feelings to the side and accept it, following his lead and squeezing it into place before glancing up for his approval. He gives you an encouraging smile and nods, and your heart rate kicks up wildly in your chest.

God, why does his praise feel so good? And why does it feel like it’s been so long since anyone was this patient with you, or genuinely wanted to see you succeed? You realize you want him to keep looking at you like that, regardless of the nature of your relationship.

"S'perfect. Now, your fingers'll go here, here, and here," he arranges his fingers one by one on the three strings that make up the chord and strums. He lets it ring out for a moment, then looks up at you expectantly. "Any of this ringin' a bell from yesterday?"

Vaguely. Mainly, you're remembering how tempting his fingers looked while he was playing, but you'll have to do better than that today. Instead, you focus on mirroring what he showed you.

"Like this?" you ask hesitantly, pressing down on the strings and mimicking his motions. Tough nylon bites into your skin just as painfully as last time, but the sound you produce is pretty. Nothing like the muted, garbled mess from your previous attempt.

You meet his eyes, and they're filled with none of the surprise yours contain. He just looks pleased, like he had total confidence in you even if you didn't.

"Exactly like that. See? You're doin' better already. Must'a done your finger exercises last night like I told ya,” he says proudly, none the wiser.

If only he knew that’s exactly what you spent your night doing. Practically the entire night, if you’re being honest, and to no avail. It might’ve unintentionally improved your dexterity, but you're still stuck on everything that did or didn't happen yesterday. The only lasting result is how unexpectedly conflicted it made you feel. You nod, biting your lip to keep from grimacing.

“Sure did,” you play it off with a laugh. "I wanted to be as prepared as possible."

Prepared for something a little more physical than playing guitar, but that's a moot point now, isn't it?

You sound as fake as you feel, but luckily he’s so eager to continue the lesson, he doesn’t notice. Again, you follow his lead and try your best to ignore your disappointment and bury the residual hurt. You have a sneaking suspicion you're going to be doing a lot of that, but inexplicably, it's getting easier.

You're starting to realize it's not in spite of Joel. It's because of him. In a brief moment of self-indulgence, you let your gaze linger on his rosy cheeks and the newfound serenity in his eyes.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his love for music radiates like a Texas heatwave, burning hotter with every chord he strums and string he picks. Even his posture is loosening, and the soft smile on his face seems like a permanent fixture.

It's that same warmth from earlier. That intimate connection you felt blooming in your chest from sharing in his joy. Cautiously, you allow yourself to hope, if not for you and Joel, then for your degree. For the goals you have yet to achieve that, regardless of the past 24 hours, still mean everything to you.

"So, what's next?" you ask eagerly.

His eyes light up, and you know you've asked the right question. He shifts across the strings to a new chord, his smile widening as you quickly move to match him.

"Next, we're learnin' F," he grins, nodding toward your finger placement. "Then, I figure we can run through some pickin' patterns if you're up for it.”

"I'm up for anything you are, teach," you reply earnestly, and the smile you give him feels genuine this time. You really do mean it in every sense. "But be gentle with me. It's been a while, if that wasn't obvious."

His smile falters, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. After a moment, you realize what you said and how it must’ve sounded. You open your mouth to clarify, but before you get the chance, his expression clears. He chuckles, and it's a light, tinkling thing that fills your chest with a heady combination of relief and longing.

Of course, he’d take it in stride. You’re struck again by the resemblance to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, left wondering if you're still imagining things. The subtle twitch of his fingers must be a figment of your imagination, too, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

"'Course, I will,” he drawls companionably, his words commanding your attention, compelling you to hang on to each one like a lifeline. “Like I said, we'll take it nice and slow. Ease you back into things until you're ready for somethin' harder.”

It takes everything you have not to choke on your spit. Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the lesson and how incredible it’s going to feel when you finally finish the song and pass your damn class.

But you can’t. He’s too close, and he smells so good. You’re only human.

"I think I'll surprise you," you retort cheekily. You’re so fucked. "Plus, I like it hard. Just need a little build-up to get me there."

His hand tenses in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and you can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride pooling in your belly. You've never backed down from a challenge and you're not about to start now. This one is apparently still ongoing.

"Well, all right, then," he says smoothly, and this time when you shiver, he looks pleased. "Let's hear ya strum it, and then we'll work through the rest. Think you can handle that?"

You straighten up, sitting confidently with your fingers poised over the frets, ready to play. As you shift in your seat, your thigh presses firmly into his and sends a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. "Yeah, I can take it.”

He shakes his head with an amused, yet undoubtedly shy smile. You bite your lip coyly, nodding at the sheet music you've just noticed on the rug at his feet.

"Are there more chords in this bar or is it just picking until the next line?"

It's a toss-up whether or not he heard any of what you just asked if his rapt attention on your lips is any indication. You're still teasing your bottom lip with your teeth, and it's not until you laugh that he finally snaps out of it. He shakes his head a little harder as if to shoo away the distraction, before reaching down to inspect the piece of paper.

He concentrates a little too hard on the page, looking but not seeing, so you reach over and point at a confusing string of notes that connect and repeat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His gaze shifts to your daintily extended index finger, and you're hit with an intense feeling of deja vu, except this time, your roles are reversed.

“Can you show me how that part goes? It looks like gibberish to me, to be totally honest,” you prod him, trying to reel him back in.

As if on autopilot, he quickly discards the sheet and shifts his hands into place, ready to teach like he wasn't just daydreaming about your fingers wrapped around his cock, covered in his release. And if he wasn't, then you sure were.

“Y-yeah, sure thing. That line's just the intro, but the flow is somethin' else. Probably one of my all-time favorites," he says, his endearing mask carefully slotted back into place.

But you're onto him now. Begrudgingly, he tears his eyes away from where you're matching him on your guitar, waiting patiently for his next instructions.

"It really ain't as bad as it looks," he continues. "The timing's purposely a little off, but it's adaptable. This one's real easy to add your own spin to if that's somethin' ya wanna try."

With all of the skill and grace of a practiced musician, he plucks through the line to give you a preview of what was previously only lines and circles on a page. The notes blend seamlessly, a mixture of picking and what you vaguely remember to be hammering, and it evokes something you never expected.

An unidentified emotion takes root and feels startlingly like yearning and hope, carried by the short melody. It's beautiful. He circles back to the beginning, hopping along the frets slowly just for you, and he's beautiful. You watch him, enamored by his fluidity and ease of motion.

For him, all of this is innate. His guitar is a natural extension of himself, something he was born to hold. You used to think you were born for it, too. The reminder is a painful one, but thankfully you're not left to dwell on it for long.

"So, how 'bout it? Ready to give it a try?" Joel's voice cuts through the fog, as honeyed and mellow as the music at his fingertips. You want to hear that voice call you beautiful again and feel him panting against the shell of your ear while he stretches you out around his thick fingers. God, you want.

Yet, your hands move of their own accord and fall into place—it's the C chord. Apparently, you really want that, too.

"Ready, teach," you nod, and you know you must look like a lovesick fool.

Right now, you really don't care because your gorgeous guitar teacher is beaming and excited, and beneath it all, there's still a tinge of something that makes you believe all of this is real. A lust for more simmering just below the surface.

"You have my full attention, promise."

——

The next hour is spent walking through various strumming and picking patterns, and acquainting yourself with the fluctuating tempo. It's tricky, but you're committed. Again and again, you repeat the same bars, following Joel's interjected advice and corrections, and your mistakes become less obvious until they're all but gone completely.

Rewarding doesn't even begin to cover how a successful run feels. Even the pain blooming beneath the reddening indents on your fingertips feels good. Calluses are beginning to roughen the soft skin, but you earned them.

They're yours and yours alone, proof that you worked your ass off and achieved something remarkable. The results speak for themselves, bouncing around the walls of Joel's living room and breathing new life into the space. Your contribution to his little corner of the world.

And Joel looks so damn proud. He stays patient through every flubbed hammer and too-hard pluck, grinning when you complete the section without his guidance. Your lesson's already gone on long past its scheduled time, but neither of you seems to notice. You likely wouldn't bother to mention it even if you did.

Time trickles by like the slow drip of molasses, thick with the sweetest tension, yet the longer you play, the more a familiar ache starts to creep in and make your progression a little more difficult.

Your hand is cramping, and it hurts. You pause mid-strum to shake it out and stretch your fingers, sighing at the brief respite.

"Hurtin' again, huh?"

You huff out a laugh, remembering the last time he asked you that question. The throbbing in your joints would more than welcome another massage from Joel, but you don't exactly trust yourself to come back from that. You have to stay focused until the next line of the song, at the very least.

"It's really not that bad. Guess all those finger exercises are paying off," you joke, but you don't expect him to catch the underlying punchline. "I kinda figured it wouldn't go away overnight, anyway."

You can tell he's thinking about it, too. He nods understandingly, tapping a restless, arrhythmic beat against his guitar.

"S'all part of bein' a guitar player, unfortunately," he agrees, his entire body tense like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and inspect the subtle changes to your delicate skin for himself.

Your mind starts to wander as his tapping changes to slow circles swirled into the wood grain. You can't help but wonder if your new calluses would feel good sliding up and down his cock, if he'd like the coarse hint of pain teasing the ridge or circling the tip. You wonder what his own would feel like pressing into your clit. The skin of his middle and ring fingertips is noticeably rougher than the rest and with a little pressure—fuck.

You're wet. That can't happen. You have to concentrate. But his movements are starting to speed up, and you can almost feel them sliding through your messy heat.

The intrusive thought is thankfully interrupted when he stops the lewd motion and continues his reassurances like it never happened. Why does he keep doing that? It seems so pointless to keep pretending you’re not on the same page, but you’re not about to call him out and scare him off again.

You tell yourself to focus on the pain. Focus on what he’s saying, not what he’s insinuating.

"Pain's a good thing. It means you're stickin' it out and makin' some real progress," he says fondly, and it's almost enough to reclaim your attention. "Says a lot about the kind of person you are, too, what you do with that pain and how you let it shape ya. You're a good one, I can tell. Committed, like I was."

It's so much sweeter than anything you'd expected him to say. It helps.

"Fair enough. Still kinda sucks though," you grumble, but the slight quirk of your lips betrays your tone.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened to likin' it hard?" he asks playfully, and you feel that telltale whoosh between your legs.

You shift uncomfortably, subtly trying to unstick your underwear from where it's cemented to your core, but the unexpected friction makes you flinch. He picks up on it immediately.

"Look, why don't we take a break? I'll grab us some drinks while you rest up, and we can dive back in whenever you're ready," he offers, his voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, that, um...that sounds good. I'm actually gonna run to the bathroom real quick if that's cool," you reply, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

It's hot as hell all of a sudden, even though the AC hasn't stopped kicking since you got here, and you have a feeling cold drinks won't be enough to cool you down. He hesitates before nodding, then points down the hall.

"'Course. S'the first door on your left," he says, brows furrowing in concern. You all but speed walk past him to your temporary haven.

Backing into the door the moment it closes behind you, you squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can, but it only makes it worse. The ache is almost unbearable, and you know for a fact that you'll waste the rest of the lesson if you try to go back out there like this.

The entire afternoon has been such a complicated back-and-forth of conflicting feelings and confusion, but you still have no idea what do to about it. You want him to fuck you, but you also want him to teach you. He wants to teach you, but he also wants you in ways he won't admit to you. Or himself.

Your head is cloudier than it's been all day, and your thoughts are a jumbled mess of desire and rationality, both fighting for dominance. So, now what?

There was only one way to clear the fog last night, but you really shouldn't. You're in his bathroom for christ's sake, and he can't be more than 15 feet away, pouring you a glass of lemonade in the kitchen.

You do it, anyway. With one hand shoved down your pants and the other slapped over your mouth, you decide your best course of action is to rub one out in Joel's bathroom to rid yourself of this distraction once and for all. And it feels good.

The moment your sore fingertips press into your clit, your hips buck into your touch and you lose yourself to the friction. You're even wetter than you realized, and your fingers keep slipping from where you need them most, so you change tactics, ramming two of them inside you instead.

So much for resting your hand. Your motions are frantic, bordering on desperate, and you can't bring yourself to stop now that you've started. Wet squelching mingles with your muffled moans and fills the room, noisier than you’ve been all day even after an afternoon of playing guitar.

But you're getting a little too loud. The door rattles on its hinges every time your palm slaps into your heat, and your hand isn't nearly enough to mask your increasing volume the closer you get. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't hear a thing. Or maybe you'll get really lucky and he'll hear everything.

You're too far gone to care. Just a little more. You can feel yourself starting to squeeze your fingers, and you just need a little bit more—

Then, there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice tentatively filters through.

"Everythin' alright in there?" he asks kindly, but he sounds wrecked.

It's obvious he heard everything, and yet he's still trying to be polite, desperately clinging to his morals and good, Southern manners. Too bad that turns you on.

Not bothering to respond, you keep going, fixated on how vivid a picture your unstifled moans and reckless actions must be painting. You wouldn't be surprised if it's just your imagination again, but you swear you can hear labored breathing and a litany of muttered curses coming from the other side.

He knocks on the door again, harder this time, and you quickly realize that any patience Joel had left is gone. You've finally pushed him past his limit.

"M'givin' you sixty seconds to get back in that livin' room," he grits out roughly. "You're finishin' out here."

The door shakes as he pushes off of it and stomps away, leaving you in palpable silence.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iv!

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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SIL i cannot wait to have time and read about musician!joel i feel like that's literally gonna alter my brain chemistry

in the meantime - and i know his is an acoustic guitar but - i'm thinking thoughts (tiktok link)

omg I am so excited for you to read it, I hope you enjoy dear <33

and THE TIKTOK FGBFBNGF I'm dying I love it-- I mean I never stated how many instruments Joel knows how to play soooo who knows dbgbf but yeah I'm def taking notes

#mail.💌#musician!joel miller #musician!joel ask #hfwp ask

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joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

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Five octaves is a pretty big range, I dunno if he's got that (yet) but I really hope they have Pedro actually singing for s2. 😭😭😭 I need it. If they need a vocal coach I'll help out 😏😂

Why do I feel like (TV) Joel’s singing voice would be so surprising? Like I don’t know why but I fully see this guy as an insane bass singer with like a 5 octave range. You do not listen to Joel Miller sing with your ears, you listen with your bones.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #musician

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sgt-morgan · 2 years ago

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Whiskey Sunrise 🥃

Summary: Joel and Sugar are the talk of the town. Their band The Family Affair a four member country unit consisting of Tommy, Joel, Sugar, and her brother Llewyn. They have toured the world, won Grammys, and raised children together. Joel and Sugar have always danced around being together, and now with the death of Llewyn, they’ll have to learn how to rely on each other while they work through the greif of loosing one of their own. Their daughters have decided that enough is enough, and with the help of their loving family, they plan to get the family back together.

Warnings: None for this chapter except for a minor character death and talks of grief. No songs mentioned in this fic are written or owned by me. All mentioned songs can be found in the series playlist.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a chaptered series. I’ll do my best to update every two weeks. Fridays it is. Thanks to my friend @justsomerandomfanfic for the help and the eyes. Enjoy the series.

Chapter 2

Playlist for the series

“Wake your ass up!” Came the shout and a thump of a pillow. The sudden rude awakening in all it’s abrupt callousness meant Tess was here.

The abrupt awakening would be more startling for Joel Miller if he wasn’t so used to it. This must be attempt five or six of waking him if Tess is here, normally at around attempt three Tess came to the house, and if there was nothing by the time she got here, it was like a sudden hurricane when she woke him, loud and destructive.

“I’m up!” He startled, pulling himself to a sitting position.

“Sure Joel, whatever. You gotta turn on your phone.” Tess grumbles, scrambling to turn on his television while he blearily began to unlock his phone. Three missed calls from Tess and one from the label, that’s no good. He can make out the TV talking about his ex band mate Llewyn and his escapades, tuning it out. Llewyn was always a wild child, it was not a shock to hear his name in the media. He had a soft spot for him though, he was a damn good frontman, and the wildness of his spirit is what made him that way. The behavior is part of the intrigue, and that’s what a front man needs,a draw in. So whatever it was, he was willing to defend his friend but with the band being broken up, it shouldn’t be his problem. Then his heart practically stops. He must have done something nuts, because The thousands of emails and social notifications that kept rolling in seemed to say it was a problem.

“Is this about Llewyn? What did he do now?” Joel grumbles, slapping around his nightstand for his reading glasses. He can’t stand them, but Sarah was right he needed them, even if they made him feel like he was 107.

“Llewyn is dead.” Tess sighs rubbing a hand down her face and letting it rest over her mouth. This… does not compute. His friend, so lively and… invincible is dead? No. This does not make any sense. It’s one of those moments when the world goes quiet, you rationally know that nothing has changed really, but the silence that follows speaks it’s own volumes. It speaks of emptiness, of loss. It speaks of an empty place in him that had just opened that he was sure could never be filled.

In an instant, his mind goes to long, hot, Texas summers, playing the guitar with the band, dreaming of touring the globe as a unit. Laughing at the idea of a four piece band with two sets of siblings, arguing over a name for the group. Him trying to raise Sarah with his misfit family of musicians. You turning up pregnant with Ellie, sobbing to them about the boy who left you. Remembered the first number one to hit the charts, the joy you all felt, remembered the Grammy awards you’d all won. The joys the sorrows. You were thick as thieves, until the end, and he could only blame himself. Llewyn wasn’t just his front man, Llewyn was his brother just as much as Tommy. Now the man he spent the better part of twenty years with is suddenly gone. He’d already lost you, and the band, now he had to suffer this blow too. It was torture.

His thoughts race, instantly going to the future, who he needed to call, what a funeral and a tribute would look like. Thinking again about the band. Thinking of you. God you, what were you feeling right now, and your daughter. How sad and terrified you must be. Then his thoughts began to catch up and he remembers why he was up so late, why he was so tired, Ellie and Sarah, his daughter and yours were having a sleepover, they stayed up till three watching Ten Things I Hate About You and whatever other cheesy films they could find. Llewyn’s Niece, your daughter, is here, and you’re over seas.

“Oh god, Tess, has she-“ he starts scrubbing his face and standing, pulling himself together and preparing to be the strong one, even though he now felt like that little kid in Texas who was beating on a six string with his next door neighbor again, worried about everything and nothing.

“No, she’s- god- she’s on stage right now. She’s performing.” Tess shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “They’re gonna have to stop the show, news is breaking so it’s gonna be a-“ then out of the corner of her eye, Joel saw you on the screen at your show in Paris. He shushes Tess and turns up the muted television. He saw you gasp in horror and drop your guitar. His eyes are glued to the television as he watches your world collapse in real time, then his phone rings.

You’re in Paris. The band breaking up lead you to a solo career and with its success, you were touring the world. While you did your two week stint in Europe, Llewyn recorded in Texas, and he offered to keep your daughter at home to do school until you got back. It was a good arrangement, she’d spend some time with her beloved uncle, see her best friend, her uncle Joel, and you could avoid all of the feelings of guilt and sadness from seeing your guitarist in the flesh.

The shows were a hit, you’d been abroad for a week, and they had all been sold out. But to your sorrow, without the boys it felt hollow. You missed being apart of a unit, but you managed.

Tonight was another great crowd. They seemed to know your new music pretty well, unlike some of the others who had come to see a member of their once great favorite band. All was well until there was a sudden restless murmur that settled over the crowd. You couldn’t tell what was happening, but there were gasps of shock and sudden shouts of anguish. Not knowing what was happening, you tried to calm the crowd but nothing worked.

Then someone came on stage during one of your songs and told you. Your heart stopped, a horrible gasp rings out in the auditorium and with a numbness you didn’t know was possible you realize it’s your own, you hear the crash of your instrument hitting the floor. Then you’re ushered off stage, faintly you understand you’re hyperventilating, and you barely register one of your backup singers attempting to get you to breathe, numbly grabbing a water as it’s offered to you, correcting your breaths back to normal as you sob, god you hadn’t even realized you were crying. Then, reality starts to bleed back through the panic and your mind starts racing. Ellie, oh god, Ellie. Someone hands you a phone and it’s like your fingers have a mind if their own.

“Sugar,” Joel answers automatically.

“J-Joel!” Oh god, you’re sobbing and it breaks his heart “Joel! Ellie! And Llewyn! I’m not even- I wanna go home!” You cry and he sniffs back his own tears, running a hand down his face.

“Ok Sugar, you can come home, I’ll book you the first flight. Ellie is fine, she and Sara are still sleeping. She had a sleep over.” He can hear a gasp of relief in the next sobs and he tries to keep it together. You need him, he won’t fuck that up again.

“Ok! Ok! I-I-I’ll come home! Can I come- can I come to you?” He can hear the panic rising again and he takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, you can come to me baby, you can always come to me.” He sighs, “of course you can come to me. I’ll be here, I swear I will.”

“Keep Ellie safe Joel, they’re gonna be e-everywhere!” You cry again, and he knows exactly what you mean.

“We’re gonna go to Bill and Frank’s place sugar, I’ll call Tommy and we can all meet at the farm.” He soothes, pacing and rubbing a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna be ok.” He hears your crying settle on the other end of the phone.

“Will you- will you get all our paperwork please? It’s all in the safe. The combination is written in the bottom of his desk drawer- I.” You’re crying again and he wishes that he could crawl through the phone to get to you, but once you stop freaking out you probably wouldn’t want him There anyway. You were only calling him because Ellie was here, but at least you were calling him.

“Yeah sugar, I got it just… just come home.” The silence that followed was thick with the words being left unsaid, practically crackling in the air as a burst of white hot sadness. Filled with the kind of bone deep shame and anguish that could only come from having known each other the way you did, and giving it all up.

“Ok.” That’s all he got before you hung up, all things considered? He’s lucky he even got that.

Minutes later his door creaks open to reveal the two girls. Ellie and Sarah are bleary and tired, looking like they had a long night, which they did. He noted an absence of sadness, there’s just confusion, and he’s relieved to hear that Tess shut off the TV, and they both didn’t have their phones.

“Dad, did you see our phones?” Joel’s eyes fell shut at Sarah’s question, and he had never been more grateful for the chargers in the couch that both the girls had put their phones in last night before he had to carry them to bed.

“Yeah, they’re still in the couch, listen. Come in here for a bit, say bye to Tess.” He ushers the girls in and Sarah hugs Tess and says goodbye while Ellie flops face first into his pillows, a muttered ‘bye Tess’ the only sign she was still awake. Tess nods at him and gives Sarah a little squeeze before mumbling about taking care of the flight and leaving him to what was bound to be a devastating conversation.

He looks at the two sleepy teens in his bed with fondness. You had been co-raising these girls as a band since they were born- or in Sarah’s case, dropped on his doorstep- and they had become a little unit. They weren’t related by blood, but they were sisters. It helps in moments like this to remember that what they lack in blood relatives, they make up for in the family you had built as a team.

“Wasn’t uncle Llewyn supposed to pick us up for breakfast?” Sarah mumbles as Joel positions himself in the middle of the bed, letting the two teens curl up at his sides like they have since they were babies.

“Yeah, that fucker decide to ditch us?” Ellie grumbles, crass and prickly just like her mom and uncle, it’s a Davis family specialty. While prickly and crass as you all were, physical touch had always been your love language, so as Ellie curls into him, he can feel the echo of your arms resting around his neck, cheek pressed to the top of his head as you lean all of your weight against his back. He can feel Llewyn, leaning back to back in the studio, picking at their guitars and making up nonsense lyrics to riffs they liked. It made the ache in his chest feel like a black hole, sucking all the life and vibrancy out of his body and replacing him with a shell. Joel sighs and sniffs and that’s when Sarah clues in. He sees her suck in a breath and look at him with big glassy eyes before her gaze falls on Ellie.

“Ellie? I don’t know how to say this but-“ Ellie’s head whips in his direction.

“No.” She says immediately scrambling away from him. “Fuck you. There’s no way.” She starts to tear up and Joel starts to tear up too. He knew this would be hard on Ellie, it would be hard on all of them, but Llewyn was her person.

“Ellie-“ Joel tries, but the girl scrambled off the bed before he can even blink.

“Fuck you, this isn’t funny. I’m calling mom.” She lets out a shuddering breath and rushes out of the room. He’s left with his own daughter who stares at him still in disbelief, grief barely contained in tiny little sobs.

“Come here baby.” Joel sighs, hugging her tight, and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Dad, what happened?” Sarah cries, hugging him tight. In an instant she’s so grateful that her dad is here, glad she’s not alone.

“Car crash, drunk driver.” Joel sighs, brushing Sarah’s hair from her eyes and kissing her forehead with a sigh.

“What about Sugar?” She asks,

Looking to the living room where she can hear her best friend crying to her mother.

“Your Auntie is fine, she’s just shook up. She’s headed home, we’re gonna head to Mimi’s place, less likely to get bothered out there.” He gives a humorless chuckle. “Tess booked a flight, and she’s on her way back.”

“He’s…” Ellie comes back into the room, slumped and hollowed out, it hurts his heart to see this normally brash and lively little girl so out of her sorts. “He��s really gone.” She sniffs and sits back down on the bed, accepting as Sarah curls around her in a hug. “M-my uncle he’s really dead Joel?” She looks to him as if maybe the answer would change, and it nearly breaks him when he has to say yes. Because he is gone, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

“I’m so sorry kid.” He sighs wrapping both girls up in his arms as they continue to cry for their uncle. The next few days would be rough, but he would handle it. He would have to, for his little bit of family that’s left.

18 hours of turbulence and pitying

glances from stewardesses and passengers later, you were touching down in Austin and heading for the SUV someone booked to get you home. You barely remember the flight home, all of it padding in some fugue state of grief. You numbly rub your eyes and debark the plane, hoping nobody recognizes you as you’re headed out but no such luck could be your lot.

“Sugar! What happens to Llewyn!?”

“Sugar! Are you and Joel gonna relight the flame?”

“Sugar! Was it drugs?”

“Sugar! Will there be a tribute?”

“Sugar! Is this the end of The Family Affair?”

You shuddered at their questions, not wanting to answer but feeling like if there was ever a time to say your peace… it was now.

“We make it out of this fight

I’m gonna need you to wrap my hands

Stitching up my eyes

You know that blood can blind

And them was big old boys

Had fists like cinder and stone

I dodge a blade on a dime

And they was out to chat my throat… hmmm.” Joel’s hands on the feta felt clumsy and heavy, not used to the way the music flowed from his fingertips anymore. It used to be so fluid, but now the music was coming back like a swarm, clouding his mid with thoughts of you and Llewyn. The stingers of each barn threatening to put him in shock.

“Dad! They’re harassing Sugar at the Airport.” Sarah called from the living room couch where she and Ellie had been curled up since arriving at Bill and Frank’s farm. Ellie had been sullen the entire time, nothing about the usually lively and sassy girl had been present lately and Joel was really worried. He was hoping that your arrival would curb the girls grief, even if it would be like a knife to his very soul. He forgets Sarah called. He keeps playing.

“And I admit was tanked

And you could say I was pissing gin

It’s hard to see

Even if I close my eyes

It’s fifteen degrees

I’m gonna sleep outside

Cos I got no way to feel

Even if I close my eyes

I’m busted, laid up, and dry.”

He was still absentmindedly strumming the guitar on the porch, until Sarah called again for him. He meanders into the living room to see what she was talking about, and found Ellie angrily standing and glaring at the TV with tears in her eyes. “Fucking buzzards.

Can’t leave anyone alone for two minutes.” She mumbled, tucking herself into Joel’s side as he entered the room.

“I know kid, but look, your mom can handle it.” Joel nudges her to look at the screen and there you are, fuming and staring into a camera with a fiery look he knows all too well, the heat of your stare makes him shiver even in this imperfect imitation. You’re one scary lady, and it’s no wonder where Ellie gets her fire from. He knows your heat all too well, and now he wishes more than anything to bask in it once more, even if it meant the burn would kill him, he would willingly go up in flames.

“Llewyn was my brother. A good man, a good artist, and a good uncle. He is everything I ever needed him to be, and more. I just lost what’s left of my family, and all I want to do is make it back to my daughter, and instead I’m stuck here being harassed by you assholes. Listen carefully, I willingly share my personal life with you on a daily basis, but something’s aren’t meant to be shared, and some memories are meant to be respected. I found out about his death in front of the whole world, I don’t even know how he died. The Family Affair has been our whole lives, but right now? Right now I would take back every song, note, and show to have my brother back. So, when I have answers I’ll give them to you. Llewyn meant a whole lot to so many people, but he meant the most to me and my little girl, and right now? Well, right now you’re keeping me from her. So I’ll answer you one question and that will be this, My brother will be honored in whatever way we can, but I can’t do that until I’m with the people who will mourn him. So get the fuck out of my way.” And as if she was parting the Red Sea, men and women parted from her path like they couldn’t bear to be in her war path. Joel couldn’t blame them.

“That was Sugar Davis of The Family Affair at Fort Worth just twenty minutes ago. Her fiery telling off of the paparazzi coming just mere hours after learning of the death of her brother, lead singer of the worlds top selling country unit, Llewyn Davis. She was at a show in Paris when she learned of her brother’s death. We have not yet heard from the rest of the band, but our thoughts and prayers are with them in these trying times.” The reporter on the screen moves on to show clips of their concerts and Joel reached to shut off the TV when Ellie mutters for him to ‘shut that shit off.’

“See? Sugar always handles business.” Joel shrugs, holding both the girls who were still wrapped in a shroud of melancholia that he couldn’t stand. His sadness added to the mix made what would normally be an enjoyable place resemble a funeral parlor. “Ok, why don’t we watch a movie till Sugar gets here ok?” Sarah shrugs and Ellie mumbled her assent, so he turns the tv on and hits the button to bring up his Bill’s ancient VCR.

Instead of it playing the princess bride like it was previously, a home video plays, and suddenly he’s faced with his younger self. He must have been twenty something in this little tableaux, and you were a fresh faced 19. His hair was mussed where you had removed his hat, and your cheeks were red from the heat of the sun beating down on your grin. Your bare feet were perched on his boots, and the skirt of the blue dress you wore swished around your ankles where he spun you around. He was dancing with you to some tune by Willie Nelson, swaying back and forth while you lazily draped an arm around his shoulder and grasped a hand firmly in his. You smiled up at him like he hung the moon on a string, and he smiled at you like you put the stars in the sky. He remembered this day, how the world felt so small when he was with you. Llewyn and Tommy were waltzing together flamboyantly making fun of your little bubble you were in. Watching it back now his brother and best friend were a sight, but all he could remember of that day was how your eyes shone in the setting sun. Eventually they broke it up and must have settled in behind his Frank who was clearly filming.

“You all looked so happy, what was that about?” Sarah asks as the camera comes in close to where you were dancing as the song changes to Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys, and your being swung around by Tommy while Joel and Llewyn link arms and diary do in a funny little jig.

“This was the day we found out we got a record deal.” Joel chuckles, watching his younger self celebrate with his best friends.

“You and Sugar were still together then?” Sarah asks cautiously. You had broken up before she and Ellie were born, and you dated again for a while until Sarah was about seven, then you split, and so did The Family Affair. That had been about seven years ago now.

“Yeah.” He nods as the film cuts out and switches to another shot of you in the studio with Llewyn and Tommy. He clearly hadn’t arrived yet, and you were sprawled out on the floor singing that same old Willie Nelson tune while Tommy napped and Llewyn wrote something down in his little red songbook. Bill was seated at the soundboard, fiddling with dials and switches, and Frank was obviously filming again. You had a barely there baby bump, and Sarah was almost a year old, this was right after you got back together. When Joel wanders into frame your eyes light up, and he can see Llewyn fondly roll his eyes as you cast the guitar aside, smacking Tommy in the shin and startling him awake. Then he sees himself get on the ground and hover above you, legs tangled together as he leans in for a kiss. Your giggle could melt the iciest of hearts, and Llewyn seemed to fondly smile as he watched you light up with joy. He was always your biggest cheerleader, and he didn’t know who was more devastated by your break up, him or TMZ.

“That was the day we recorded your favorite song Ellie Bellie.” Joel grinned and nudged the girl who was sniffling at the sight of her unbroken family. What she wouldn’t give to see them all together again. A rare sight since the band called it quits.

“Yeah? Looks like you’re about to sleep with my mom in a recording studio.” She jokes, as the young Joel on the screen passionately kisses every inch of your skin that is available to him.

“I can be party to this no longer!” Llewyn suddenly announces in the falsified drawl of a knight. “Unhand my sister you barbarian!” He bellows, tackling Joel away from you and beginning to wrestle him while yelling Shakespearean insults at him. Their silly old uncle Llewyn, as they remember him best.

Then the picture shifts again and there you are holding a tiny baby Ellie, while Sarah crouched over her, staring at the squishy baby Ellie with wonder.

“Tiny baby sister!” The baby Sarah squealed, gently rubbing her fingers up and down the baby’s belly.

“Yeah!” He could hear himself say from behind the camera. Llewyn is there too, sitting next to you and monitoring Sarah carefully, holding her tiny little hips so he can snatch her up if she gets too rough, but mostly just to be apart of this amazing moment between his two favorite girls in the entire world. He loved those kids, that much was for sure.

“Gentle, gentle hands with the baby. You’re doing so good with the baby Sarah. This is Ellie, your new best friend.” You smiled, hugging the toddler close while grinning at Joel who must have been behind the camera.

“God Joel, we got old!” Llewyn laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and grinning brightly at the camera. He can hear himself chuckle along with Llewyn. “But we’re lucky bas-“ Llewyn cuts himself off when Frank clears his throat to remind him the girls are present. “Boys though.”

“Yeah man, so lucky. Got the three prettiest girls in the world right here.” Young Joel says, the grin in his voice undeniable. The grin it brought to your face outshone the sun, and he remembers falling in love with you all over again.

“You weren’t together then. This was before you guys got back together.” Sarah muttered. Joel didn’t answer continuing to watch you hold both baby girls with all the joy in the world.

“Sugar said you broke up the first time you broke up was because you went to college?” Sarah questions and Joel nods, the first breakup was well before that video of you dancing on the porch with Joel. That was the day he dropped out of college.

“Yeah, we dated all through Highschool, and when I moved off for college we both got into relationships with your respective parents, and when they didn’t work out we got back together.” Joel mumbled.

“Then you broke up again.” Ellie mumbled bitterly. “I’m done with this, I’m going to bed.” Ellie mumbled, going to what looks to be the room she shares with Sarah, his daughter following after her.

Joel knows the girls harbor some resentment in their break up, Ellie more than most, and he hates himself all over again. He wishes he had done better, been better, but time does not heal all wounds, and this one might be worse than most.

Joel continues to sit and watch parts of his life play out in real time, and in his heart he knows, that the best days are already behind him. In the background, like some strange backing track to his misery, there it was, that same old Willie Nelson tune.

“I knew someday that you would fly away

For love is the greatest healer to be found

So leave me if you need to

I will still remember

Angel flying too close to the ground.”

In the other room, Sarah and Ellie lay head to head, limbs dangling off the edge of the bed in opposite directions while they talk about everything and nothing.

“Sarah? Do you ever think our parents would get back together? Like when we were little?” Ellie mumbled to her older sister.

Sarah ponders this, wanting to say yes, but knowing how much it would crush her if it didn’t work out again.

“I want to think so, yeah.” Sarah shrugs,

Turning her head to look at Ellie’s troubled face in profile. “Why?”

“I just… I can’t help but think we might have been given an opportunity here.” Ellie sighs, covering her face with her hands.

“Ellie… that’s…” Sarah sighed and Ellie jumped to her next thought.

“I know that’s fucked up, but think about it, nothing short of a tragedy could get them to come back home and spend time together, so why not use this really sad moment for good. It’s what Uncle Llew would have wanted! He always wanted mom and da- Uncle Joel to be together!” Sarah makes note of her sister’s slip but won’t acknowledge it, she would call Sugar mom if she knew it wouldn’t break her heart.

“Maybe you’re right, but let’s not push too hard. They’re both pretty upset right now, but I think you have a point.” Sarah sighs, sitting up and scrubbing her face as if to clear away the fog from her brain like a windshield.

“Well, those two fuckin brainiacs won’t be able to figure it out without a big push, but I’ll try to be subtle.” Ellie laughs, bumping foreheads with Sarah and grinning at the snort her sister lets out at her profanities.

“What are my girls giggling about in here?” The voice of the girls adoptive grandfather Frank drifts through the room they’re sharing and it’s like a balm to their souls.

“Frank!” They cry in unison, launching themselves at the older man with a grin.

“My babies! Oh I’ve missed you!” Frank chuckles, kissing both his adoptive grandchildren on the head with a fond little smile. “Was that a scheme I heard in here? Something about getting your parents back together?” He grins at them with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and they grin back, noting that they might have one more dog in the race.

“Yeah, you want in?” Ellie wiggles her eyebrows and Frank chuckles at the spirited little heathen.

“Well, Bill and I have been trying to do it for years, maybe they need just one more push.” He laughs, smoothing Ellie’s curls and squeezing Sarah’s hand. Those two girls really are a blessing to the old man, the glue that kept his little pack of adopted mutts in his care.

“Bill cares about wether or not out parents get together?” Sarah chuckles,the look on her face disbelieving.

“Don’t let that old hard ass fool you, he’s a softie for Sugar, always has been.” Frank rolls his eyes. Bill was technically your godfather, best friend and military

comrade of your deceased father, tasked with his children’s safety until you graduated high school when your dad died the summer before your senior year. Frank was his life long partner, and they had been together for as far back as you could remember.

Nobody fully stated the nature of their relationship, but everyone knew they were a pair, and nobody in your little pack of misfits could find it in themselves to care. If memory serves, Frank and Bill were rumored to have met while they both worked on a David Bowie tour in 70’s after Bill toured Vietnam with your dad. Bill was a sound engineer, and Frank was a costumer, they fell in love at a road crew Jam session. When Gay Marriage was legalized, you remember them disappearing for a weekend and showing back up with wedding rings. Your ecstatic little misfit family threw them a party, and Frank’s favorite photo of you all together is from that night. Everyone is in that photo, including both babies and Tess. Frank was like everyone’s favorite parent, the one you go to for advice and comfort, and Bill was the protector. When you moved in that summer after your dad died, Frank never questioned that your brother and his little pack of friends would be staples in his home. When Llewyn asked his Godfather it was an immediate no. Eventually though, Bill, whose only soft spot was for the little girl his friend charged him with when her mother died in child birth, cracked. When she begged, he let them stay, no matter how much he despised the troublesome Miller brothers who followed his god children like a plague.

Bill kept that bout of ill will for Joel and Tommy Miller until they beat up the boy who broke your heart and left you with Ellie until he was black and blue, then he found it in him to like the Miller boys a little, and that Joel sure could play the six string.

“He is Especially where his three favorite girls are concerned.” Frank winked at his granddaughters and they giggled. “We’re with your girls, and when your Uncle Tommy gets here, he’ll want in on the action too. Maria and I love playing matchmaker.”

“Thanks Grandpa Frank.” Ellie sighed, nearly squeezing the life out of the older man.

“No problem spitfire, it’s always a pleasure for to scheme with my babies.” He winks and gets up to leave the room, picking up a set of abandoned sheets that must have been for the guest room.

“Wait, if Tommy and Maria are coming to stay… we wouldn’t have enough beds.” Sarah mutters, looking curiously at where her Grandfather had just vanished.

“That scheming old fart!” Ellie laughed flopping into the pillows. While a grin bemused grin dawns on Sarah’s face “He’s making them bunk together!”

The older girl, newly clued in on the scheme, giggled with a sigh. “I love our family.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel x reader #joel miller x oc #joel tlou #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #musician!Joel Miller x reader #musician!Joel AU #no beta we die like clickers

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punkshort · 3 months ago

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Thank you to everyone who participated in my writing challenge and reblogged/liked/commented on any of the works listed below!

➤ I will keep updating this list as more entries post

Joel Miller:

• Vacay Lover - Yacht Captain AU - @josephquinnswhore

• Come Fly with Me - Pilot AU - @punkshort

• Physical Therapy - Lifeguard AU - @eff4freddie

• Mr. Bakery Man - Baker AU - @honeyedmiller

Javier Peña:

• Orange Peel - Uber Driver AU - @captainredspade

Frankie Morales:

• Love in Hawaii - Tour Guide AU - @natasharomanoffsmotorcycle

• Water Cooler Courting - coworker AU - @crowandmousewritingco

• Hiding Place - best friend AU - @libraryofneith

• Neighborhood Watch - Neighbor AU - @joelalorian

• Poolside - Poolboy AU - @ghotifishreads

• Walking on Sunshine - Dog Walker AU - @sunshinehaze1

Dave York:

• The Prenup - Divorce Lawyer AU - @yxtkiwiyxt

• Lies, Excuses and Bullshit - Ex Boyfriend AU - @bitchesuntitled

• Doctor's Pet - Doctor AU - @evolnoomym

• Don't Move - Bodyguard AU - @almostfoxglove

• Every Breath You Take - Detective AU - @guiltyasdave

Dieter Bravo:

• Dieter's Sky High Brownie Delights - Chef AU - @pedges-world

• Bittersweet Love - Childhood Friend AU - @ozarkthedog

• Golden Girl - husband's best friend AU - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels:

• Sing for you Forever - Musician AU - @yopossum

• Forever - Groomsman AU - @morallyinept

• My Kink is Karma - Hitchhiker AU - @clawdeewritesfanfic

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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cowgurrrl · 9 months ago

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Tall Boy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: I didn't go into writing this thinking I would write a little bit of spice so please be nice (poetry fr)

Summary: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

Warnings: consumption of alcohol, drunken shenanigans, Joel and Tommy being the only Texan men I would trust with my drinks, so much goddamn yearning, oh what's happening with Andie and Tommy??, Joel the Menace makes his return, smutty thoughts and actions (I've made them wait nine chapters they deserve to be a little horny. as a Treat.), getting caught, preparing you for Sleeping on the Blacktop

You don't get to cut loose very often as a teacher. You're almost always worried about lesson plans, grading, assignments, supplies, money (or lack thereof), politics, student's mental health, and a million other things that plague your mind when you try to sleep. Sure, you have a drink or two sometimes, but never anything close to like when you were in college and would end up back at your apartment at four in the morning just to get up three hours later for a lecture at eight. You weren't always going to be a high school teacher, and your past reflects that. And Andie has waited a long time to get a little bit of that spirit out of you again.

New Year's Eve starts easy enough with a nice dinner in downtown Austin with a glass of wine or two with the food. You and Andie got all dolled up in short, curve-hugging dresses and makeup and decided you would take yourselves out if nobody else was going to. "But we're not gonna get arrested like we did in high school, right?" You asked over dinner, but she just shrugged with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"We'll see where the night takes us."

You bounced from bar to bar, sipping drinks and half-flirting with whoever approached, hoping for a free drink. Lucky for you, nobody is immune to Andie's charm. You lose track of how much you've had to drink once the room starts spinning pleasantly, and you can barely hear yourself over the loud music. You dance with beautiful strangers, sing along to the music, and even steal a cigarette from a willing accomplice outside. It feels good to act like your own age and not everybody's mom.

By the time midnight rolls around for the Central Time Zone, you and Andie are drunk, leaning on each other and butchering the lyrics to Aud Lang Syne. "We should call an Uber!" Andie yells in your ear, and you nod. You stumble outside and squint at your phone, giggling at your fleeting thought.

"I've got a better idea than Uber."

You and Andie are sitting on the curb outside a gas station right off of Sixth Street, sharing a tall boy and following instructions to "stay put," when his truck pulls up next to you. Joel looks sleepy but not mad, while Tommy looks like he just walked up on a small miracle.

"I thought teachers weren't supposed to be fun!" He laughs as you hand Andie the beer and somehow get yourself to your feet.

"You, obviously, didn't have the right teachers."

"I reckon so." He says as you dig your keys out of your purse to hand to Joel. He nods gratefully as Tommy helps Andie off the curb. They start talking about something, but you can't hear them over the way Joel's looking at you. Like he did at the gallery, his eyes linger on every piece of exposed skin he hadn't seen before. Something akin to worry clouds his vision, but you catch him looking at your legs and smack his chest.

"Eyes up here, Mr. Miller," you call him out. "See somethin' you like?" You ask, and he chuckles at how southern you sound when you drink.

"You look very nice." He says, and you smile. For some reason, you step into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He's so warm, and you're tired and just drunk enough not to care about the rules. You feel him freeze for a moment before his hand comes up to your waist to help keep you upright. "Let's get you home, hm?"

Andie refuses to leave Tommy's side now that they've gotten into an argument about the best musician of all time, and she decides to ride in your car with him while you climb into the truck with Joel. The second you're alone in the car with him, you just start laughing to yourself. Joel laughs a little, too, as he turns the ignition over.

"What's so funny?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"Just you." You say, giggling a little more.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"What about me?"

"A few weeks ago, I thought I'd fucked you over, and now you're picking me up 'cause I got too drunk on New Year's Eve," it's not funny, but you laugh anyway. "You're a much better person than I am." You say. It's quiet in the truck as your words settle like dust on the dashboard. The only sound is the engine running and the distant sounds of fireworks popping in nearby neighborhoods. He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on your headrest to reach around in the backseat, producing his large jacket and pulling it over your body to protect you from the cold.

"I think you're a good person. Definitely a world better than me," he says as he puts the car in drive. "And, for what it's worth, you didn't fuck me over."

"No?" You ask, and he shakes his head, glancing at you as he pulls onto the road.

"No." He says, and you hum. You pull his jacket closer to you and cling to the smell of pinewood, leather, and hints of his cologne. If they sold this smell in a candle, you would go into debt just to have it linger in every room. The thought presses on a bruise you forgot was there, and in your inebriated, vulnerable state, you can't stop yourself from staring at his profile as yellow streetlights and bursts of fireworks reflect across his face.

You study him the way you've been dying to for months. Your eyes study how his eyebrows move with minute emotions and muscles. The way his big nose curves perfectly. The way his jaw clenches and unclenches when he's nervous or unsure what to say. You wish you had a piece of paper and a pencil to sketch his side profile as it comes into view between headlights. You don't believe in muses, but you believe in inspiration. Especially when you look at him.

"Thank you for comin' to get us. I know you'd rather be sleeping." You break the silence, and he nods.

"I'd rather know you're safe than anythin' else," he says. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," you groan, absentmindedly rubbing at your face and no doubt smearing makeup. "People kept buying us drinks, and I'm so fucking broke, I'm not gonna say no to a free drink."

"People? What people?" He asks, his interest suddenly piqued. You shrug and put your feet up on the dash. He glances at them but doesn't shove them off.

"I don't know. People. Men people." You say.

"Different men or the same guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," he says a little too quickly. "No, it doesn't matter. As long as you had fun." There's something off about his tone, but you can't place it. At least, not until he puts the final nail in his own coffin. "D'any of 'em try to get your number?"

"Oh, my God!" You squeal excitedly as you sit up and put your feet back down. "Are you jealous?"

"No! Why would I be jealous? We're friends."

"Yeah," you scoff. "'Friends.'" You say with intense finger quotes, and he furrows his brows as he looks at you.

"Are we not friends?"

"Joel, c'mon. I liked you from the second you walked into my classroom. We were never gonna be just friends." The confession comes loose before you can swallow it back down. It wiggles between you like a fish out of water, and you want to take it back. Not because it's not true but because you weren't ready to tell him. Things just got back to normal after the winter showcase. You're not ready to lose him again.

"You're drunk," he says softly as if he's reminding himself more than anything. Maybe he thinks because you've been drinking, you don't mean it, but you do. You really, really do. It's too late to take it back, but you can try to bring levity back. You can try to backpedal a little.

"You're drunk." You counter. He drives in silence for a few more miles, and the rumble of the car and the tequila weighing your mind down lull you to sleep— narrowly avoiding another hard conversation and worst-case scenarios.

You wake up on the first day of the new year hungover, sore, and in a bedroom you don't recognize. Bright sunshine bursts into the room and forces your eyes open in a squint. You almost jump up when you're greeted with a bottle of water and Tylenol on a nightstand that's not the white one on the right side of your bed. You sit up a little and look around at the cozy, if not a little cluttered, room.

The walls and the soft sheets are a nice, comforting blue. A few posters and pictures hang on the walls, and even a landscape painting hangs above the bed. Still, there's a little laundry strewn on the floor, and you recognize the closet full of flannel and button-up shirts next to you. You guess that's where your oversized, burnt orange Texas Longhorns shirt and black sweatpants came from. Snippets from the car ride and stumbling into the house fill your mind, and you groan in embarrassment.

You remember Tommy calling Joel and telling him Andie got sick on the way to your apartment, and he didn't want to drop you off alone where something could go wrong. They offered to take you to their house, and in your drunk and stupid state, you said yes. You remember gentle hands holding your face as a cold, wet makeup wipe swiped across your skin, and thank God for that. Otherwise, you would feel worse than you already do. You remember hearing Andie and Tommy's voices outside the bedroom door, but you don't remember how you got into the room or the shirt. A light knock on the door pulls you out of your memories, and Joel walks in with a cup of coffee and a sympathetic smile.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he says, the right amount of mocking. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." You say, and he laughs as he hands you the mug and sits on the bed.

"I figured. I've got breakfast goin' downstairs. You need all the food you can get to soak up the alcohol." He says as you take a sip of the bitter coffee. You sigh into the cup at the (somehow) magical effects it has on your body, and he smiles. "That good, huh?"

"Yes, thank you," you say. "Thanks for everything. I know it probably wasn't fun trying to wrangle us last night."

"You weren't lyin' when you said how much trouble you and Andie got into together." He says. You think you could crawl into a hole and die at the embarrassing gaps in your memory.

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"Well, first of all, she wouldn't stop talkin' to you bout Tommy even though he was right there, but it was all good things. Then, you almost fell asleep on the couch after demanding’ Whataburger, and I had to carry you up the stairs. And then, Andie locked us in here and told us to figure our shit out."

"I'm gonna fucking kill her."

"I'm pretty sure she almost fell asleep in the hallway waitin' us out. Tommy parked her in Sarah's room and slept on the floor in case she needed somethin'." He says. You knew the Miller men were kind and selfless, but this is a whole new level. You owe them a fruit basket or your kidney or something. You rub your temples and take another sip of coffee before taking two Tylenol.

"And where did you sleep?"

"You don't remember?" He asks, chuckling. At least he's not mad. If he was, you think you'd climb out the window and walk all the way home. "I tried to sleep on the floor, but every time I tried to lay down, you laid down next to me. You wouldn't even close your eyes unless I was next to you, so I built a little pillow wall and slept in bed."

"Are you serious?" You ask, and he nods. You can vaguely recall getting into a hushed argument with him about kicking him out of his own bed and falling asleep against his chest, vindicated and content. You groan and bury your head in your hands. "Please tell me Ellie isn't here."

"She spent the night at Dina's house, none the wiser." He says. You almost say something about Ellie spending a lot of time with Dina recently, but keep your mouth shut. If something's going on, you doubt she wants her teacher to snitch on her to her dad.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Joel."

"Don't be sorry. It was funny. I didn't know teachers partied so hard," he says, and you laugh a little. "Besides, it made me feel better knowin' you two were safe." You look up as he speaks and take a deep breath at how sweet he is. He smiles, and you scoot close enough to him to cuddle into his side. He welcomes you by tucking you under his arm and resting his head on yours.

Your head is pounding, and your stomach is in knots, but the coffee and his presence help ground you. His hair is a little damp and smells like Ellie's shampoo. The thought of them sharing products makes you smile, and you rest a hand on his chest. Worn in, soft fabric cushioning your fingers as they rest over his heart.

"Can we add this to our list of inappropriate secrets?" You ask quietly, and a puff of air leaves his nose in a laugh. He lifts his head from yours and looks down at you fondly. He doesn't look particularly well-rested, and you're sure that's your fault, but you also can't get over how beautiful he looks in the morning. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his beard is a little unruly, and his shirt is crumpled, but the light streaming in makes his brown irises look amber and the grey in his hair silver. He's beautiful like this. He's beautiful all the time.

"Course," he mumbles as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek, and your hand slides from his chest to his shoulder to keep him close. "D'you get a New Year's kiss, at least?" He asks. You purse your lips as you stretch your memory back.

"'M pretty sure I kissed Andie."

"Nice." He says, too impressed, and you push at his shoulder.

"What about you? You get a New Year's kiss?" You're walking the wrong side of the line, and you both know it. He smirks anyway.

"I was a little busy takin' care of these two drunks."

"One time," you say. "I go out one time, and suddenly I'm a drunk."

"That's all it takes." He shrugs, and you laugh.

"Apparently," you say. "Well, I'm sorry again. Didn't mean to ruin your chances of getting kissed."

"Nah, you didn't."

"No?"

"No," he shakes his head as he leans in and kisses you, tilting your face up to him so he can control the angle. Two months. It's been two months since you last kissed Joel, and you can feel all sixty days of want in the searing kiss. He's not shy like he might've been in the past— waiting for you to make this first move— he's commanding and steals your breath out of your lungs when his tongue slides against yours. It's different, and so, so good. You wind your hand into his hair and lightly tug when his hands roam down your body and grab at your hips. You take the signal and throw a leg over his hips to straddle him, gasping when he presses into the small of your back and pushes you against him.

Now, you're awake. Fuck the coffee.

You're dizzy when his mouth dips from your lips to your jaw, biting the sensitive skin there, and his hands wander below the fabric of your (his) shirt. His fingers are soft when they graze against your sides, skimming up your body until he squeezes your breasts. Both of you groan as you arch into his touch. He's barely touched you, and you're already soaked.

"Missed you." He whispers as his lips blaze a trail down your neck while his fingers lightly pinch your nipples. You grind your hips into his, desperately searching for friction, and he hisses like you hurt him. His hips canting up reassures you you didn't. "You gonna disappear on me again, sweetheart?" It doesn't come across as mean, but there's a new authority in his voice that you're not used to hearing. The dam isn't just broken. It's in fucking shambles at the bottom of the river.

"'M not going anywhere." You breathe. "I promise." You think you mean it. You think you want to mean it. You think you're done caring about optics and what's "right." You want him, and based on the way the bulge in his sweatpants prods under you, he wants you too. He pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again, wraps an arm around your back, and lays you on your back on the mattress.

You tug at the back of his shirt and greedily let your hands roam over his chest and back when he throws it across the room. He's all broad shoulders and strong arms, and you can finally feel the muscles and warm skin you've thought about since way before that night in the bar. When his fingers trace patterns into your inner thighs, you moan into him and grip his forearm hard. "Joel, I need-"

"What? What d'you need, baby? Tell me." He asks, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you want him. It'd be so easy for him to slip his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants and feel how desperate you are, but he hesitates. "C'mon, use your words."

"Fuck, I-" You start to say when the door creaks open.

"Joel, do you want— woah!" Tommy yells before you hear the door slam shut again and his feet rushing down the hallway, no doubt to tell Andie about what he just saw. Joel groans and buries his face in your neck, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."

"I'll help you hide the body."

"Finally!" Andie yells from downstairs, and this time, you do laugh.

"They're never gonna let us hear the end of this, are they?" You ask.

"Probably not," he says. He's unmoving over you, and you sigh as you kiss his cheek. He lets his body weight drop into you, and you play with his hair while he rests his head on your chest. His hands rest under your body and press you closer to him, smothering you together. His broad shoulders expand and contract with every breath, and you count them as you scratch his scalp. "I have to go get Ellie soon." He mumbles into your chest.

"Then, we should probably go." You say. He groans and kisses your sternum before pushing onto his forearms. He kisses up your chest to your neck, forcing a shaky breath from you when he nibbles at your earlobe.

"I want you in my bed all the time," he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. "Wearin' my clothes, makin' all those pretty sounds, not havin' to worry bout Tommy or anybody." His chest rumbles against yours as he speaks; all you can do is squirm under him. His fingers picking up their previous patterns don't help either. "Wanna feel you come over and over again. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my cock. Wanna make you feel so good." His middle finger rubs against your clothed pussy, and your nails dig into his shoulder as you try to suppress a surprised sound. You're so wet, you'd be surprised if he couldn't feel the damp spot on your underwear. "You gonna let me make you feel good, baby? Huh?" He bumps your nose with his, subtly asking for attention when all you can focus on are the lazy circles he's drawing over you.

"Please." You whimper, but you're not sure what you're begging for.

"I know, I know," he murmurs. You know you can't get away with anything with Tommy and Andie waiting for you downstairs but you want him to make good on his promise. You want him. You have for so long it's burning you from the inside out. And yet, he pulls away from you with a smirk. "I'm gonna take all the time in the world with you next time." He says as he rolls off of you, and you're left lying there, shocked and flushed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, sitting up, and he just shrugs as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"I've gotta go get Ellie."

"Don't pull the Dad Card right now." You sound a little petulant, but honestly, you don't care. He worked you up to just walk away? This is cruel and unusual punishment. He presses his knee into the mattress and leans over you again, kissing you chastely.

"You'll have to get me back later." He says, and you sigh, shaking your head at the amused look in his eyes.

"I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

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ggardengirl · 2 years ago

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nah, he should have combined them, like a REAL musician 🙄

joel should’ve given ellie therapy sessions instead of guitar.

#for context i am a musician #and this is basically what i do #but also #they both need therapy #the last of us #tlou #ellie williams #joel miller #joel and ellie

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joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

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Could I make a request please?

Either a Joel or Pedro x Reader, where he is head over heels for the reader who is really bubbly and sweet and happy and a mom friend for everyone but who is oblivious to any romantic overtures whatsoever? And where Joel or Pedro catch them crying for the first time ever and they try and hide it and go back to cooking for the friend group or whatever and Joel/Pedro get the reader to open up about what made them cry and essentially it's that someone turned them down on a dating app and it's just further confirmation that the reader will never find love or actually be a mom? Plus-sized reader preferred but definitely not required? And your choice on if it's smutty or not.

I've been reading your plus sized reader x Pedro series and loving it!!! So much emotion and genuine positivity that I couldn't help but ask for more when I felt a bit down about this today.

All my best!

Dear @jenniferpendragon,

Hi!!! I've never had a request before, I didn't know what to do with myself. Thank you. And thank you so much for your kind words about my musician fic! I'm so glad people like it.

I'm sorry you were feeling down today. If by "this" you mean you experienced the dating app situation, I'm so sorry. Love is out there for you. I know how hard it is to wait, feeling like nobody wants you, but I know it'll happen. Hang in there. ❤️

I hope you like this fic! I liked your prompt and my mind ran wild. It's way longer than I thought it would be and also I'm unsure about it, but hopefully it makes you feel a little better.

___________

Cookies 'n Scream

Pairing: No-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Plus-sized!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! MDNI. Poor body image, fat shaming, food guilt, food mentions, unprotected P in V, oral, kissing, fingering, pregnancy mention, baby making sex (?), I think that's all of it but if I missed something let me know.

Other stuff: Reader is AFAB. In case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

This is the first smut I've ever written and published, yikes. Hope it's decent.

__________

"Look what I bought today," you chimed in a sing-song voice while waving the DVD in front of Joel.

"No way. Zombie Slayer 6?!" Joel and Tommy yelled in unison.

"Yep! You know it!" you beamed. "I say tonight we pop this bad boy in. Tomorrow's Halloween, it's perfect."

"YES!" chimed in Sarah and Ellie, Joel's daughter and adopted daughter, roughly the same ages in their early teens.

"Absolutely not! You two are too young for this gore, you'll be up for weeks." Maria pointedly gave an eyebrow to her husband Tommy. "You guys watch the movie, I'll take the kids and we have a girl's night. We can watch Practical Magic and make cookies. Then tomorrow we'll all go trick-or-treating." The girls were pleased with this compromise and began running up to their bedrooms, chatting frantically about their costumes and which houses were allegedly going to have full-size candy bars this year.

"Really? Zombie movies? They're just kids. They aren't old enough to deal with that kind of thing," Maria said to you, judging your lack of parenting skills.

"Sorry…" you said sheepishly.

Truthfully, Halloween was your favorite holiday and always has been. You loved the spooky aspect of it, but you also loved that you could be anyone you wanted, if only for a night. For once you weren't just "the fat girl" or whatever other mean things people thought about you. You could be Wonder-Woman, or Ariel, the Grim Reaper, or a ghost. You could even eat all the sugary snacks you wanted and nobody questioned it, because Halloween was a time to indulge in candy.

If there's one thing you're sad you didn't get to enjoy on Halloween, it was the thought of being with someone you love. You'd always wanted someone to dress up in a couples costume together. Or go to a pumpkin patch for a cute little date and pick pumpkins together. You'd even dreamed about someday having a little pumpkin of your own. Picking out a little baby costume, taking them out door to door while they tried to say "trick or treat" but didn't quite know how to say such big words yet. The thought of them getting spooked by a scary decoration and running back to their daddy's arms. Your handsome brave husband, holding them close and shushing them, rubbing their little back to make it all okay. Finally the three of you would go home, tuck the little one in, sort through the candy and maybe take some for the parent tax. Then you'd flop down on the bed together before sharing a different kind of treat.

Knocking you out of your daydream, the girls ran down the stairs, backpacks on their backs, still loudly chatting about Halloween. You sighed, Maria taking the kids out towards her house.

Tommy clapped his hands together excitedly and grabbed his phone and keys. "I'm picking us up a pizza. You two better not start this damn movie without me," he warned, gesturing with his fingers from his eyes to yours and then across to his brother's before ducking out the door. You laughed and headed towards the kitchen, starting to make a quick batch of cookies before Tommy returned. Joel stood awkwardly trying to help, but mainly was just sneaking bites of dough. "Knock it off Joel! There won't be any cookies left with you around." You elbowed him while he popped another glob into his mouth with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes while he argued with you. "Whatever. My brother doesn't need these cookies anyway. He doesn't deserve your bakin', darlin'." He ate more dough.

You couldn't help but feel your chest flutter with butterflies at his nickname, but you tried to ignore them. "Oh yeah, and what about me?" You pouted up at him. "Don't I deserve any cookies?"

He put his finger on his lip as if deep in thought. "Hmmm… I dunno darlin'. Not sure if I could handle you if you get much sweeter." He winked.

"But I guess you deserve some too.." he plopped a wad of dough into your mouth, running his finger on your lip as he pulled his hand away.

You smiled, cheeks feeling warm, and chewing the soft, sugary dough.

"Oh, Joel. You're too much.." you avoided his eyes, looking down at the mixer and pretending to be busy with the cookies.

Why can't I get a man like Joel? You thought to yourself.

Two years ago, you had moved into your new house and met your neighbors, Tommy and Maria, Maria still very pregnant at the time. The three of you became fast friends and it wasn't long before you met Tommy's brother Joel. You were instantly enamored with him. His curly brown hair, mixed with silvery gray streaks, and those deep, gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Although he could be a grump at times, it was mainly with his brother or his job, and he never showed it towards you. To you he was as sweet as the cookies you were eating.

You instantly developed a little crush on him and it seemed like he was over at his brother's house, or yours, more often than not. The two of you spent time together alone as well, watching movies, talking, doing whatever. Things felt so simple with him, and you knew he would always be there if you needed help with anything. With him, you never felt fat. You never felt ugly. You didn't feel self-conscious. You were just you. He was just him.

As your friendship progressed, your crush developed quickly into love. But you knew deep down there was no way he could ever feel the same. He was too handsome and charming to ever go for a woman like you, so you pushed down your feelings as best as you could, and even tried some dating apps to try and find someone else to fill the empty space in your heart.

What you didn't know was that Joel was absolutely head-over-heels, smitten with you, from the moment he laid eyes on you at his brother's backyard barbecue. Sure he loved his brother, but nobody wants to spend that much time at their sibling's house. He came over constantly, hoping to see you, until eventually you became close enough that he didn't have to make a scene at his brother's house to get your attention. He could just go to yours.

Tommy constantly teased him about it, and Maria couldn't help but notice the way you looked at Joel either. Even the kids could tell. The girls loved you like a mother, though you'd never see it. It seemed that it was obvious to everyone but you and him. Joel would flirt, try to gently touch you, be sweet, but you never picked up on it. Although you never pushed away his attempts, you never seemed to reciprocate either, so Joel just figured you didn't like him that way. But he couldn't help flirting, touching, staring at you. And if you didn't protest, he didn't plan to stop. He couldn't if he tried.

While the two of you talked, the cookies, what was left of them, baked in the oven. Finally Tommy came in, two large pizzas in hand. "Now I better not see that movie playing! I warned you two."

He noticed the black television screen and wandered to the kitchen. "Good. You waited for me- oh man! You made cookies? My favorite," he said with grabby hands towards the first pan, still cooling on the stove.

"Now, don't spoil your dinner. You just brought pizza home, let's eat." You shot a knowing look with Joel after the two of you were practically full already with cookie dough.

"Fine. Whatever, mom." Tommy took a plate from you, sliding a piece of pizza onto his plate and heading towards the couch.

_____

An hour into the movie, you were all full with pizza and dessert, Tommy in the sofa chair on the side, you and Joel settled into the love seat. You leaned towards his right side, his right arm over the back of your seat. A blanket covered the two of you, and his left hand was crossed over his lap on top of the blanket, hoping you would hold it if you got scared. Whenever a jump scare did happen, you didn't grab for him, but at the slightest flinch, he would palm your knee, rubbing his thumb over you to calm you down. Such a nice guy. I'm so lucky to have him as my friend.

Once when Joel did this, Tommy caught the sight out of the corner of his vision. He rolled his eyes and gave a gagging face. Joel gave him a quick angry brother stare that made Tommy turn back toward the film.

At some point, you felt your pocket buzz. Peering under the blanket at your screen, you saw the little heart notification, letting you know it was one of the dating apps you downloaded. Heart beating faster, you excused yourself saying you wanted to get a drink. Upon entering the kitchen, you quickly opened the notification with shaky hands. You had sent out at least a half dozen matches to people, all turned down the second they saw your profile. The most recent had sent a message as well. "Seriously? Ur gross. Good luck finding anyone to date you lmao." Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down at your body and pinched the fat of your stomach. You had four apps and had sent countless requests, matches, and swipes. Even guys who were big themselves had turned you down. You looked in the kitchen at the pile of cookies, the mostly empty pizza boxes, the bowl of Halloween candy. If the boys weren't here, you'd toss it all in the trash. You suddenly felt self-conscious. Your clothes were tight, your body was heavy and flabby, and you almost felt nauseous. The first sting of tears welled at your eyes, and you dashed off to your bedroom, hoping to quell these emotions before anyone would notice. You weren't ready to go back to the living room.

After a couple minutes, Joel had paused the TV to wait for your return. "She probably had to pee or something. Said she was gettin' a drink." Tommy nodded and the two of them talked. After about ten minutes had passed, Joel began to worry. Even Tommy began to wonder and finally said "where'd your girlfriend end up? It's been a while."

Joel shook his head at Tommy's name for you, but got up off the couch. "I'll go see what's up." He walked into the kitchen and didn't see you, so he kept walking through the house before finally starting upstairs. "Darlin'? You okay?" He still didn't see you, but upon approaching your bedroom door, he heard a soft sniffle.

He gently tapped on the door with his index finger's knuckle. "Sweetheart?" Your sniffling stopped and you quickly wiped your eyes, trying to hide your tears as he slowly opened the door.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys wait, I was just changing into some comfier clothes." He noticed you had switched from your favorite dress to some sweats and a baggy hoodie. You still looked beautiful to him, though he was a bit confused at the change. "I'll be right down, why don't you go start the movie again." He crossed the room to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to start the movie. What's wrong, darlin'?"

You pouted, trying to choke back more tears, but his gentle brown eyes made it hard to keep your emotions inside. Joel cupped your cheek, running his thumb gently under your eyes and catching a tear that made it past your walls. You'd never cried in front of Joel before. You made it a goal of yours to try and hide any sad emotions from people, especially him.

"I don't want to ruin the night, Joel. It's nothing. Let's just go back downstairs. I'll be right behind you."

Joel stood up and nodded his head, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him.

You didn't think he'd actually leave. But it shouldn't surprise you. Who wouldn't leave you?

An aggressive sob ripped through your chest.

_____

Joel walked downstairs, joining his brother.

"You find her?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah I did. Look, she's not feeling too good right now. I think it's best we call it a night."

"Ah, man. She sick or somethin'?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah somethin' like that. I'll stay and take care of her. Can you maybe keep the kids tonight?" Joel answered, ushering Tommy out the door. Tommy gave him a look, but nodded and walked out the door towards his own house.

Joel closed the door behind him and walked back upstairs, stopping to grab a glass of water for you on the way. He knocked gently again before entering your bedroom, and you turned around, surprised to see him. "Joel? I thought you were watching the movie?"

"Nah, darlin' I could never leave you when you're upset. I sent Tommy home and he's gonna watch the girls tonight. Here, I brought you some water." He sat the water on the nightstand. "Now, you wanna tell me why you're cryin'?" He sat next to you, rubbing your back gently.

You took a sip of the water, set it back down on the nightstand, and sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap which held your cell phone.

"Well, I uh…" you cleared your throat gently. "I recently joined some dating apps..."

Joel's heart took a slight stab, but he pushed it down. You're the one needing comfort, not him.

"I guess, I dunno… I know it's kinda silly, but I've been feeling kinda lonely and y'know... I'm getting older. I'm running out of time to have babies. But, I really just want someone to call mine. Someone to laugh with and go on dates with and…" you tapered off, not wanting to admit your desire for cuddles, kisses, and love-making.

"Oh, sweet girl," he held you in his arms. "That's nothing to feel shy or silly about. It's natural to want those things. But why are you cryin'? Did somethin' happen?"

"I just… I haven't gotten any matches. Everyone I've sent anything to has denied me, and-" you sniffled and Joel pulled you tighter. "Shh, shh, sweet girl, it's okay. Those people on those apps, they don't know what they're missin' out on. They don't see how beautiful and sweet y'are. They wouldn't know how to treat you right anyway. If they can't see how wonderful you are, they don't deserve to be with ya anyway."

"Thank you Joel…" you muttered. "But… it's not just that. I got a message when we were watching the movie and I went into the kitchen to read it, and-" you handed him your phone with a sniffle. Joel pulled away from you, holding the phone back a bit to read it with his bad vision. As he read it, his jaw and fists clenched. It may have been the first time Joel saw you cry, but it was also the first time Joel got angry when it was just the two of you.

"If I knew where this asshole little boy lived, I'd go over there right now and kick his ass for saying something like that to you" he seethed. "I can't believe anyone would say something like that to you."

You picked at a hangnail on your finger, still staring at your lap. Finally Joel took a breath and looked at you again. "Darlin'. You don't - you don't believe that guy do you?" He asked while rubbing your back again.

"Maybe…" you felt tears run down your cheeks. "I mean, he's right, isn't he? I'm not attractive or skinny. Nobody wants me, not even any of these guys on this app. Even the guys who aren't skinny don't want me either."

"Sweetheart. That's just not true. Look at me-" he lifted your chin with his left hand, right arm still holding you close. You hesitantly met his gaze, your wet eyes looking into his gentle browns. "Those men, if you even wanna call them that, they wouldn't know what beautiful was if it slapped them across the face. You're the most beautiful, sweet, funny woman I've ever met. Any man would be lucky to have you." He took a deep breath before admitting, "I'd be lucky to have you."

"What-?" You interrupted him.

"Darlin'... I never want to push your boundaries, but you don't see how often I flirt with you, tease you, and touch you? You don't see how smitten I am with you?" You frowned, brows furrowing as you picked through your memory. "I thought you were just a nice guy. Just a friend. I didn't… I didn't think you could ever like me as more than a friend, so I just ignored the butterflies I got around you."

You searched his eyes, waiting for a joke, or your alarm to go off and wake you up from this dream.

"Sweetheart, I've been in love with you since just about the time I saw you walk across my brother's lawn towards me. I just figured y'wasn't interested in me that way."

"Joel," you laughed. "I've felt the same way."

He smiled, once again tilting your chin, yet this time pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, but held so much love and meaning, that the two of you couldn't help but smile in the middle of it. He pulled away, "and by the way, y'aren't old either. If anyone's old here, it's me. But if you want babies, I'll give you all the babies you want. But you already got two girls who love you. Sometimes I think they even love y'more than me," he laughed.

You smiled at him and nodded "I do love those girls like they're my own. But I would still like a little baby someday too."

He kissed you again, more passionately this time, licking your lip until you opened up and let your tongues dance together. He pulled away, running his nose across your jaw before stopping at your ear. "Only one way to give you that, darlin'." He gently bit your earlobe before kissing down your neck.

You sighed. "Joel… please."

"Please, what darlin'?" He purred, kissing your clavicle through your baggy shirt.

"Please, make love to me" you answered breathlessly, tipping your head back so he could better access your neck.

"Take these baggy clothes off then, baby. Lemme see you," he gave you one last kiss on the lips before the two of you began undressing, stopping every few seconds to share grabby kisses. Once undressed, he pulled you into him and kissed you deeply, your hands on his chest. With a swift move, he tumbled the two of you sideways so that you were now on the bed, him on his back and you straddling his hips. You leaned down, kissing his lips, while the slight movement against his waist caused you both to moan at the feeling. "Baby I've wanted this for so long. Let me take care of you," Joel whispered, thumb stroking your cheek. He flipped the two of you over, slithering down towards your waist, where you spread your legs for him. He groaned, looking at how evident it was you wanted him, pumping his already hard cock a few times. Flattening himself on his stomach, he gently touched your thighs and began to kiss your legs. "Y'sure you still want this, baby?"

"Yes Joel, please" you answered, tense with anticipation. Without a beat, he tipped his head down, licking a stripe up your slit. You let out a sigh, hips bucking toward his face. "I know baby, I know." His low timbre vibrated through your core. He gave a quick peck to your clit before swirling his tongue around it and heading downwards, licking between your folds while his nose continued to put pressure on your clit.

His fingers slid through, touching your entrance in a questioning way. "Yes, Joel, please" you cried, wiggling closer, your hands tugging at his hair.

With your pleas, he inserted his finger, curling upwards before adding a second and finally hitting that spot inside you that made your breathing catch in your chest. He stroked, while still licking gently, occasionally sucking on your clit. Before long you were gripping the sheets with one hand, his hair in your other, as you finally tumbled into your orgasm. "So beautiful, baby" he coaxed, licking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Think you're ready for me?" He looked up at you over your plush tummy. "Yes, Joel, please I'm so ready."

He stalked over your body, kissing his way up. He kissed your vulva, "I love this," he purred. He kissed your stomach, running his hands across your sides. "I love this," he licked. "I love these," he massaged your breasts, kissing each nipple. "I love you" he finally looked you in the eyes, kissing you on the lips deeply.

"I love you too." You kissed him back, running your hands through his messy hair, down his broad shoulders and back. His hand snaked around, grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes through your folds until he was wet enough. Finally he pushed against your entrance, slowly entering you, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Your fingers clawed at his back as he finally pushed all the way in, the two of you sighing in relief.

Your body adjusted, and with a kiss to his nose, you prompted him to move. "Okay Joel, I'm ready."

Slowly, he began to thrust, pulling slowly out and gently pushing back in, eventually picking up to a pleasurable pace. He kissed you like his lips couldn't be away for longer than a few seconds, and it didn't take much before you were barreling towards your second release of the evening. "I'm almost there, Joel" you kissed, grabbing him around his back. "Me too, baby. Come for me." His thrusts were getting sloppy, but you could tell he was holding himself back for you. His fingers drifted over your clit, giving a few circular strokes and causing you to shudder around him, your eyes slamming shut with a moan. He followed right behind you, a couple messy strokes before pumping into you, filling you up and working you both through it. As the two of you came down from your high, he kissed you passionately, holding you like you were the only thing in the world.

The two of you lay on your sides, you snuggled into his chest, his chin resting on your head before eventually he became soft and slipped out of you. You both sighed at the loss, but held each other until you rolled out to use the restroom and clean up. When you returned from the bathroom, you asked if he wanted to stay and he said yes.

You lent him an extra toothbrush and the two of you stood side by side, brushing your teeth and stealing glances at each other in the mirror with matching lovesick smiles. Things felt domestic and comfortable as the two of you walked back to bed, sharing soft kisses snuggled to each other. Having completely forgotten why you were upset earlier, you fell asleep curled into his arms, full of love and hope for the future with a man you loved.

_____

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. You strolled down the stairs and saw Joel, wearing just his boxers and tee shirt, grabbing a slice of toast from the toaster.

At the sound of your steps, he turned and smiled softly. "Morning, baby."

"Good morning, handsome," you replied, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I could get used to that," Joel replied, squeezing your ass and pulling his face away to look in your eyes.

"Joel! You devil," you giggled, gently smacking his arm. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby" he nibbled your jaw.

After the two of you ate breakfast, you shared a shower, and he threw on a pair of extra clothes he keeps in his car. It would be hard to keep his visit a secret from his brother with his car still in your driveway, but as far as Tommy was concerned, you were sick and Joel was taking care of you.

The two of you made the walk over to Tommy's house to get the girls and participate in Halloween activities for the day. Walking in the door, Tommy pulled you into a hug. "Hey, we were worried about you! Are you feeling better? Were you sick?"

You looked up at Joel, sharing a knowing look. "I was just a little upset about something, but I'm feeling much better now," you smiled.

Tommy gasped. "FINALLY!!!!" He threw his hands in the air while Maria grinned.

"Cough it up Tommy!" Sarah held out her hand to her uncle. "You know I had October." He handed her a five dollar bill.

"You bet money on us?" Joel asked in disbelief, rubbing your back.

"Obviously. You guys have both been pining since you first met," Ellie answered, rolling her eyes. "It was too entertaining for us to interfere though," Sarah added with a smirk.

You stared down at your shoes, feeling embarrassed, but Joel grabbed your hand. You smiled up at him and it felt like everything was aligned. "Yep, we finally took the step. And now I get to do this whenever I want," Joel pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss.

"UGH. GROSS, DAD." Ellie and Sarah groaned, walking out of the room.

You both laughed, sharing a smile and heading towards the group to get ready for Halloween with your family.

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