#those quiet moments where you look at your whole life

[ladybirdswritings]

SWEET THING, DBF — joel miller x reader.

DESCRIPTION: your life is a storm—an overbearing father, a shitty boyfriend, and the ache of growing up. everything becomes more tangled when you find yourself drawn to your father’s best friend, joel. NOTES - finally, part two. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

two;

“Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

His voice was gruff—tired from overuse, nearly ready to silence entirely. A rich, southern rasp that sent chills down anyone’s spine, yours included. You obeyed without hesitation.

“Thank you for this…” was all you managed in a whisper while locking the metal into place—trapped.

You didn’t know your daddy’s friend too well, but you knew enough. Most people avoided him, whether it was the constant scowl etched on his face or those dark eyes that seemed to scream threats his quiet mouth never voiced. Everything about him made people stiffen, their bodies rigid as old boards.

He only hummed, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw ticking as he navigated toward the party nearby.

“A left here,” you offered, leaning forward and pointing just past his line of sight.

When he breathed, the scent of honey and jasmine flowers on your skin clung to the air between you. His jaw locked tighter.

You knew you looked every bit the spoiled, overprotected little princess your daddy raised you to be. Skipping Jackson’s town dance to attend some trashy house party hosted by your boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle rebellion, but you didn’t care.

Where your father insisted on preserving the innocence of your youth, you argued you’d only get to be young once. Only get to date questionable men, drink questionable drinks, and laugh about it later one time in your whole life.

Naive? Sure. But you didn’t know that.

Joel didn’t wait for you to notice he’d parked before snaking a firm arm across the console. His calloused fingers brushed the hem of your denim-clad thigh. Your heart stuttered, your eyes widening as his glare burned into you.

So close.

And then, the seatbelt clicked.

You exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached for the door. But before you could escape, his rough fingers caught your chin, tugging your face back until you were forced to meet his eyes.

Dark, chocolate eyes.

“You’re real lucky tonight, sweetpea. Now don’t go in there and make me look like a fool to yer’ daddy. You drink responsibly, and you don’t touch a blunt in sight—understand?”

You gulped, cheeks burning tomato red. Wide-eyed and frozen, you nodded. You were nothing more than a fish caught in the hands of a cold fisherman, your pretty face cradled between his calloused palms.

“What, you think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know what’s gonna go on the second you walk that purtie lil’ ass inside?”

His voice was sharp, and you stammered, blinking up at him as your breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was young once, too.

“I’ll be responsible, Mr. Miller—sir,” you lied through your teeth, the sweetness in your voice a thin disguise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.

“Oh, sure you will, sweetpea.”

Satisfied he’d issued a proper warning, he released you. But before you could scramble away, he added, “Go on and behave, and I might just convince your daddy to let you live a little more often.”

Hope bloomed in your chest like wisteria tangling with your rapid heart. If Joel vouched for you, maybe daddy would ease up.

A plan solidified in your head. All you had to do was be good.

You could do that! Easy, just be good.

Step one? Sweeten him up.

“You’re a peach, Mr. Miller,” you chirped, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

You lingered a moment longer than you should have.

Where Jesse smelled of beer, snow, and fresh spices, Joel smelled of whiskey, cedar, and leather. Of hard work and blood-stained hands.

Joel noticed the pause, and slowly, his head turned. Just an inch closer, and his lips could press right against yours.

The thought made your eyes widen.

What was wrong with you? He was doing you a favor, and here you were imagining how his scowling lips might feel against yours. How his tongue—experienced, confident—might tease the roof of your mouth, trail down your neck…

He peered at you through bourbon lashes.

“That business doesn’t work on me, sweetpea…” he started, freeing a hand so to tuck a stray ringlet of your untamed waves behind your ear. You inhaled sharply.

“You gon’ be good?” His voice was low, a tickling whisper that sent warmth flooding through your body.

“I am,” you promised, your teeth betraying the truth behind your pretty smile.

He nodded once. “Go on, then. I’ll be parked out front. Holler if you need me.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as you slipped out, your heart racing with every intrusive thought lingering in your head.

Maybe you were ovulating. Or maybe you were a basket case.

You shook your head. Jesse. Jesse. Jesse. Your boyfriend—Jesse.

With that, you slammed the Chevy door and hurried toward the party.

•••

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as the scent of weed and tequila hit your senses, you grinned. A tiny buzz wouldn’t be too hard to hide from Joel.

One shot here. Another there. You inched closer to Jesse, ready to surprise him.

And you did.

“Y/N!”

There he was, wide-eyed and guilty, his lips swollen from Abby’s kiss.

Tight, toned Abby.

They were tucked in a corner, her lips lazily trailing his throat. The sight made your knees wobble. When Jesse saw you, he jerked away, but the damage was done.

Abby’s hands shot up as though she were innocent, and it took all your strength not to lunge for the bitch.

“Baby—” Jesse started, but your throat tightened, hot tears threatening to spill.

You remembered how he admired your strength back in high school. When you were nerdy and unimportant — only glanced at after the tragic death of your mother. Everyone else pitied you. Jesse was different. He’d whispered sweet words to you after your mother passed, he’d made you less… stuck-up; convinced you that tequila could numb the pain. God, it did.

“Y’know, you’re a real tough girl to show up every day with your head high after everything that’s happened…”

“Sip this— baby. all those thoughts about your mom will go away…” he’d whispered once, tipping vodka onto your tongue. He had lost his mom, too. He knew how to stop the agony.

And now? He was the one causing it.

“Fuck you, Jesse. We’re done,” you snapped, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound strong.

You turned to leave, but Abby’s smug voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t know why you’re so pressed, princess. I dig chicks too. You could’ve joined us.”

You saw red.

Before you knew it, your ringed fist collided with her chiseled jaw.

Gasps echoed as she stumbled back into the crowd, her wide eyes meeting yours. Jesse grabbed your wrists, but you yanked them free.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

And just like that, you stormed out, leaving the crowd and your dignity behind.

This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.

But instead of sulking to Joel’s truck, you vowed to drown your sorrows in tequila until the world stopped spinning.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what you intended to do.