#tlou joel

[layaispunk]

needs a good fix

jackson!joel miller x fem!virgin!reader

a/n: this idea is by @yxtkiwiyxt !!! i couldn't stop thinking about it.

summary: you can't stop fantasizing about joel taking your virginity.

warnings: UNPROTECTED P IN V SMUT 18+. competency kink. joel is jackson's handyman, reader has no physical description, dry humping, female masturbation, male masturbation, age gap (reader is over 21), reader is a virgin, praise kink, fingering, grinding, aftercare, soft!joel, lmk if i missed anything!!

wc: 4.7k words

Joel was always fixing things around town. 

Ever since Joel Miller showed up in Jackson, folks started calling him the town’s handyman. The way his hands moved, steady and skilled, fixing what needed fixing… he was good. he was good at what he did.

The creak of his boots echoed from the side of the barn as he repaired the gate hinges. A few days ago, it was the broken heater in the art room. Before that, the fencing near the stables. He was the kind of man who did not like to sit still, and Jackson had plenty of things to keep him going. He liked helping around, and it made him feel needed. 

You didn’t mean to notice him every single time. Your eyes just naturally averted to him, every time. At first it was small things.. how he always showed up early in the morning. How he talked to people with that low, Texas drawl, with kindness, and sometimes a little grumpy. It was clear he cared deeply about doing things right. 

His rolled up sleeves, the grunts he made when he was moving, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating … it was all too much. He did everything so well, no neighbor ever complained. Every time you saw him with a tool in his hand, or a smudge of grease on his forearm, something inside you twisted. It started as a quite ache, one you could ignore if you distracted yourself enough. But the more you saw him, the worse it got. 

And you… you were a virgin. Growing up in the apocalypse and all, you never really had the chance to get to know someone that intimately, besides, you were very comfortable with your own sexuality, taking care of yourself, and you were quite satisfied. Boys had thrown themselves at you before, but you weren’t into guys your age, immature and inexperienced. You always liked them a bit older, more experienced. You had a thing for competency, and men like him who were good at what they did. blue collar, broad-shouldered, good with their hands. Men who smelled like whiskey, sweat, and knew how to fix shit other people couldn’t. Joel, with that salt and pepper hair and his worn button-ups, the way he moved, was turning you on. You couldn’t look at him without your breath catching and sweat clinging to your forehead, without heat crawling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop thinking about your first time being with him, how protective he’d be, and how good he’d take care of you.

You didn’t live super close to him, but the universe clearly had other plans, because somehow your errands aligned with where he happened to be. And always, he’d greet you. 

Just a “hey”. Simple, and casual. Too casual for the way heat pooled between your legs every single time. You try to keep it cool, offer a quick smile, or a nod, but your words never come out the way you want them. If he had any idea how tightly you had to clench your jaw every time he walked by, he sure as hell didn’t show it. 

He had no idea what he was doing to you. As far as Joel was concerned, you were just another friendly face in town. You were kind to him, sweet even, traded coffee for paint supplies, but you never stayed long enough to hold a conversation. Joel figured maybe he made you didn’t like him, that you, maybe you just weren’t the talkative type. 

He usually worn button-ups, long sleeves rolled up. But with the seasons shifting and the sun hanging higher, he was showing up in tight t-shirts that left little to the imagination. The fabric hugged his arms just right, tracing every muscle and vein, and it was impossible to imagine what those hands could do if they weren’t busy fixing shit. One time, he reached to grab something from a top cabinet, and with his arms stretched high, you caught a perfect glimpse of his waist. The way his shirt rode up just enough to reveal his happy trail leading down, and the waistband of his boxers. It made you feral.

Every night, you thought about him. What his huge hands might feel like. What his calloused fingers would feel like on your body. How his grunts might sound like if he was on top of you, whispering something low and filthy in your ear. Late at night, you let your thoughts slip where they shouldn’t. Under the covers, imagining what it would feel like to have someone there- Joel, instead of your own fingers, moaning and whimpering his name, hoping one day he would just magically show up and fuck you senseless. 

One afternoon, you told yourself you weren’t going to do anything stupid. But it was a hot spring evening, you had two glasses of wine, maybe three, and it was just enough to make you feel courageous. Or reckless. Tipsy, that made your skin feel too hot, your clothes too tight, and your underwear soaked. You didn’t let yourself think it through. You just walked down the street, heart pounding and thighs pressed tight, wearing a top that accentuated your breasts & an old fashioned lie. and knocked on Joel’s door. You told yourself it was innocent. A neighborly thing.  

He answered the door in a t-shirt. Collar a little stretched, fabric clinging to his biceps. You had to force your eyes to stay on his face.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathier than what you meant. “S-Sorry to bug you. I just-uh… my sink’s acting real funny. The one in the kitchen.”

The kitchen sink was fine.

Joel wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s it doin’?”

You shrugged, toying with the straps of your shirt. “Leaking. Making a sound. I dunno.” you said nervously. 

“I can swing by tomorrow,” he said, nodding.

You licked your lips. “I’ll uh…. I’ll leave the door unlocked. In case I’m out. So you just let yourself in.”

Joel’s brow ticked. “You leavin’ your door open for just anyone, darlin’?”

Your heart stuttered. Was he flirting with you? “Uh… no, no.”

He smiled, “I’m just jokin’.” He clapped his hands. “Alright then, I’ll uh.. see ya tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, you turned around and walked back home, your heart about to rip open your chest.  

The next day crept up slowly. You woke up flushed, replaying yesterday’s interaction in your mind like a dream. 

You told yourself not to get too worked up. Not to overthink it. But by mid-afternoon, you were restless. The house felt too warm, your skin even warmer. You kept checking the clock, hoping his knock might come any second. 

And when it didn’t, you grabbed the wine bottle. To cool you down, ofcourse. To calm your nerves. You’d left the door unlocked like you promised him. Just a crack, enough for him to step inside. The kitchen sink was fine. Didn’t need any fixing. But your body…? That was another matter.

You wandered upstairs to your room, still leaving the door cracked, restless and a little tipsy from the wine. The fan hummed softly overhead, but it did nothing to cool the heat spreading low in your belly. Your clothes clung to you, damp from the warmth… and your wetness. You ran your hands down the front of your thighs, exhaling a shaky breath as your fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. They felt suffocating. You slid them down your legs slowly, the cotton catching slightly on your hips before pooling around your ankles. The air kissed your skin, and you bit the inside of your cheek, goosebumps rising on your legs. 

You sat at the edge of the bed at first, on your back. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shit. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his biceps flexed. His Texas drawl dipped in honey. The way he said your name. 

Your hand drifted over your stomach, skimming lightly, like even your own touch was too much. You didn’t rush, just let your fingertips trace lazy, aimless patterns, dipping lower each time until they reached the waistband of your underwear. There was a steady warmth pulsing at your core, a heat that had been building all day. You let your fingers press down, through the thin fabric, catching your breath at the feeling. You were already so sensitive, so wound up from hours of wanting, of imagining him. You were pretending your hands were his, touching you like this for the first time. You shifted against the sheets, chasing friction, letting your hips tilt just enough to press into your own hand. It was slow at first, knowing your body too damn well, until you started to rub your clit in small circles and gasping softly, your mouth falling open. 

-

Joel told himself he’d swing by later in the afternoon, but something about the way you looked at him yesterday.. the wine flush on your cheeks, the way your fingers played with your shirt straps… He was confused. He was old. Surely, he didn’t think you were flirting with him. Why would someone so pretty, want someone like him? 

The door was exactly as you left it. Unlocked, cracked open a little bit. He still knocked softly at first.

“Hey,” he called, voice low. “it’s Joel, you home?”

No answer.

So he stepped inside, slow and polite, calling your name softly. And suddenly, he heard it. Faint and breathless.

“Joel.. Oh..”

His heart jumped. You sounded like you were in pain, or crying. The sound of your voice had him moving before he could think. He dropped his tools, boots thudding against the stairs, every protective instinct in him lighting up. Another soft moan. “Oh God...”

He didn’t wait. “Darlin,? You alright?” He pushed the door open with his shoulder, chest tight, eyes scanning …. Until he saw you. laying back against the sheets, legs spread, hand between your thighs. Your shorts discarded on the floor. 

You froze. 

Joel froze too.

He wasn't dumb. He caught on what was happening immediately.

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, locked on yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence was thick. 

You sat up in panic, putting your shorts back on. “I-I thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered. 

He looked dazed. He swallowed hard. Took one step closer.

“You left the door open,” he said quietly. “Said I could come in.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” You whispered, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. “Joel, I didn’t think you’d—”

He nodded once, firm, eyes still on you. “You say my name like that all the time when you’re alone?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took another step. “I came to fix the sink, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something rough and warm, “but I think we’ve got somethin’ else that needs my attention.” You swallowed hard, heart hammering like it might break through your ribs. 

Your fingers were still trembling from earlier. From the way you’d whispered his name like a fucking prayer. And now he was here. Real. Solid. Broad shoulders taking up half the space in the room.

You felt small. Exposed. And yet… your body ached for him.

Joel’s eyes dragged down your frame, slow and deliberate. His jaw ticked.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t know you… felt that way about me.” He swallowed. “I wasn’t supposed to see that.” 

Your back straightened, chest still heaving. “Well, I do.” You blinked. “Joel, you should probably just go,” you stammered, voice shaky. You started rambling under your breath, words tumbling over each other like a flood. “I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, Joel. The sink doesn’t even need fixing. I mean, what was I thinking? I just wanted to see you, like some fuckass teenager with a crush. You don’t even like me like that.” You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his eyes, heart pounding loud in your ears.

Joel shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Darlin’, calm down. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, eyes soft. “I… like you, I’m just surprised,’s all,”

You opened your mouth, words caught in your throat. “I had too much wine. I just need a minute, okay? I’m overwhelmed” 

He nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll head home, okay?” His voice was low, unsure, like he wasn’t quite sure on how to act after that, and neither did you. He slipped quietly without another word. Did you just fuck everything up?

The next day, there was a knock on your door. 

Joel stood there, hand on the back of his head. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I…come in for a sec?”

You smiled and stepped aside, still mortified from yesterday. 

He glanced around like he was gathering his thoughts, then finally looked at you. “I been thinkin’ about what happened yesterday.”

You blinked at him, cheeks heating up. Talk about the elephant in the room.  “What do you mean?”

Joel let out a slow breath. “I wanted to apologize. You were embarrassed. Thought I didn’t… want you like that.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

He continued, gently, “I didn’t mean to walk in on somethin’ so personal. I swear, I only came in ’cause I thought you were hurt. You sounded like you were in pain, and the door was open, and.. I’m sorry.”

You chewed your lip. “Joel, you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault, I should have closed the door.” You sighed. “I didn’t mean to make things weird”

“Nothing’s weird,” he said. “I just.. Jesus, I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around it, ‘cause you’re…” he trailed off, eyes on yours, voice soft. “You’re beautiful, and young. I don’t know how in the world you would want someone like me.”

You stared at him. Your heart was thudding in your chest, heat creeping up your neck, wanting to tell him that you’re a virgin and just blurting it out. “I’ve never… had sex.” Your voice barely carried, but it felt like the loudest thing in the room. “I just wanted you to know.” You paused, cheeks burning, then forced the next part out. “I guess... I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I just want to get it over with, with someone more experienced, you know. To know what it feels like. So, um. That’s what I was thinking about. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Joel blinked, his gaze holding yours, unreadable for a second. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back to yours, voice rough, blurting out a confession himself too. “I thought about you too, last night.”

You blinked, confused. “what?”

His breath hitched. A humorless little laugh left him as he shook his head. “Couldn’t get the image outta my head. We’re even now. Ain’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. “are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

His voice was low, thick with something darker, more vulnerable. “No.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t move. So you kissed him. 

When Joel kissed you back, it was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, rough palms dragging over your back like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. Your fingers tangled in his soft curls at the back of his head, tugging him closer, swallowing the low groan he let out when you parted your lips for him. You whimpered softly into his mouth, pressing your chest to his, needing him even closer. He smelled so good. Like whiskey, and soap, and musk. It invaded your senses, and your brain turned into mush. 

His tongue swept over yours before he broke away to kiss along your jaw, then your neck, open mouthed and breathless. 

“Joel…” you moaned, “Fuck,”

Your knees hit the back of the couch, and the two of you stumbled, breathless and tangled in each other until you fell on top of his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he sank back onto the couch, pulling you down with him. Your legs were straddling him, your hands braced around his neck. Kissing you deeper, his hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, like he was trying to touch every part of you all at once. 

You rocked against him as he groaned into your mouth, hips bucking up just slightly. His mouth found your neck once again as you kept moving against him achingly, feeling the thick press of his erection beneath you, hard and growing. You were so turned on it hurt. 

“Shit,” Joel rasped, gripping your hips, trying to hold you still. “Baby…”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You needed him. But his hands stilled you.

He leaned his forehead against yours, kissing your head, chest rising and falling under your palms. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice low and steady now, “we gotta slow down.”

You blinked at him with doe eyes, lips still parted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, cupping your cheek. “God, no.” He swallowed, eyes on yours. “It’s just… it’s been a long time. And I want this to be good for you.”

He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You really want this?” he asked, voice quiet.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, barely above a whisper, “Yeah. I do.”

His chest rose and fell against yours, his eyes flickering down to your lips before dragging back up again like he was trying to memorize you.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, slow and unhurried, letting it linger, letting your fingers drift up the back of his neck and into his hair. He exhaled into your mouth, and you felt the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter.

Then, without a word, you reached down and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.

Joel paused, eyes searching yours. But he didn’t stop you.

You lifted the fabric slowly, revealing the scarred, strong lines of his chest. Your fingers brushed over his skin as you pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall somewhere behind the couch.

His breath hitched when you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, soft and reverent. Another to his collarbone. Another just above his heart. He wasn’t used to this.

Joel’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hand coming up to hold the back of your head like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this.

You sat up, heart pounding, and slowly reached for your own shirt. You watched his face as you peeled it over your head. his eyes widened slightly, lips parting, awe written all over him like you were a dream came true.

You took his hands and placed them on your waist, his palms warm and steady. Then you leaned in again, and he kissed you hard, lips sliding to your jaw, down your neck. When his mouth finally reached your chest, your breath caught. he was kissing you there, slow and gentle, like he was learning the shape of your breasts with his mouth.

A soft moan escaped you, hips shifting instinctively in his lap. You felt the heat building again, sharp and overwhelming. Every place he touched felt like it burned.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice breathless, “need you to touch me…”

One of his hands slid down slowly, carefully, finding the edge of your waistband. His fingers brushed your skin, teasing, and you gasped softly. You could feel the heat between your thighs, a growing ache that had only sharpened since the moment he walked through your door.

“I’ve never-” you whispered, barely audible.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you. We don’t gotta rush a damn thing, sweetheart.”

You nodded, heart pounding, eyes locked with his.

“Jesus,” he rasped, resting his forehead against your chest for a second. “You tell me if anything don’t feel right. Any second. You hear me?”

You nodded again, lips brushing against his temple. “Yeah.”

He leaned back just enough to kiss you again, slower this time like you were something delicate, hands trailing up your spine. You arched slightly as you were dry humping on the couch, gasping at the friction between your core and his erection. You stood up, and discarded your shorts on the floor, just your soaked panties covering you.   When you lowered down on his lap again, your fingers found his, guiding his hand between your thighs.

“You can touch me,” you said quietly. “I want you to.”

Joel let out a quiet groan. “You tell me if it feels too much, alright?” he groaned, voice low and full of heat.

His fingers dipped down between your thighs, finding you through the soft fabric of your underwear. He rubbed slow, careful circles against you, patient and steady,  coaxing every sound out of your lips. 

You gasped softly, hips tilting toward his hand without meaning to. “Joel…”

“That feel good?” he rasped, lips brushing your jaw, his voice rough but gentle, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your fingers curled into his hair, holding on as he kept rubbing you through the thin cotton, your arousal soaking through. He could feel how wet you were, even like this.

“Jesus, baby…” he breathed, his voice thick. “You’re already so worked up for me.”

You whimpered as your hips began moving on their own, grinding against the heel of his hand. Joel’s breath caught, he was getting worked up too, chest rising fast, jaw clenched. His free hand slid up your back, gripping your waist like he needed something to hold onto.

He groaned again, almost like it hurt. “You keep movin’ like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

Carefully, he slid his hand beneath your waistband, fingers finally touching you bare. You gasped, the heat of his skin against yours sending a shiver up your spine. Then, ever so gently, he slid one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as you clenched around him. “You’re alright. Atta girl. Just like that,”

You whimpered again, his finger moving in slow strokes, your hips rocking toward his hand instinctively. He added a second finger, easing you open while his thumb stroked soft circles against your clit.

It was overwhelming, in the best way possible. The stretch, the warmth of him, the way he watched your every reaction like he couldn’t look away. This was so different compared to your own fingers. You knew it would feel good, but not like this. Definitely not like this. 

You whimpered, getting closer, reaching the climax as your hips stuttered against his hand. Joel was whispering quiet praises into your skin, fingers moving slow and steady inside you, coaxing you open like he had all the time in the world. Your thighs trembled, your body arching into his touch, and the pressure inside you built with every breathless second.

“Joel,” you whimpered, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, my god…”

“Right there?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. Just let go for me.”

Your body tightened, back arching, and then the wave came over you. your climax washing over you all at once, sharp and warm, overwhelming and dizzying. You gasped, clinging to him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned, holding you through it, kissing your temple and whispering sweet nothings as your body shook against him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowing his fingers as you came down. “You’re alright. I got you.”

You were breathless, body still burning for him, for something more. “Joel… I want to feel you.”

He stilled, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, fingers curled around his wrist. “I want you inside me.”

His gaze searched yours for any flicker of doubt. There wasn’t any. Just need.

He gently guided you off his lap, helping you lie back along the couch. The cushions dipped under you, the living room warm and quiet except for the sound of your shared breathing.

Joel stood for a moment, just looking at you. Then his hands went to his belt, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as he slid his jeans down, then his boxers, breath catching when you caught sight of him, thick, hard, and flushed at the tip. He knelt between your legs, bracing a hand on the couch beside your head, the other guiding himself gently as he settled over you.

You reached for him, touching his chest, then his face, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

Joel hovered over you, breathing heavy, gaze locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single second. He lined himself up slowly, hand cupping the back of your head against the couch cushion like you were something precious.

When he pushed in slow, careful, giving you time to adjust, you both gasped. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging in, and Joel groaned low in his throat, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

Oh my god.

Your thoughts spiraled.

This feels so good.

It was everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. full, warm, overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t believe how right it felt, how gentle he was, how every slow thrust was lined with care and need.

This. This is why you waited for someone like him. For Joel.

His body pressed flush against yours, one hand bracing by your head, the other still gently cradling it like he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He rocked into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, his breath ragged against your cheek, whispering your name like a prayer.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “Such a good girl.”

You whimpered, already fluttering around him, your body starting to tremble again. “I-I think I’m close again,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, voice cracking as he started to move faster, hips snapping a little deeper now, rougher but still so tender it made your chest ache.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, lips brushing his jaw as your body built toward the edge again. He kept whispering to you, grounding you, worshiping you through every second until everything tightened, and then you broke for the second time.

You came with a cry against his skin, body shaking around him as he groaned loudly, hips stuttering.

“Shit-darlin’, I’m gonna,” Joel gasped, and then you felt him follow, his body trembling with the force of it, buried deep and breathless. It was intense. 

Joel was still above you, calming down his breathing, foreheads pressed together, your bodies tangled and slick with heat. His hand was still cradling your head. 

You could still feel the aftershocks in your thighs, your chest, the gentle tremble in your fingers. Your heart was hammering. You’ve had orgasms before. You touched yourself often. But this was something else. You’ve never had this kind of orgasm before. Every careful touch, every word, every look… he'd made you feel safe. Worshipped. Taken care of.

You blinked up at him through the haze, and he looked down at you like he was in awe.

“You alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, dazed. “Mmmm.”

He exhaled softly, lips brushing your temple, and kissed it. Then your cheek. Then your mouth…slow, like he had all the time in the world now.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said against your lips.

You didn’t protest when he gently pulled out, made quick work of cleaning you up as best he could with trembling hands and soft apologies, finding a blanket from your couch to wrap you in.

Then, like it was nothing,he lifted you into his arms. You curled against him instinctively, head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing.

Your bedroom was dim, bed undone, but it didn’t matter. Joel set you down carefully, then climbed in beside you without a word. One of his arms slid beneath your head, pulling you close, his other hand resting lightly on your stomach beneath the blanket.

You sighed, melting into him.

For a while, neither of you said a thing. Just breathing. Just feeling. His thumb traced lazy little circles against your skin, and you let your eyes drift shut.

thanku for reading!

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[dilf-docs]

From This Time, Unchained

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel doesn't know why, of all the people in jackson, you've chosen him.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), BIG age gap (20s/60s) (does it look like igaf), smut, begging kink, praise kink, oral (f. receiving), breast play, dacryphilia, hurt/comfort, soft!joel, insecure!joel, fluff bc my dying man deserves it💔 #joelmillerapologistclub

word count: 8,554 words

side note: joel miller widow club where u at??? i wish i could write a fix-it fic but my heart is too heavy even after a week lol and my ass too people pleaser-ish to write allat. (i haven't seen last night's ep yet bc this weekend has been ass!!) so, instead, have this piece because peepaw deserves love and a good fuck with his glasses on! (shout out to my joel miller playlist, u saved me girl) (also girl why did i battle with this like for four days lmaoooo not me posting it 9 seconds before midnight)

Joel Miller is a busy man.

All of Jackson seems to need him. Be it his neighbours, with a broken faucet or be the council, for his skills in construction, or even Maria and Tommy, when they wanted some time alone and he got to be the fun uncle for a couple of hours. Even Ellie, who didn't need him, as she liked to remind him, yet he still found himself in her garage, where she moved despite his reluctance, dusting off shelves or the forgotten guitar in a corner, all to feel useful for the one who he cared for the most.

That spot was debatable, thought. There was his brother, his niece, maybe Maria, Ellie, recently Dina and well, you.

You. Sweet you. Town's favorite girl. A complete dream. The girl next door embodied. Looks that aim to kill. It killed him. So damn perfect he can't help but wonder why, of all Jackson, you'd choose brooding old Joel Miller.

The one you'd give your smiles to, because even if you shared it to the world, your reserved your best for him only. His patrol partner, the beauty of the snowed-in landscape barely rivaling your own. Who you'd give your hours, always appearing when he needed you most, eyes open wide with that shine of theirs it was impossible to resist, not to trust. He had been a faithless man for too long, wandering in the dark. Eyes closed. Then came Ellie, and it was gone, coming back the days when Sarah was his babygirl. But it returned when she pushed him away, but you had stepped in, not as a replacement but as an oath. Something to hold on.

To believe.

In anything. In you. In the us, silent but strong. Watchful, like the stars shinning above in the sky, twinkling as the sound of your laugh when you and him would watch them, sitting on his roof. He let this things happen, let his guard down and allowed himself to be childish and soft, even if his joints ached when he got up and he could fall. But you were there, and falling... It didn't sound bad.

(He knew you'd be there to catch him, anyway. Even if you weren't that strong and he wasn't exactly... well, featherweight)

Right now, he's working. Not for Jackson, but or you. Furrowed brow and shoulders slumped over his table at the workshop, concentrated, his glasses perched on his nose. He hates them, another reminder of the time passed by, yet there's no option. At least not if he wants to give you the very best.

Ah, yes. His latest project. A little wood carving. Doesn't have a shape yet, like your relationship. He chuckles to himself, feeling silly. What where labels anymore in this world, anyway? Still, he can't fanthom the nature of it. It sounded more like a perverted old man's fantasy, if he's being honest, the glances thrown his way from townsfolk a little cruel reminder. You're no good, you'd jokingly sing that one song and, despite the judgment, he'd smile. For you, anything.

Like the figurine. Joel finally sees it take shape. And then there's a knock in the door. Sharp. Same as yesterday, and as the year before ever since he's had you like this.

"Come in" he says, not looking up as you enter.

He's too focused, voice sounding gruff for the long hours of silence since he sat down with an idea in mind; pounding heart, trembling hands.

"Hey, Joel"

He takes his glasses off, placing them on the table, before standing up to greet you. He crosses the short distance and wraps his arms around you in a tender hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He smells like wood and sweat. His musk lingers, so does his tight embrace. As if you'd dissappear if he didn't.

"Missed ya', sweet girl" he mumbles, voice muffled.

You giggle a bit. "I was gone for an hour. Are you getting clingy on me, Miller?"

You loved to tease him. Bad habit of yours. He lets out a low chuckle that rumbles on his chest and against your skin. He pulls back from the hug, yet his arms now drop to your waist, because he's addicted to keeping you close.

"Too damn long" he protests, carrying his southern accent within.

"I love when that Texan drawl slips in" you sigh, poking his cheek. He leans into your touch, like a touch-starved puppy. You then look at him, pouting your lips with a small frown. "Hey, and your glasses?"

"Huh?" he looks at the pair, sitting on the table. Forgotten. "Over'ere. For?"

You shrug. Joel shoots you a suspicious look. "Darlin', why you so interested in my glasses?"

You avert his gaze. The floor is more interesting now.

"Honey... Look at me. S'okay if you don't wanna-"

"I like how you look when you wear them" you finally blurt out, too fast and too quiet.

He's taken back by that. Eyes wide, probably written all over his face. Yet you refuse to look at him. He tips your chin up, so you can meet his gaze. It's soft, making your legs wobbly.

"Is that so?" he asks, teasingly. He still can't believe you actually like them. "You like when old men wear them glasses, baby?"

"Hhm, yeah" you hum. "More if it's you"

His heart skips a beat at your response. Fuck. He's gone soft, too soft. He feels his face heat up, chuckling in an attempt to cover it. Then, runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the base of his neck, a tell-tale sign he's feeling awkward. Flustered, even.

"You gon' give me a heart attack, honey. 'M too old for ya' to say things like that"

"Aw, old man can't take a compliment?" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. Then, you stand up on your tiptoes to whisper on his ear. "You're cute when you blush"

Joel's sure his face has gone redder, breath hitching as well. Still, he manages to put his arms around your waist, holding you close.

"You're real bad" he grumbles, though there's no bite on his tone. He hides his face again in the crook of your neck. "And I'm not blushing"

You giggle, patting his head lightly as your fingers trace his now long hair. If it didn't drive you wild...

"Then stop hiding"

Joel relaxes under your touch. "You're trouble. I'm serious 'bout the heart attack"

"No" you exaggerate, rocking him slightly. "Don't die"

He looks up at you, smirking as he groans with fake annoyance.

"If you keep that up, I might do"

"Then who will I bore with my failed recipes and gossip?"

"Thankfully, not me"

You groan. "Oh, shut up you old man"

You're always calling him that. Not that he minds, he knows you're not doing it with malice, but sometimes it annoys him. For example, today.

"Well, you chose 'tis old man so don't go complainin', honey"

You huff. "Unfortunately, I love this old man with his old-man ways. Like your woodcarving"

After saying so, you take a small peek over his figure, still drapped over your chest and neck, to the table behind. "Speaking of, can I see what you're doing?"

He looks back, where he's left the figurine unnattended after your arrival. Lets go of you, taking a step back so you get a better look.

"Sure, darlin'. Go'head"

Joel thinks he's good at hiding the nervousness in his voice as you approach the table. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, anxiously.

"Your glasses" almost in a reflex, passing them to him before seeing what's on the table. "Can you wear them, Joel? Pretty please"

He takes the glasses from your hands, fingers brushing. It may be that or your request that make his heart jump. You can see some hesitation on him before he puts them on. Looking down at you, smirking, Joel smiles.

"There ya' go, sweet girl. Happy now?" he asks, a hint of huskiness in his voice.

"So much better" you tap them lightly, "and so is your vision"

Joel let's out a small chuckle, grinning like a fool. Honestly, he loves the attention.

(He's never going to admit it out loud, though)

"You do know how'da flatter an old man, huh"

You smirk, moving to the table again. "Oh, I love flattering him. Now, show me what you're working on"

There's a block of wood on the center. Cut sharp. Perfectly. He's been obssesive with it, maybe. There's a sketch, and the figurine only has been carved at the bottom, where a tail begins to take shape.

"I know am not an artist, but I tried"

You remain silent, making him a little nervous.

"S'a deer" he explains, gruffly, looking into your eyes for a reaction.

"A deer? Like, Bambi?" you ask in awe, softly tracing the wood. Your words get stuck, like honey. Sweet but sticky. "Joel..."

His heart swells a bit at your tone, expression soft as he recognizes admiration in your tone.

"Yeah, like damn Bambi" he murmurs, hands itchy. First, he shoves them on his pockets, just to take them out and place them on his hips instead, his jacket now open, the silhoutte of his tummy under his shirt showing, the flannel stretched on the middle. He watches you closel as you face him again.

"Is it- Is it for me?" you ask in that voice that, goddamn it, makes Joel want to give you the whole world if he could.

He slowly nods, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Yeah" he admits, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "S' for ya"

Then looks away, feeling vulnerable for some reason. But your lips quiver, and before he can register, you throw yourself at him, hands around his neck, body practically swinging. He stumbles a bit, yet manages to catch you alright.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you gush, peppering his cheek with kisses. "I know it's not even done but, wow. Thank you, Joel!" an adorable squeal leaves your mouth, and as soon as that is out, your lips find his to leave a sweet kiss on his mouth. When you calm down, your voice goes soft. "It's... No one had ever done something like this for me"

He's clearly taken by surprise by your affection outburst, his heart swelling at your reaction and giddyness. He's also a bit overwhelmed, kissed cheeks now a pretty flushed pink. There's something so warm and fond on his eyes as he looks down on you, cupping your cheek after your final kiss.

"S'nothin', sweet girl. You're welcome"

"You're so special, Joel. Did you know that?" you whisper, leaning into his touch while closing your eyes.

Good. He's probably a mess right now, his heart clenching on his chest, a mix of emotions washing over him. God, he hates getting compliments, but yours always stirred things he long ago thought dead.

"Special, huh?" he grumbles while sporting a half-smile. "I reckon that's you"

You smirk. "We can both be special, then. There's always room for two"

He runs his thumb over your cheek, chuckling a bit. "Deal. But you're a bit more"

"Oh, you want to compete?" you tease.

He smirks at the challenge, pulling you closer with a tight arm around your waist.

"Damn right I do. Y'know I like winnin'. 'Sides, 'm more than willin' to play if it means ya' get competitive 's well. You're cute when you challenge me, baby"

You feign hurt. "I'm always cute, how dare you"

"Oh, forgive me" he chuckles. "At this age I tend to forget"

"Don't worry. I'll beat your ass so bad, you won't forget it"

He archs an eyebrow, amused. "Now you abuse the elder? Bad girl"

Your face flushes and core pulses.

"I can be a bit of a brat if I want to" you tease, fingers roaming over his warm chest. "Will you punish me for that?"

Joel's eyes darken on an instant. There's a shadow of desire coating his brown when a low rumble escapes his throat. The air feels charged with a new found tension suddenly.

"Careful, sweet girl. You ain't know what you playin'"

He closes the gap between you, his body pressing against yours. His hands move from your waist to grip your hips, holding you against him.

"You're quite mouthy tonight, aren't 'cha?" he growls, his voice carrying a rough edge.

"Just to get what I want. Besides, your little project tug at my hearstrings" you quip. "And something else"

"Oh, yeah? You gon' tell me what's that?"

You smirk. "What do you think it is?"

He hums. "I'd rather hear you say it"

"That's not fair" you pout your lips.

He chuckles, "Nothin' ever is fair, I reckon. But you're a troublesome little thing, ain't ya'?"

You send him a little flirtatious wink.

"I am looking for some trouble tonight"

He's not amused by your words. You're a greedy insatiable little thing sometimes. So far, Joel's been able to deflect all of your attempts. The farthest you'd ever made it was when you straddled his lap on the old couch of his workshop, and even then, he limited his reactions to grunts and seeing you come. God. It had been tortuous waiting for you to go so he could piston his aching cock to the memory of your little sounds.

"Ain't that interesting?"

"Oh, but it is" you're quick to counter, "and I take you and your little friend are into it"

His breath hitches, eyes and cheeks burning alike with intensity. The heat travels down his spine, straight to his throbbing dick, the reason he's been caught red-handed.

"You surely are looking for trouble" his voice reduced to a rough gasp.

Joel's struggling to maintain the control he so prided himself in, you not making it any easier with your teasing. "Y'a temptress, doll. Know that?"

"Is my magic working?" you ask, batting your eyelashes.

He's resolve is quickly crumbling, self-control tossed to the bin in the corner. Joel loves as much as he hates your big innocent yet teasing eyes. No wonder he was carving you out a deer.

"Damnit, sweet girl. Y'know it's. You gettin' me all worked up in'ere"

"Take me upstairs, then. I'm sure we can find a solution"

He can feel the heat radiating off of you, eyes darkening at the invitation.

"Doll, you're playing with fire here" he warns, despite the obvious effect your words are having on him.

"It's fine. I don't mind the burn"

He knows he's done, Joel's growl an indicator of his control snapping completely.

"Damn it" he mutters before his lips crash against yours. It's heated. Desperate. His hands grip your hips, holding you tighlty against him while he devours your mouth like a starved man, as if you didn't kiss just this morning, before going on your patrol.

You moan into the kiss, Joel swallowing your sounds as if they were his own. Fuck. His mind goes fuzzy when you grab his face with both of your hands, deepening the kiss. He thinks he's backed you against a wall, by the small Thud sound. He's lost: on the way your lips move, on the way they taste, in the sounds they make.

You pull out first. Joel thinks you belong in a museum: with your lips, swollen and parted. It's too your dilatated eyes and chest, rising and falling. He can't resist and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingers tenderly brushing your soft skin.

"Aren't you the prettiest man in Jackson?" you blurt out, adoring.

He's not used to being praised like this. Not even by you, even after months of doing so. Always feels like the first time. And then, he feels stupid: for blushing too much, heart skipping too many beats, chest clenching too hard. Like a damn highschooler. Joel's as embarrassed as content that you make him feel all sort of ways.

"Easy, sugar" he mutters, voice gruff. "You gon' give 'tis old man an ego"

"No need to blame me when you can look at yourself in the mirror" you're quick to reply. "I believe that's enough reason to give you some ego"

He's smirking at your response. Yeah, he definitely loves when you stroke his ego. Especially as of late, where he feels... rather, old.

"Oh. Oh" you begin to tease through giggles, playfully hitting his chest. He huffs, catching where this is going. "Do you like it when I call you pretty?"

Joel's cheeks flush a little at your question, his stoic nature faltering a bit at your teasing.

"Maybe" he mumbles, eyes avoiding yours. "But don't let it get to your head, doll"

"Too late" you murmur, wrapping once more your hands on his neck. "You're pretty, Joel. Especially when you flush"

Pretty isn't exactly a word he'd used to describe himself. But when you call him pretty, out of that sweet mouth of yours, his name along as well? You can call him however the fuck you want.

He can feel his body reek out vulnerability, and he hates himself a bit for getting weaker. He tried, really did, but his walls had been down for a while. His defenses had crumbled. He was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Yet here you were, looking at him with your big adoring eyes like he was the only thing that mattered. Joel lets your words sink for a moment, letting out a small sigh, not being able to deny it feels good. Maybe it does matter.

"You're too damn sweet, sugar. Y'know that?" he mutters, finger tracing lightly your hip.

You smile, sickenly saccharine. "I'm aware. Trust me, I have a cute grumpy boyfriend to remind me so"

His expression softens even more at your easy loving. He's so fucking putty in your hands, Tommy would laugh in his face.

"Y'got me wrapped 'round your damn finger, sweet girl" Joel whispers in his usual gruff voice, but it's laced with affection.

You raise a finger, moving it in front of his face like one would with a bone and a dog.

"You mean this?"

Joel watches your finger with amused eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. It scares and excites him how easy it's to fall under your spell. With soft movements, he reaches and captures your hand, bringing it to his mouth. He then presses a gentle kiss to your finger, eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, doll. This one" his voice is husky, "All of 'em. Y' got me good"

You gulp under the intensity of his gaze. "Don't do that..."

He smirks at your reaction, finally feeling like he has some leverage. He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as he holds you even closer, your chest pressing against his. You even feel the soft curve of his stomach over your own.

"Don't do what?" he asks, playing coy. "We're not backin' down now, are we, sugar?"

At your lack of answer, cheeks bright, he huffs, hand moving to gently cup your chin. Joel's brown eyes lock with yours when he speaks again.

"So, what now? Or did y' just come by to check up on your ol' man?"

"No. That's not what I want"

His smirk grows as the dark shade on his eyes. He's not dumb, of course he knows what you want. Just wants to hear you say it.

"What'da ya' want, then?"

You pout your lips, whining.

"Joel... Just give me what I want"

He leans in a bit closer, voice gruff and filled with desire. His thumb strokes your chin softly.

"Depends" he grumbles. "You gon' ask nicely?"

"On my very best behavior" you raise your hand, "I swear it"

He smirks, letting go of your face. "Good girl"

You stand on your tiptoes, leaning against his ear. His heart skips a beat, a small shiver running down his spine at your lips ghosting his skin.

"I am" you kiss his earlobe. "For you. Just you" you leave a little bite on it. A low rumble escapes his throat. You lick the red little spot to soothe it. "Your best girl"

"My only girl" he's quick to reply. You're up in the air in a minute, his hands supporting you as he carries you, your legs dangling at his sides. It amazed you how strong he continued to be, despite his age. Strong men make good times, you suppose.

You giggle a bit. "Oh, Joel. I'm so lucky"

His heart races at your words. All this banter fills him with a warm fondness, making him feel young again.

"I reckon that's me, doll"

Your noses brush after his comment, in silence. You close your eyes, as so does he. You break the aphony first.

"Joel"

"Yes?"

"I want you to have me"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest swelling with a mixture of emotion. No one has ever spoken to him with such tenderness, even with what your request implies. It's overwhelming.

"Ya' want me?" he asks gruffly, his voice hoarse with desire and emotion.

Fuck. It's happening. What he avoided so badly, but right now? His mind has gone blank, and when it starts working again, it's filled with lewd images of sweet you. Jesus. If he had doubts he was going to hell before, now he's certain. At least, he got heaven on Earth with you.

"Y' sure 'bout that, sugar?" he asks gruffly, his voice husky. "You're so damn young, deserve someone better"

You nod, slowly, caressing his cheek, your voice just barely above a whisper.

"I've never been more sure"

He takes a small moment to gather himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He's suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable, and it scares him as much as it excites him.

"I mean, would've I done all this if I didn't?"

Joel lets out a small laugh. "You little devious minx. I'll give ya' that"

"Give me what?" you tease.

His lips crash into yours as your hands find his face, holding as you deepen the kiss. His fingers dig in your thighs, making you moan and a spark of electricity run through his spine. He lets out a low moan in response to yours, pulling away from your lips momentarily, his eyes darkening with want. Joel looks at you for a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

He lets out a low rumble, his voice gruff and rough.

"Yeah" he mutters. "Keep talkin' like that, and you'll get more than a kiss"

"So, I'll keep talking then"

"Y' little brat" he grumbles, voice dripping with frustration. "If ya' don't stop, I'm gonna..."

Joel trails off, his eyes dark with promises left unspoken.

"Say it" you challenge. "Or are you backing down?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of self control, despite loving your teasing and how it's driving him wild. He lets out a small laugh, his mind swirling with desire and frustration.

"Y' gon' pay for that later, darlin'" he threatens gruffly, his eyes locked on yours.

"How about now?"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your question, the idea sending a surge of desire through him. He can feel his self-control slipping away, your words pushing him closer to the edge.

He lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his hand tightening around your chin. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of desire and anticipation in them.

"Sure you wanna know, doll?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

"All of it" too eager. He can't help but smile, resolve unraveling. "Don't spare any details"

"And you gon' be a good girl?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Didn't I promise so?"

Those simple words are all it takes for Joel's resolve to finally crumble. Fuck what other people think. Fuck his own fears. He can't resist you any longer, the desire within him reaching boiling point.

"Shit, doll" he rasps, voice rough. "With words like that I'm just gon' give y'anythin' you want"

"Please, Joel" you utter his name in a little whimper.

"Please what?"

Loves to see you beg. Has imagined you squirming, like you did when his fingers would drift too close to your aching cunt. Straddling feels so stupid now, when he could've have sweet you like this a long ago.

"Fuck me"

The sound of your whimper goes straight to Joel's throbbing dick. He's completely undone, powerless against your desires.

"That's right, good girl" he rasps, his voice gruff and rough. You let a little whimper at the praise. "I'll give y'anythin' you want, angel"

He carries you upstairs while you giggle at his huffs, teasing him when his knees creak like the old wooden stairs. Still, he insists on carrying you when you offer to walk, maybe trying to prove his strength to you or something. When his face turns a deep shade of red, you can't tell if it's out of shame or effort.

"Taking me to your bed? I've never seen your bedroom" you muse out loud, once he reaches the final stair.

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"There's always a first" he rasps.

Your nose brushes against his cheek. "Can't wait"

The door opens when Joel kicks it lightly. It's very him, you think, as soon as it comes on view. There's a guitar in the corner, you notice too.

"It's very you" you say out loud now. He drops you on the bed, making you giggle. "It's simple and cozy"

He's still trying to calm his racing heart, but it's difficult when he's hovering over you, so close to your body, he can feel the heat of it. Can even smell your arousal in the air.

"'M not sure simple's a nice thing t' say 'bout someone"

For a moment, the room goes quiet. He hesitates to continue.

"There's just... somethin' I need to discuss with ya' before we get carried 'way"

Your doe eyes look up to him. "Yes?"

Joel takes a deep breath.

"I've... It's been a while, y'know, since... I'm just used to bein' alone. In that sense. And I... I haven't been with someone in a long time"

His voice trails off, a vulnerability settling in his expression.

"Joel..." you whisper, sitting as he backs up a bit.

"'M not good with people" he admits gruffly. "I tend to scare 'em off"

You extend your hand to softly trace over his stubble. Joel leans into your touch, his expression softening, your presence providing a sense of comfort. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You're not scaring me. I'm here"

His mouth tastes like sand when he swallows.

"Yeah, but I-"

"Yes?"

He pauses for a moment, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"'M not exactly young anymore, sugar"

"And what's bad about not being young?" you look at him, voice soft. "Are you afraid your knees will crack when you go down on me or what?"

He lets out a clipped laugh. The tension in the room lightens a little, and he's grateful for your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh, very funny, sweetheart." he grumbles, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And no, 's not that. I can eat ya' just fine" Joel spits, making you laugh at his cocky demeanor. But then he goes quiet again. "It's just... 'M not as young and good lookin' as I used to be" he finally blurts out.

Why is he even saying this things out loud. He didn't care before. He thought about himself better before. Yeah, before. What is it about the now that he cares, worse, admits out loud his insecurities?

Your expression morphs into one of sympathy. God, he hates it. Looks away from your warmth and pity. No, not pity. Compassion, like Joel was some sort of wounded old dog.

"Joel" you close the distance, tracing his face tenderly, drawing little heart shapes over his stubble. "That's not true. You're as handsome as back in the day, baby. I didn't meet you then, I know that, and this may be biased, but I'll choose the old you always, my pretty boy"

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his expression softening even more. He's not used to such tender affection, and it's overwhelming.

He takes a moment to process your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He can see the sincerity in your eyes, and it touches him more than he can express. Words were never his thing, anyway.

"Y/n" he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with emotion. He even used your name. "You're too good fo' me"

"I just... I think it's because I love you"

He's taken back, almost falling in top of you, yet quickly regaining his posture. Still, his heart jumps into his throat, dangerously close to falling out from his mouth at your sudden confession.

It's been almost a year of being his and him being yours, yet those three words hadn't even been close to being said. Joel never thought he'd get to hear them again from the lips of a lover. Yet here you were, so damn young and sweet, letting them roll off your tongue in a soft echo of your loving. Safe. Like a home. You were his home.

He looks at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

"Y'... Y' love me?" his voice rasping a bit as he questions you.

"It's okay if you don't say it back" you laugh quietly, probably to make him feel better. Always thinking about the others, you pure thing.

He looks you in the eye, his hand still cupping your cheek. There's a warm tenderness in his expression, despite his gruff tone.

"No. Don't think that" he goes quiet for a moment, as if the weight of your declaration was sinking him. He lets out a shaky breath, as if unsure if the world around him was real, his eyes locked on yours. "I... love you too"

Your eyes widen, a smile appearing instantly on your face as it lights up. His heart swells immediately at the sight of your happiness, and all he wishes for is to see it everyday. When he wakes up, to be first, and when he goes to sleep, your face the last thing to see. To be there, even as he closes his eyes and dozes off to sleep. Your giddy giggles are so fucking contagious, a rebellious smile creeps up his lips.

"You do?"

His chest tightens, vulnerable. Filled with an affection never known before.

"Yeah, sweet girl" he mutters gruffly. "I do. I love you"

Your smile is probably the most beautiful thing in the world, pleased and vicious like a cat's.

"Now, if you love me so dearly as you say, please" your lips part in a shaky breath, "have me"

So damn impatient. He may have spoiled you too much.

"Ya' want me t' have ya', honey?" he asks gruffly, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide down your thighs, tainting untouched skin.

You squirm, nodding eagerly. "Please. I want you so bad it hurts"

His voice, so soft and low, may have passed as a grunt. But you saw. Heard. Noticed. Like the way his face frowned, eyebrows furrowed as if you just told him you were sick. As if he wanted to be the cure to the disease he gave you.

"Tell me where it hurts"

Demanding in a tender way. Almost benevolent. Not even hurting you, but wanted to take every pain of yours away. You didn't deserve not even a scratch of this angry dirty world ruining your soft heart.

You point to the middle of your legs, parting them slowly open. His eyes turn glassy as he tugs your jeans down, and the first sight he gets, is your underwear, damp with your sticky arousal. He gulps, eyes darkening with desire.

"Please. There" you whimper.

"I've got eyes" Joel lets out a small, gruff chuckle. "You're impatient, know that?"

He cups your chin, eyes locked on yours. His breath is shallow, voice raspy and low.

"Don't worry. Lemme help"

He places himself in between your legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties.

"Gon' show ya' what'a man with experience has to offer, al'ight? Now, spread y'r legs open for me" he commands softly. "Lemme see that beautiful, needy cunt"

He pulls your panties down, his throat dry when he peels the drenched fabric down your legs, revealing glistening folds. He can see how swollen and puffy they were. The sight makes his mouth water and his cock pulse with desire.

Joel lowers his head, knees and bed creaking, inhaling the sweet intoxicating smell of your arousal, his facial hear ghosting over your trembling skin until it tickles. Your nervous giggling get stuck in your throat when Joel buries his face between your thighs, tongue delving into your slick folds to lap up the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. He groans at the taste, as if savoring the best meal to exist on Earth.

"So sweet" he growls, voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His mouth latches onto your clit, suckling the throbbing needy bud as his tongue flicks over it. "Too damn sweet"

It still hurts. It's across your face.

"Gon' help with 'tis. Just wait" he thrusts two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to stroke a spot that reduces you to a quiet muffled mess. "S' right, sugar" he praises. "Wanna see you come f' y'r old man"

The feeling of having you here, so needy and responsive, is doing things to him. Joel's lost on the way you beg, his name out of your parted lips in a secretive manner, as if reinforcing the nature of your desires and needs. How this moment was only yours, a whole new world past his door, creeping up the sweaty sheets, making way to his lonley heart, poisoned by the infectious warmth of your own.

He could feel your thighs trembling around his head, cute cries and whimpers serving as a motivation to bring you to the edge. Joel devours you, sucking like a starved man, flicking and lashing at your gushing cunt mercilessly with his tongue. It's experience, he made damn sure you knew about that. He also pumps his fingers faster, plunging deeper into your clutching heat.

"Come on, doll" he urges, voice a low rumble against your sex, "wanna feel 'tis tight little pussy spasm 'round ma' fingers"

"Joel!" you moan out loud, hands clawing into his arms for support.

He can feel your body tensing, your tight walls fluttering around the digits plunging in and out of you. Joel knew you were close, so he sucks your clit with fervent intensity as he curled his fingers just right, stroking that special spot that made your toes curl.

"That's it, y/n" he growls, eyes flashing up to meet yours, dark and intense with lust. "Drench me, y' sweet thing"

With a keening cry, you feel your body burst. Your back archs as your body quakes and shudders, your orgasm washing over you. Joel feels your pussy clench and spasm around his fingers, hot liquid gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist.

Joel's a gentleman, languidly licking and suckling as you ride out of your high. Once your breathing slows, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to clean off your essence. He meets your gaze, eyes hooded with the same hunger as your own.

"Like I said" he praises softly, making your spent cunt throb. "You're too damn sweet, sugar"

You giggle. "You're insane"

He leans in, planting a soft fluttering kiss to your quivering lips.

"Just f' ya'"

There's only one thing left to do. You know. He knows. You both know. But the way he takes in your pause, as if you're going to discover the most powerful secret, makes you believe there is so much more. His expression turns curious at your deliberate choice of aphony.

"Tell me what ya' want now. I could give ya' the world if 's what ya' want"

You avoid his gaze, playing with the collar of his flannel.

"I need you"

He lets out a clipped chuckle. "That I know, dirty one"

You roll your eyes, playfully.

"We're both aware. But it's not that, it's just..."

"Yes?"

"Can I see you, please?"

His eyes meet your expectant ones. His voice is gruff but soft, his desire for you mixing with a hint of vulnerability.

"Y' wanna see me?"

You nod as he gulps harshly, mouth tasting like sand.

"Can I take off your clothes?"

Joel's heart skips a beat again at your request, a mix of desire and vulnerability warring within him. It's too revealing and intimate, but God knows he just wants to give you all you want.

There's a hint of huskiness to his vulnerable voice. Unsure.

"Yeah" a beat. "You can"

You start unbuttoning slowly, licking your lips with eager trembling hands and pupils blown wide. Like a child on Christmas, knowing they're opening what they asked for. What they wanted. What they wrote at the top of their list. Your slow, deliberate unbuttoning has him practically holding his breath.

"Joel..." you bite your lip, removing his final button. Finally. "You're...."

Joel's heart stammers at the sight of your eyes on him, your obvious desire heightening his own. Yet, he avoids your stare as you reveal his bare chest, pose faltering a bit as if his strength succumbs to your hungry stare. He gulps under the intensity gaze, feeling so fucking vulnerable. It shakes him to his core, foreign to all this fuzzy things that make him sick.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his voice gruff and raw.

"Yeah…?"

"Perfect" you whisper out loud, his whole world crumbling down.

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, his chest tightening with a mix of vulnerability and affection. Despite it, he feels self-conscious.

"Perfect…?" he teases, a hint of a dumb smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah" you hum. "So pretty"

A word that doesn't fit in Joel's world. Feels off-putting. He has never been called such, but once it falls past your lips, coated in adoration, it feels as if it's the only truth ever. His heart skips another beat, body responding to your words.

You can tell he can't believe you're saying those words about him by the hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Joel"

He lets out a gruff huff in response.

"Look at me"

"Pretty" Joel repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you believe me?"

Joel's heart skips another beat, the vulnerability growing stronger. He's still not used to hearing compliments about his body by you, by anyone at all. It's making his head spin a little.

He can't quite meet your eyes as he responds.

"Take it easy on me, sweet girl. I ain't exactly in m' prime"

"Joel. Look at me" your voice a little firmer this time.

Joel takes a moment, his heart racing. He can't resist your plea, even if he hates feeling vulnerable. Slowly, he meets your eyes.

His voice is almost quiet. "I'm lookin'"

"Good. Do you want me to know what I'm looking at?" you extend your hand to reach his face, brushing a strand of hair that's fallen to his forehead. "Your greys" then, you tug his bottom lip down, "your lips", you circle the wrinkles around his eyes, "your warm eyes" and afterwards, your fingers dwindle on his nose, "just... all of your face: scars, spots and wrinkles. It leaves me breathless"

Joel's heart races as you speak, your words sinking in. He feels seen, in a way he's rarely felt before. Its messing with his mind.

"You describin' what you seein'?" his voice hoarse with emotion. It sounds far away, as if it didn't belong to him.

His lips part as your hand moves down, grazing his neck and his chest before landing on his belly. The sincerity in your eyes is making him feel even more vulnerable, and Joel can feel himself crumbling under your intense stare and firm hands.

"No, I'm describing what I love"

He looks at you, eyes filled with vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Y/n"

It was like being peeled, layer by layer. He hated how he was built now. Rough. Too sharp around edges. Soft on ones he wished he wasn't.

"All of you"

He chuckles, but it's a defeated dying sound. Almost bitter.

"That's impossible, honey"

"What's impossible is not to love all of you"

He gulps, throat raw but unable to say anything.

"Please. Let me love you"

As if he hadn't already hand you his soul. Swallowed all of your words with a feverish desperation, placed them inside a space that had gone cold with time, now feeling like a warm home where he finally belonged.

"My sweet girl..."

You feel Joel pressing you up against the mattress, his bigger body pinning you in place with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your naked curves with a fevered intensity, a low growl of frustration escaping his lips when you break the kiss to take some air.

"You can do with me anything you want"

Joel's breath stops. With a trembling but sure hand, he reaches out, his calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh until your nipples strain against the cloth of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your stomach.

Joel leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers. 

"Anythin'?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire as you nod, desperate. 

But then, he's laughing, as if pleased with your eagerness. Amused.

"That much? Oh, baby, you that desperate for 'tis ol' man? That bad you want me?"

You whine, at loss for words, the throb too painful to think straight. Joel laughs again, but it's devoid of malice.

"No, don't just nod. I wanna hear you say it, y/n. Wanna hear ya' beg fo' me like the desperate sweet little thin' y'are"

You've never been one for begging, but something about the way he's looking at you, the raw, unbridled hunger in his eyes, makes you want to give him everything he wants and more.

"Please, Joel" you breathe, voice reduced to a needy tremor, "I need you so bad, Joel, please. I need you inside me. I want you filling me, claiming me, in every way possible"

"My sweet girl" he coos, followed by a flurry of heated kisses and desperate groping. You barely have a chance to catch your breath before he's pressing you up with more insistence, his body pinning you in place with a hunger that leaves you desperately aching for more. "S'pretty"

Joel's eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. He smirks at the desperation written all over your face, something wicked and tender circling inside his brown eyes.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers huskily. "Ts' it, doll. Keep on beggin'. Lemme hear how much y' need ma' cock 'nside 'tis tight little cunt"

You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as you feel his fingers slide down to brush against your sensitive clit, a wave of arousal coursing through you.

"Please, please, please, Joel" you whimper, your voice high and needy as you grind yourself shamelessly against his hand. "I'm so wet for you. Please, I'm begging you, make me yours"

He growls. "S'eager, huh? Who would've thought ya' were such'a dirty girl for 'tis ol' dick? Just had ya' bein' all lovey dovey a second ago and now y'are beggin' fo' me to ruin 'tis pretty pussy, baby?"

He quickly sheds what's left of his clothes, revealing to your wide eyes the thick, hard length of his cock, springing free and bobbing heavily against his soft belly. Alright, you had some thoughts about dating a much older man, even if Joel seemed the type of guy to be doted, given his energy. You're glad to be proven wrong in the very best way.

"Fuck, Joel" you breathe, licking your lips as you imagine the taste of him on your tongue. "You're so big"

His cheeks color a pretty pink, sweat beads adorning his forehead. The heat of his body envelopes you like a furnace.

"Now I truly believe ya' like what ya' seein'" he chuckles, "such'a greedy little thing" a beat. "S' fucken hungry for ma' cock. Don't worry, baby. 'M gon' give it to you, nice and slow, until you're screamin' fo' me to let you come"

Joel settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, effectively swallowing your needy whimpers.

"M' gon' take real good care of what's mine" in that southern drawl that drives you crazy. Hungry. Poisoned with a ravenous desire to possess every inch he can reach of your body. For everyone to see. Know. For all the prying stares. Judgeful. To appreciate in secret under the watchful gaze of the weak sunrays that filter through the courtains of his bedroom.

He then leans to take one of your nipples on his mouth, suckling and teasing the rosy peak, lapping the sensitive bud with his tongue, his hand kneading and squeezing the soft flesh of your breast. You arch into his touch, a symphony of moans and whimpers falling from your lips as he works your body.

At the same time, Joel begins to slowly, teasingly push forward, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking inch by tortuous inch into your tight heat.

"Joel!" you gasp, your nails sinking down on the soft expanse of his broad back as you take in his girth, walls clenching and fluttering around his size.

Joel's breaths come in harsh pants against your skin as he fights the urge to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Y'are so fucken tight" he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Don't wanna hurt you, my little fawn. But ya' feel s' good, sweet girl. S' perfect 'round ma' cock."

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, using the leverage to rock your hips up against his, taking him a little deeper with each desperate roll. He's impressed by your hunger, your desire fueling further his consuming own.

"Joel" you mewl, voice breaking with need, "I can take it, please, I promise. I just need all of you, Joel. Please, fuck me hard and deep until I can't think of anything but the feeling of your cock inside of me"

With a feral growl, Joel surrenders to your plea, slamming his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt inside you. A scream that sounds like his name tears from your throat at the sudden, intense sensation of all of him devouring your from inside, your body convulsing with the force of his thrust.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that shake the bed frame and echo through the room. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the sounds coming out of your mouths.

"Please, please. I wanna come, please"

Tears well in your eyes at the insistence that rocks your body. Joel's eyes widen, perhaps in surprise, this new and strange, yet, his cock twitching makes this all the more intriguing. Arousing even.

"S' you cryin' over my cock?"

You deny it, but the salty trails have started to pool down your cheeks, your prettu fluttering eyelashes damp. Joel gulps, feeling blood rushing to his cock again.

"Don't worry, little fawn" doesn't know why but his tongue runs across your tear-smeared face, the taste of your damp skin, musk and sweat strong, make his mind go numb. "I think ya' look pretty when ya' cry"

Joel feels your velvet walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, signaling your coming climax. He doubles his efforts, slamming into you with a wild, primal intensity that steals your breath away.

"That's it, sweet girl" Joel growls, voice ragged with lust as he feels your body tensing beneath him. "Come for me, y/n. I wanna feel you comin' undone on ma' cock, screamin' ma' name as I fill you up nice"

You're a sight to savor in, like basking the first rays of sunlight on the morning. Like his bitter coffee on his favorite mug. But you're sweet on the inside and the outside, he thinks as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. Joel is lost on you, he's aware, as he leans down to capture your lips in a consuming kiss. He just wants to have all of you, day and night, body and soul, in and out, because just a taste, and he's gone down the deep saccharine trails of your neck and quivering heart.

Your back arches as the pleasure becomes too intense to bear, your body convulsing uncontrollably as your climax crashes over you. You scream his name, you think, lost in a sea of desperate pleas and incoherent whimpers spilling from your lips.

Joel hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm and milk his cock, your release triggering his own, followed by a grunt akin to surrender, perhaps. To you, now fully his. This is the end, he thinks. Now, he's truly yours. God help her, the townsfolk say when you tell them Joel's your man, but when a hoarse shout of your name comes out of his mouth, pulses hot and hard as he grinds against you, you think this is all you need.

Fuck it.

This is what it feels like.

Joel collapses onto you, his bigger softer body blanketing you as he struggles to catch his breath.

"My sweet girl" he coos, peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves with a gentle, reverent touch. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, when he whispers, voice low and sated. "Mine"

You can't help but laugh in awe. "Yes, Joel. Yours"

He props himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the delicate line of your jaw.

"I know I said I was scared, before. That I've tried to push you 'way. God, y'are stubborn, know that? 'M just glad you ain't a quitter"

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss that makes your heart leap. It tastes bitter like grains and whiskey, but sweet with love and devotion. It's not only a spark between your lips, another of many, but a promise, burning with the same intensity the old coffee pot heats his coffee in the morning.

"Y'are my everything, y/n" your name pronounced like never before. Now ever since.

A heart. A home.

"So are you, Joel" his name in a fervent whisper. Born to be said like a prayer.

And for the first time in so long, Joel Miller feels the same thing he felt when he held Ellie close. I've got you, babygirl.

Hope.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @pedgito / dts: @joelscowgirl ⋆˚✿˖°

[lonely-ey3s]

Ride or Die | Chapter Seven

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : There are five stages of grief and anger is showing its ugly face in the aftermath of your accident.

chapter warnings: to avoid spoilers, i'm not going to post very specific warnings for this chapter, but here are the basics: angst, fluff, trauma, violence, and switching POVs.

word count: 10.3k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

ICU — The Next Morning

The sun was just beginning to rise behind the heavy clouds outside, painting the hospital windows in soft gray light. The whir and beep of machines filled the silence in the room. 

Joel sat slouched in the corner, eyes heavy with fatigue, but still trained on your still figure lying in the hospital bed. He hadn’t moved much since the night before — not really. Not when the only thing that felt right anymore was staying close to you.

He heard the soft knock at the door before it creaked open.

"Good morning... just here to check a few things.” Dr. Patel said softly as he entered with a clipboard in hand and a nurse trailing behind him. 

Joel straightened slightly, rubbing his face, trying to read their expressions before either of them spoke in regards to your condition.

The nurse gave him a soft smile — but it was the kind people used when they felt bad for you or the situation you were put into.

Dr. Patel lowered his voice as he turned toward the bed. “Let’s check her neuro signs.”

Joel stood slowly, stepping back near the wall as the doctor leaned over and began the exam. He watched as the doctor lifted your eyelids, shining a light in each one. No response. He gently tapped your sternum, trying to elicit any movement.

“Pupils are sluggish,” the nurse reported, noting it in the chart as she spoke. “Reflex response still minimal.”

“Glasgow Coma Scale remains at 6,” Dr. Patel said quietly. “Still no spontaneous eye opening. No verbal response. Withdrawal from pain only in the left arm.”

Joel’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what half those words meant, but the weight behind them was clear.

“Respiratory effort?” the nurse questioned.

“None. Full ventilator dependency still.” Patel sighed, straightening. He turned his head slightly to the nurse and added in a lower voice, “ICP hasn’t come down like Callahan hoped. Edema’s still pressing against the left temporal lobe. We should prep for a repeat CT today.”

“Should we alert neurology?” she asked just as quietly.

“Just did,” he said, putting away his phone. “But we’re running out of options.”

Joel stepped forward slightly, voice hoarse. “What does that mean?”

Patel looked at him for a long moment. “It means… she’s not responding the way we hoped. The pressure on her brain isn’t decreasing. There are no signs of improved cognitive function yet.”

Joel swallowed hard, listening, trying to absorb everything. “So you’re saying she’s not—she’s not waking up?”

“I’m saying we’re at a critical point. Sometimes swelling like this resolves slowly… sometimes it doesn’t.” Patel took a breath. “We’re watching for signs of brainstem activity. But as of this morning, she’s still not initiating breaths on her own. That’s not what we want to see.”

Joel pressed a hand against the edge of the bed, gripping it to stay upright. “And her voice? Someone mentioned late last night she wouldn’t have her voice… said to ask you...” he asked, almost a whisper.

The nurse answered gently. “We noticed bruising on her larynx during initial intubation. ENT did a consult and confirmed trauma to the vocal cords. We won’t know the extent until she’s awake… but if she does wake up, there’s a possibility she won’t be able to speak immediately.”

Patel nodded, adding. “There’s scarring. If the cords were torn or the nerves damaged, it could be temporary aphonia… or worse. Again — we won’t know until we get her off the ventilator. That’s another reason we’re watching so closely.”

Joel stared at you — his chest tightening, rage and helplessness mixing like acid in his veins. That son of a bitch had taken so much. Nearly all of you. And now maybe even your voice — possibly your memory too?

The nurse gently touched Joel’s arm. “We’ll come back after the imaging is prepped to take her for that CT.”

The two quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

He didn’t even realize Everly had come back in until her hand brushed his shoulder. “Joel?” she asked, voice low.

He turned, slow and dazed, like he was underwater.

She took one look at his face and frowned. “What’d they say?”

Joel looked at you. At the machines. At the way your chest rose with the help of a machine. At the bruises around your throat. He let out a breath. “Not good,” he said. “Swelling’s not goin’ down. She’s not breathin’ on her own. And her vocal cords might be—” His voice cracked. “She might not even be able to talk when she wakes up.”

Everly looked down at you, lips trembling. “Oh God…”

Joel turned away from her and rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing.

The machines behind him hummed. Beeped. Breathed for you. A constant reminder that you couldn’t do it yourself. Not yet.

His stomach twisted — and his eyes were far away. Going somewhere darker, as the devil on his shoulder began whispering to him.

‘You should’ve been there.’

His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

‘You let her go. You knew it felt wrong, and you let her walk into that house - alone.’

And then it started to get lower, colder, curling into the back of his skull.

‘But you still have time. Time to fix it. Time to make it right.’

He tried to blink the thought away.

‘You know where he is. You’ve already driven past it…’

‘Come on… it’d be easy. In and out. Tommy would help.’

Joel’s jaw clenched, and then another voice — softer, slower — tried to reason.

‘Don’t. Don’t do it. Think about her. Think about what she’d want. About what you could lose…’

But then he looked at the bruises again. The feeding tube. The blood still crusted in your hair.

And the angel on his shoulder didn’t stand a chance as the devil pushed harder. 

‘She didn’t ask for justice. But she deserves vengeance.’

‘Think about what he’s doing right now? Eating? Sleeping? Breathing free air? What while she’s here choking on a goddamn tube? Unable to breath on her own?’

His breath hitched, his teeth grinding together.

‘He hurt her. He choked her. He tried to kill her.’

‘Make him pay.’

He could feel his heart start to pound. The adrenaline, the rush of what it’d feel like starting to fuel him. 

‘Make him pay for the bruises. For the fear in her eyes. For the blood on still in her scalp. For the words she might never be able to speak again.’

He shook his head, so the angel tried to reason:

‘What will you say if she wakes up and asks what you did? She’s asked you not to fall into his trap…’

But it was no use,

‘What will you say if she doesn’t wake up? What will you say you did? Nothing?’

A beat passed — then another.

And the angel finally tried, one last small and desperate plea.

‘This isn’t you, this isn’t what she’d want. You’re better than this.’

But Joel’s gaze lifted toward the ICU window. The faint outline of the machines and your body lying still beneath sterile sheets stared back at him — and the last piece of him snapped.

‘No. You were better. And look where it got you. Look where it got her.’

He looked at Everly as she sat on your bed, gently brushing your hair back, and it was like a switch was flicked.

“Hey uhm, I gotta go home,” he said. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated…" he started gathering his things.

Everly turned to look at him and nodded, completely oblivious to the internal battle that just took place, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.”

Joel came over and leaned down, brushing a kiss to your knuckles, then to your forehead. His voice was a breath. “Keep fightin’, baby. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

He rose slowly, gave you one last look, and headed toward the door.

The second your ICU door sealed behind him, he felt the shift fully.

That thudding pressure in his chest—the one that had been clenching tighter since the moment he heard of what happened—turned sharp. Less grief now, more heat. His jaw ticked as he walked down the corridor, boots heavy, fists clenching at his sides.

He passed the elevator, didn’t even glance at it. He needed to move. Burn it off. 

Every fluorescent bulb overhead seemed to buzz louder. Every passing nurse and echo of voices in the hallway grated against his nerves. The image of your bruised throat, the ventilator pumping your chest, the coldness of your sweet skin he just kissed poems into days ago, the way the doctor said “if” you wake up— it was like fire under his skin.

He reached the far end of the hallway and slammed his palm flat against the wall, breathing hard, shoulders shaking. The dull ache in his hand didn’t even register.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn't breathe on your own. And the bastard who did it? He was still out there. Still breathing, still free, and still living.

Joel's vision swam, red edging in at the corners.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with shaking fingers to see ‘10% Low Battery’, then behind it — your photo on the lock screen. Laughing. Glowing. Alive.

He stared at it like it might ground him, but it didn’t. Not this time.

He opened his contacts and found Tommy’s name, then pressed dial. It rang once before the line picked up. 

“Joel? What’s wrong? It’s… fuck— its 4:30am…” Tommy answered, sleepy and concerned.

Joel didn’t even hesitate, “Meet me at the Rosewood Motel. Wear somethin' you don't care for.”

Then he hung up.

His grip on the phone was white-knuckled now. And behind the grief and panic, something darker was rising. 

Something cold. Something ready. Something fueled with anger and regret of not doing it sooner. 

The parking lot of the Rosewood Motel was washed in the early morning light. The neon sign above the front office buzzed faintly. It looked like the kind of place people disappeared in or went to disappear from somewhere else — no questions, no names, just cash at check-in and a back door to run through when things went bad.

Joel sat motionless in the driver’s seat of his dad’s truck, his eyes locked on the peeling door of room 217, the one that for the last couple days when driving by; kept all the restraint in the world to not drop in, pay a visit to — the one that Riley’s blue truck was parked nicely in front of. 

The silence in the cab buzzed louder than the neon above. His jaw ached from clenching. His chest hurt from breathing. 

Tommy’s headlights pulled up behind him, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. His door shut, and his heavy boots approached.

Joel didn’t move; he just kept staring at the number 217 as his mind ran over the ways he was going to take the air from his pathetic lungs.

Tommy opened the passenger door and slid in, glancing at his brother’s profile — tense, jaw wired tight, eyes locked forward like a bomb that hadn’t quite gone off yet.

“Want to tell me what we’re doin’ here at 5 am in the mornin'?” Tommy asked, voice low and slightly annoyed.

Joel’s fingers flexed once on the wheel before he spoke. “That day — the day she got blindsided by her dad and Riley showin’ up — I walked her out when things got tense.” 

Tommy nodded, “Yeah, and?”

“We passed Riley’s truck.” His hand clenched tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t think much of it then. But on the dash, there was a paper. Scrawled notes. IOUs. Two names —  Ten grand for the leader of Los Serpentines and nine grand for Eddie Mason.”

He swallowed, voice turning hard. “And there was a pen clipped to it. Rosewood Motel. Logo stamped clear as day.” he nodded to the motel in front of them. 

Tommy’s brows pulled together. “He’s stayin’ here?”

Joel gave a single, tight nod. “See that?” He nodded to his truck. 

“He hasn’t left town, and didn’t like what Judd said he did before she went there yesterday. They lied to everyone. And then she walked into that house… where that son of a bitch waited for her.”

Tommy sat back, piecing it together. “So we’re here to… what, Joel?”

“I can’t… sit there anymore, Tommy. I can’t watch her hooked up to machines, praying she wakes up, knowing he did that to her and he’s just…” He trailed off, knuckles going white again. “He’s just livin’.”

Tommy sighed softly, “Joel, you know we can’t—”

He froze as Joel slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The sound cracked through the cab like a gunshot.

“He almost killed her!” Joel’s voice broke.

His breath came faster, more ragged now. The fire behind his eyes trembled as tears finally broke past the edges.

“I sat next to her all night last night. I just sat there… held her hand and prayed to God or whatever is up there.... begged them to wake her up.” 

His jaw jutted, and tears fell down his cheeks. “She can’t even breathe on her own. I can’t count the times I told her that I loved her over and over in the last 12 hours, and she can’t even hear me…” His voice cracked. “I failed her, Tommy.”

Tommy stared, stunned by the broken, furious wreck beside him.

Joel wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand quickly, shoving it all back down, breath shaky. “I won’t fail her again. This ends… right here — right now.”

Tommy’s voice was quiet. “You’re not thinking straight, Joel.”

Joel turned on him, eyes blazing. “I am, Tommy. For the first time with this fucker, I am.”

A beat passed, then Tommy exhaled slowly.

“Alright. Fuck it.” He nodded and looked at the door Joel had his gaze stuck on. 

“We do this smart. No signs of forced entry. No prints. We leave nothing they can pin back to us.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Nothin’ that can make him look like the victim.”

“Agreed,” Tommy nodded.

Joel’s breathing finally started to slow. “What’s the plan?”

Tommy looked at the motel, at the shadows in the corner, the cameras that clearly didn’t work.

“I go in first,” he said. “Knock on his door, pretend I’m housekeeping or the front desk. If he opens it? I get inside. See if he’s alone. If he is… I drop him. Quiet. No mess.”

Joel nodded once, the tension coiling tighter in his gut.

“Then I turn on the lamp to signal you…” Tommy continued as the most of the lights were out in his room. “You come in, we do what needs to be done. And then…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, turning to look at his brother. “Then what?”

Tommy smirked faintly. “We make it look like one of the guys he owes came for collection.”

Joel blinked. “You want to pin it on one of the names?”

Tommy shrugged. “He already owes ‘em, and both of ‘em would do something like this but one would keep the cops away...”

He nodded toward the room as he continued, “We swipe one of his notes. Add some flair — leave it behind as like a warning. A little message in Spanish…” 

Tommy could see the gears in Joel’s head start to turn, the muscles start to tense in his jaw the more he convinced himself it would work. 

Joel looked at the room, “You're right... you know how jumpy the cops get when cartels are involved. They’ll step back…”  He looked at his brother.

Tommy shrugged, “Plus, we’ll be each other’s alibis if they come sniffin’ around.”

Joel stared at the door of room 217 again, then down at his hands, now shaking slightly.

Tommy leaned forward and put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Look, we are either doin’ this right now or we’re walkin’ away… there’s not goin’ to be another chance.”

Joel nodded after a split moment, face set. “This ends now.”

Tommy opened his tool bag and pulled out a black ball cap, tugging it low over his eyes. He also pulled out an old hoodie and a pair of leather work gloves.

Joel looked over at him and nodded as he watched. “No fingerprints. No skin.”

Tommy smirked. “This ain’t my first rodeo, hermano.”

As he opened the door to leave, Joel reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hold me back in there...”

Tommy looked him in the eyes. He saw how dark they were, how much rage he had behind them. He could see the guilt melted into his brother's normally light and bright brown iris’s — it now making his eyes almost black. 

All he could do was nod and offer a tight smile, “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Joel watched him walk across the lot, each step echoing with quiet vengeance.

And as the street light flickered overhead, the only thing he could hear was your voice — soft and trembling in his memory:

“You make me feel safe…”

He whispered into the silence: “Forgive me, mi vida.”

Then he leaned over and pulled out the Glock he had from under the passenger side seat that he hoped he wouldn’t need to use, and put it down the back of his jeans, checked the time, and waited for the signal.

Everly's POV - 7:04 am

The room hummed with a type of quiet you can’t describe — the low murmur of machines, the soft hiss of the ventilator, the steady, unchanging beep of the heart monitor.

You hadn’t moved — not in the hours since surgery. Not since they brought you up from the ER and into the OR. You looked so fragile and pale, so still you hardly looked like the girl who used to shout across the pasture in the wind or laugh until you hiccupped.

Everly sat at the small chair near the window, fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee. She hadn’t sipped it in nearly an hour. Not really. She just held it like it might anchor her to the moment – keep her somewhat warm in this cold world without your light.

Joel had been with you all night. He hadn’t even moved to eat or drink. He just sat beside your bed, one hand clasped in yours, like letting go might make something worse. His eyes had been bloodshot, rimmed with the kind of pain no sleep could fix. Everly tried to offer him food or rest, but he refused. He said he couldn’t leave you, he couldn’t bear it. 

But then — sometime after the doctors came in for their morning rounds — something in him changed after Everly came in.

“I gotta go home,” he said after a long beat. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated...”

Everly nodded without a second thought, she understood he might need a break, she doubted he’d be gone for too long.  “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.” she said after kissing your head. 

He’d kissed your hand. Your forehead. Whispered something only you could hear then turned around and left.

That was two and a half hours ago.

Her thumb brushed across her phone screen. No new messages. No calls. Nothing from him.

She stood and stretched, the quiet in the room beginning to press too tightly against her chest. She moved to your bedside, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead gently, watching your chest rise then fall a few times with the help of the ventilator.

“You’re still fightin’. I know it,” she whispered. “I know you’re still in there.”

The door creaked open behind her, and she turned quickly.

Wes stepped in, shoulders hunched, eyes still tired.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’s she doing this morning?”

You sighed slightly disappointed, and turned back, “No change,” nodding toward your still form. “Breathing tube’s still in. BP’s stable for now, but she’s not stirred. Doctors said a lot of medical things this morning — none of it good.”

Wes walked closer, eyes sweeping over the machines before landing on you. “Jesus…”

He paused. “Where’s Joel?”

Everly hesitated. “Went home a couple of hours ago. Said he’d be back quick.”

Wes furrowed his brow and looked down at his watch. “Couple of hours?”

“Almost three now,” she said, checking the time again. “He hasn’t texted or called…”

“That doesn’t sound like him...” Wes said, setting down his things.

“I know,” she said with a concern to her tone. 

“Did he seem ok?” he asked, coming over to sit in the chair by your bed, taking your hand. 

“I'm not sure... I think somethin’ rattled him after the doctors came in earlier.” She said, quieter.

They both stood in silence for a beat.

“He was wrecked last night,” Wes added. “Didn’t wanna leave her side for even two minutes. You think he…?”

“I don’t know,” Everly murmured, her voice uneasy. “He said he was just gonna shower and check in with his parents. Maybe something came up. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Wes perked, eyebrow arched. 

She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know, Wes. He’s just… he’s been glued to her. Like she’s all he’s got. Somethin’ just doesn’t feel right.”

Wes exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want me to try him?”

“I already did. Texted twice. No answer.”

Wes frowned, pulled out his phone, and tried calling. He held it to his ear for a moment.

“Straight to voicemail,” he said after a second. “Either it’s dead… or off.”

The pit that had been forming in Everly’s stomach dropped a little deeper.

She stood and started to pace to the window, arms folded tight across her chest. “Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe he stopped to check on something with his folks. Maybe he’s just sitting in the shower letting it all catch up to him.”

“Or maybe he went and did something dumb.” Wes said more to himself. 

She turned to him, eyes flashing something between anger and concern.

“What? I’m not sayin’ he would,” Wes clarified, holding up his hands. “I’m sayin’ he looked like a man hangin’ on by a thread last night. And he’s got one thing on his mind… one person — to be more specific.”

“Riley.” She sighed.

Wes nodded. “That piece of shit damn near killed her. Miller’s ain’t the kind to let that go. You know that. They are known for keepin’ things balanced…”

Everly chewed her lip. “You don’t think he’d actually go looking for him?”

“I think if he thought Riley was still walkin’ free and breathin’ the same air, he might. Especially if he found something, or overheard something. He wouldn’t let that shit go...”

Everly’s eyes flicked to you again — to your pale, bruised skin, the hiss of the vent, the wires.

“God, if he does something reckless…” She came to sit by you again. 

���He won’t,” Wes said, but it didn’t sound confident. “He’s smarter than that.”

But even as he said it, they both knew the truth.

Joel might be smart — but he was heartbroken. Furious. And terrifyingly quiet about it.

“I’ll give him thirty more minutes,” Everly said, voice tight. “Then I’m calling him again. And if I don’t hear back…”

“I’ll call some buddies of mine and go find him.” Wes offered.

They both looked at you again, the rhythmic beep of the monitor filling the space between them.

Riley’s POV - 5:19am

The air conditioner rattled in the window like it was trying to shake itself loose, drowning the room in a mechanical hum. Riley stood shirtless at the sink, rinsing his face, the cold water doing little to chase off the anxiety curling in his gut from the line of coke he had just snorted.

The duffel bag on the bed was nearly packed.

A few shirts, a pair of jeans. All of which were under stacks of wrinkled cash, and the folded IOU slips he hadn’t dared throw out. Sloppy? Sure. But part of him still thought he could bargain his way out of this whole mess.

He zipped it up halfway, stuffing the papers deeper inside as his burner phone buzzed on the laminate nightstand.

Incoming call: Judd

He sighed and clicked answer. “What do you want, Judd?”

“You still in town?” Judd’s voice was lower than usual, tense.

“Where the hell else would I be?” Riley muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“They’re sniffin’ around,” Judd said. “I just got a call from a buddy down at dispatch. Sheriff’s office flagged your name — said you might’ve been involved in what happened to Y/N… their lookin’ for you.”

Riley froze. “It was a car accident...”

Judd didn’t answer.

“It was a goddamn accident,” Riley repeated, pacing now. “She ran a light, that’s what they’re sayin’ on the news. That ain’t on me.”

There was a silence on the line, then Judd said flatly, “That buddy of mine said she’s got marks on her...”

Riley stopped walking.

“What?”

“On her neck. Her arms. They’re sayin’ it doesn’t match the accident injuries. They’re gonna ask me questions, Riley. And when they do, I’m not going down for this shit with you. You didn’t say anythin’ about hurtin’ her like that...”

Riley swallowed hard. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to hurt her, alright? I grabbed her. That’s it. She wouldn’t listen, and then she tried to leave—”

“Jesus Christ,” Judd hissed. “You told me you just wanted to talk to her.”

“I did!”

“But you grabbed her?” he scoffed.

“Just her arm. And her face for like—” he hesitated, exhaling. “Fuck—I lost it, okay? She was bein’ dramatic, you know? You know how she can be, right?”

Judd cursed on the other end. “You better start cleanin’ this up. They're gonna come after you — not me. This ain’t fallin’ on me.” 

Riley’s jaw clenched. “Unbelievable. This was your idea! You’re the one who said I deserved a chance to talk to her—”

“You weren’t supposed to touch her!” Judd snapped. “You weren’t supposed to leave fucking marks! God you’re dumber than your daddy…” Judd coldly chuckled before he said in a low tone, “You better listen and listen well — get the fuck out of town, got it?”

Riley nodded then swallowed, “Got it.” 

The line went dead as Judd hung up.

Riley stared at the phone, then tossed it onto the mattress with a curse. He yanked the duffel up and sat down hard on the bed, trying to breathe. His knee bounced. His mind raced.

'This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to have more time to come up with a plan.'

'Fuck. What am I going to do? I can't handle the cops on my ass..."

Then—three quick knocks.

“Maintenance,” a voice called from outside. “Got a report of a plumbing issue in one of the top rooms—need to check the lines.”

Riley blinked.

He looked at the door then the duffel. The duffel full of cash and pretty much two death notes. 

“Fuck—” He muttered, his pulse spiked.

“Be right there!” he called, pushing the bag under the bed quickly. 

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, grabbed a t-shirt, and tugged it over his head before opening the door.

A tall man stood there, maybe mid-20s, sun-worn, built like a man who worked with his hands. He wore jeans and a tucked-in button-up shirt — dark blue. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing a dusting of sawdust. He carried a silver toolbox in one hand, a wrench in the other, hands gloved. He looked the part, there was no doubt he was maintenance.

“Sorry to bother you so early, sir,” the man said with a hint of a Hispanic accent, his voice easy. “Got a call ‘bout a leak. Mind if I check your fixtures? Just routine.”

Riley narrowed his eyes slightly at the fixtures behind him. “Don’t think I noticed anythin' leakin' or off…”

“May not show yet. Could be coming through the wall,” the man said, motioning to the unit beside with a slight nod. 

Riley hesitated but stepped aside. “Yeah, ok… yeah, um, come on in.” 

Tommy stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind him. “Just you in here?” 

Riley nodded turned back toward the small kitchenette. “Yeah, just me.”

He cleared his throat softly and followed close behind as Tommy took a few steps inside, looking around. “So, uh—what part do you need to check?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

Then a voice — low, calm — in fluent Spanish:

“Nadie escapa de la mordida de la serpiente.” (No one escapes the serpent’s bite.)

Riley turned, eyes wide.

“Wait, what did you say—?”

Then before he could register, the wrench came down hard — a sickening crack splitting the silence.

Riley’s body crumpled like a ragdoll against the edge of the bed frame, one arm twisted beneath him, the other limp at his side.

Tommy stood over him, breath steady, but his heart thrummed like a bass drum beneath his ribs. Not from fear — from fury. From the hate he had for men that hit women — especially good ones like you sank deep into his bones. 

He rolled his shoulders back, suppressing the tremor in his right hand.

The wrench was slick with a smear of blood near the joint. Not enough to kill. But enough to remind Riley what it meant to be prey for once.

Tommy bent over and checked the pulse at the bastard’s neck. 

‘Still there. Stronger than you deserve.’ he thought to himself.

"Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath in Spanish.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped the wrench down clean before tossing it back into his open toolbox, careful not to leave anything out of place.

Then he turned and gave the room a once-over.

'Duffel under the bed. Burner on the sheets. Coke on the dresser. God, you couldn't have set this up better for us, pendejo.'

He crossed the room, nudged it open with the toe of his boot, and crouched. Inside: bundles of cash — crumpled but thick — and a worn manila envelope.

Tommy pulled it out and unfolded it carefully.

The two IOUs.

$10,000 and $9,000. One marked with a familiar name — “D. Santos” — the other with just initials: E.M.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “No solo un pedazo de mierda, sino uno roto también…” (Not just a piece of shit, but a broke one too.)

He made a quick estimate of the money, maybe a couple grand — not nearly enough to pay either debt off. 

He stood and flipped open the burner phone. No lock screen. No passcode.

‘Cabrón.’ he huffed. 

The most recent texts were short, code-like. But one caught his eye as he scrolled through his inbox:

Riley: “I’ll get her to come around. One way or another.”

His stomach churned. That bastard sent it to Judd — and typed it to boot, too. Joel had been right. They were planning this. It was calculated.

He exhaled through his nose, fingers gripping the phone hard before placing it back.

He looked around the room once more then went over to the lamp in the window and turned it on and off twice before looking at Riley’s pathetic limp body. “Desearás no haber regresado nunca a casa.” (You're going to wish you had never come back home.)

Joel’s POV

The engine idled low beneath Joel’s boots as he leaned forward, elbows braced against the steering wheel.

His eyes locked on the second-story window.

Room 217.

The curtain didn’t move, but then—there it was.

A flick of light.

Once. Twice. That was the signal.

Joel swallowed hard. His throat felt tight — dry, like it was full of splinters.

‘It’s clear.’ he told himself.

His pulse began to thud, slow but strong. He could feel it in his neck, in his chest. In the places that had been numb to the last 24 hours.

He should’ve felt relief — but he didn’t.

Instead, something cold curled inside him — that flickering, bitter hesitation. The part of him that had been raised to walk away when the line between right and wrong blurred. The small part of him that was screaming:

‘This could ruin everything. If someone sees us. If Riley wakes up and talks. If she wakes up and needs you—and you're behind bars? Don’t be a fucking idiot.’

He exhaled, hard through his nose.

Then leaned back in the driver’s seat and opened his wallet he’d sat in the cup holder. 

Inside, tucked neatly between a fifty dollar bill and an old parking ticket, was the two photobooth strips from the fair. He pulled them out, fingers already softly gliding over the photos — over the light of his life. 

You.

That smile — god, that smile — frozen in time.

His hat perched on your head as you smiled when his lips touched your cheek. Your lips on his as he pulled you in for the first of many kisses. The warmth these eight photos and two strips of memories held.

He stared at it, thumb brushing over your image and he closed his eyes.

The weight in his chest was unbearable.

These same images had gotten him through the last 15 hours. Through the blood. The wires. The tube down your throat. 

He hadn’t left your side once — not since.

Not until this. Not until he heard those doctors this morning suggest you’d might never come back to him. 

Joel clenched his jaw and looked up at the motel window again. Then he thought of the marks on your neck, the handprints on your arms.

He thought of the way your voice must have cracked when you begged Riley to let you go with his hand around your throat. 

He thought of the way your father invited Riley back, knowing damn well what kind of man he was.

Joel’s hand slammed down onto the steering wheel with a guttural grunt. His head dropped forward, forehead resting on the cool leather wheel. His breath heaved — sharp, ragged. And his chest ached with a fury he could no longer name.

This wasn’t just about retribution. This was about protection. Your protection. 

You’d been prey — and he had failed to stop the wolf at the door.

Not again. Never again.

He lifted his head and shut the voice off, hardened himself to where it was all turned off and the only thing fueling him was the pent up rage he felt for this waste of space. 

He opened the truck door slowly. The hinges creaked — the only sound in the quiet midday air.

His boots hit the pavement with weight. He put the hood of the hoodie he wore around his head and ducked his head down. 

No one lingered outside. The blinds in the other windows were drawn. Just a lonely soda machine buzzing on the walkway beside the staircase.

He walked toward the stairs slowly, every footstep heavy, but sure. Like each one stamped down the wrath. Buried beneath it, was the beat of his own heart.

He climbed the stairs in silence, his hands clenched in the pockets of the hoodie to keep him from exploding. 

When he reached the door, he paused.

One last breath. One last glance down at the photo from in his wallet — your smile, your eyes, your happiness.

‘For her.’ was all that he needed to tell himself before he slid the photo back into its sleeve, tugged his gloves on, and knocked once then three times on the door.

Tommy cracked the door a few seconds later, nodding once, face hard but calm.

Joel slipped inside.

The air was stale, and the room smelled like old smoke and something bitter beneath the bleach.

Riley was slumped in a chair. Still out cold.

He was zip-tied to a motel chair — wrists looped tightly, ankles bound to the legs — posture slumped and broken. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

His own dirty sock, used as a gag stuffed between his teeth had long soaked through with spit and blood. The duct tape held it all in place, tight around the jaw, silencing everything except his choked whimpers.

Tommy stepped back, arms crossed.

“He’s still out — but not for long,” he said softly in Spanish. 

Joel’s eyes locked on the man before him — his heart turned to steel as he reached for the wrench sitting in Tommy's open tool box.

Riley groaned, head lolling forward beneath the pillowcase tied over his face. The fabric was soaked through near the top — blood from where the wrench had split his scalp — but not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to scare. 

From across the room, Joel's boots moved slowly.

Measured. Heavy. Unforgiving.

He stepped into the dim light by the bedside lamp. No mask. Just eyes filled with hate, and his jaw set like stone.

He said nothing at first.

Just crouched beside the chair. Close enough for Riley to feel the heat of his breath through the cloth.

Then, quietly asked:

“¿Me escuchas, cabrón?” (Can you hear me, asshole?)

Riley suddenly twitched violently. A choked grunt escaped behind the gag.

Joel leaned in just a little closer, breath cold as ice.

“Vas a pagar todo lo que tomaste.” (You’re gonna pay everything you took.)

No names. No hints. Just the voice of a reckoning.

He stood again, slow and methodical, and reached for the wrench he’d had resting beside the chair.

He paced once in front of the chair. Then again, before coldly commanding.

“Confiesa lo que hiciste.” (Confess what you did)

Riley thrashed weakly and shook his head. 

Joel didn’t hesitate — he drove a fist straight into his gut.

The chair rocked with the blow, the zip-ties creaking as Riley bent forward, gag-muffled cries filling the air.

“Confiesa, cuenta tus pecados” (Confess, tell your sins) Joel demanded again.

Riley tried to speak — begged through grunts — but again shook his head.

Joel hit him in the face this time, a clean, hard punch to the jaw that snapped Riley’s head to the side.

Tommy stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed, face unreadable, eyes dark.

Joel circled again, his veins filled with nothing but anger and rage, eyes black, chest starting to heave.

“You like power?” he hissed, slipping back into English. “¿Te gustó verla estremecerse? ¿Oírla llorar?” (You liked watchin’ her flinch? Hearin’ her cry?)

He struck again, knocking his head the other way.

Riley jerked and whimpered.

Joel’s nostrils flared.

He stepped back, bringing the wrench into his grip.

He heldd it high over Riley’s right leg.

“Veamos cuánto te gusta sentirte impotente.” (Let’s see how much you like bein’ powerless.) Then the swing was swift — brutal.

CRACK.

His kneecap gave instantly. Riley screamed behind the gag, thrashing, bucking, head whipping back and forth in immense pain.

Joel didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.

He waited. Let him writhe. Let him feel every second.

Then leaned in close again and whispered into the soaked pillowcase, putting his hand on the back of the chair to hold it still.

“Vas a rogar para morir antes de que termine.” (You’ll beg to die before this is over.)

Riley sagged, nearly faint.

But Joel wasn’t done.

“Confiesa,” he said once more — lower now, quieter, a devil’s lullaby.

Riley groaned something unintelligible.

¿Qué fue eso? No te entendí…” (What was that? I couldn’t understand you…)

He swung the wrench again, turning what was left to dust. 

Riley’s body strained against his restraints and sobbed, his chest heaving quickly, unable to beg for him to stop. 

“Stop?” He taunted in English, grabbing his hair through the pillow case, tilting his head back, setting the wrench down by the chair. 

Riley’s head nodded through the pillow case, his sobs muffled. 

“¡¿Me estás pidiendo que pare?!” (Are you asking for me to stop?) he yelled in his face, rage now taking over. 

Riley could be heard agreeing as much as he could through the gag, his head beginning to nod more frantically. 

Joel grabbed his face by grasping his jaw, keeping his head straight before he whispered only for him to hear, “¿Ella te pidió que pararas?” (Did she ask for you to stop?)

Riley sobbed, not knowing what was being asked of him. You could faintly hear him begging, "Please" through the gag, his chest heaving quickly up and down.

Joel held his face tighter, then muttered, "Fuck you." then wound up with a final, massive punch to the side of Riley’s face — and the chair buckled. One leg snapped out from beneath it with a sharp crack. Riley tipped backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud. His head struck the tile hard. 

For only a split second the entire room went still — then Joel stepped forward, breath ragged, fists clenched, gaze locked on Riley’s body.

He stood over his limp, crumpled body and continued hitting his face — fists like hammers, falling again and again.

He didn’t even realize he was growling — something primal and broken in his throat. Every hit was a scream. A memory. Her voice. Her face. The bruises. The blood.

Tommy lunged forward when he heard bones begin to crack.

“¡Basta ya!” (That’s enough!)

He grabbed Joel by the shoulders and yanked him back hard.

Joel stumbled. Chest heaving. Eyes wild and rimmed red.

His hands shook — the gloves now covered in his revenge.

Tommy looked down at Riley’s body — still breathing, barely.

“¿Terminaste?” (Are you done?) Tommy asked, quiet but firm.

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at his own hands.

Blood, dirt, and your name still echoing in his head.

He looked up, nodded once, and then turned his back on the body as he began gathering everything into Tommy’s tool bag.

Tommy went to work fast to set it all up. He dragged the duffel into the center of the room, smearing Riley’s blood along the edge of the dresser, then back toward the cracked chair. He dipped his fingers in the pool of blood near Riley’s mouth and drew the crude cartel symbol on the wall. The “S” with the line through it. Los Serpientes.

He tossed Riley’s burner phone beside the duffel. The manila envelope with the IOUs was placed carefully beneath it.

It all looked deliberate now — calculated.

“Vamos,” Tommy said as he closed the tool bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Joel lingered by the door, chest still tight.

He looked back once at Riley’s body lying in his own small pool of blood. 

He prayed God wouldn’t be merciful. That he’d let him live — that he would have to come to head with the consequences of his actions of what he did to you. That he’d rot behind bars for it. 

Then turned back and walked out into the early morning sunlight, the motel room door swinging shut behind him like a coffin lid.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, fists still clenching and unclenching at his sides as they made it back to their trucks.

“You good?” Tommy asked, dropping the toolbox into the bed of his work truck.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the rusted motel sign, the curtained windows, and the silence beyond the door.

“I’m better now than I was yesterday, now that I know he can’t hurt her again,” he muttered.

Tommy nodded. “We need to call it in.”

Joel nodded and took off the gloves he wore. Tommy took them and told him he’d take care of everything. 

They walked two blocks down, boots crunching over cracked pavement, until they reached the corner liquor store. A dusty old payphone sat bolted into the side of the brick wall, faded blue handset dangling like a relic from another lifetime.

Tommy wiped it once with his sleeve before handing it to Joel. “Dial star-sixty-seven. Then 911.”

Joel took it with steady hands, pressed the buttons, and turned his back to the parking lot.

The phone rang once before a dispatcher picked up.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

Joel lowered his voice into something nondescript. “That man that’s wanted on the news, for beatin’ that girl from the accident? He’s at the Rosewood. Room 217.”

The line was quiet for half a second, keyboard clicks then, “Ok thank you for that information. Can I have your name for the police report?”

Joel paused. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Click.

He hung up and turned to his brother.

Tommy gave a small nod, pulling his cap lower on his head. “Let’s get gone before sirens show.”

They didn’t rush. They walked back to the truck slowly and steadily, just two working men leaving a job site. Nothing frantic. No guilt. No red flags.

Inside the cab, Joel stared out the windshield for a beat, his jaw tense.

“You think that’s enough?” Tommy asked quietly, leaning in through the passenger window from outside.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“He won’t ever come near her again, and that’s all I need to know,” he said finally, turning the key to start the engine.

Tommy nodded and stepped back, gently patting the window. “That’s enough for me.”

By the time Joel pulled into his long gravel driveway, the adrenaline had worn off.

He stepped out of the truck and grabbed his phone from the cupholder. It had been dead since leaving the hospital. He could feel the tightness in his shoulders, the toll of every punch, every held-back scream.

He entered the house, walked past the photos on the wall, past the chair where you always curled up in the mornings with your coffee. He couldn’t stop to look at them, he needed to focus on getting back to the hospital — back to you.

Inside the bathroom, he started undressing, placing everything into a trash bag, and turned on the shower water.

He plugged in his phone, and when he powered it back on, messages started lighting the screen like fireworks. Missed calls from Everly. Wes. One from his dad. Two from his mom.

He quickly showered, taking as little time as he could to avoid any further suspicion on how long he’d been gone. 

Then, just as he was toweling off, it buzzed against the counter.

Incoming Call: Everly

Joel’s heart thumped — not fast, not panicked. Just… ready.

He answered, voice low and steady. “Hey, everythin’ ok?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Everly’s voice cracked with worry. “I’ve called a dozen times—”

“I know, I’m sorry, my phone died right as I left, I just realized,” Joel said calmly, like nothing had happened. “You alright? Is she ok?”

There was a pause. Then a sigh of somewhat relief from her: “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay. She’s the same. Still sleeping. The doctors came by about an hour ago… they are gonna try to wean her off sedation starting tomorrow, see if her cognitive tests improve...”

Joel’s eyes fell to the photo of you both on his nightstand — one of the two of you from the night at the cowboy bar, Tommy had taken of the two of you dancing in the middle of the crowd. His thumb brushed over the glass.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said. “Just needed to finish cleanin’ up. I’ll bring coffee.”

“You sure you’re alright?” she asked.

He could tell she heard it — the quiet. The stillness in him that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said.

And for the first time in hours, Joel smiled with a sense of satisfaction washing over him.

Joel stepped off the elevator and walked down the unfortunate — yet familiar hallway. His boots echoed softly against the linoleum with each step he took. The scent of antiseptic burned in his nose, but he barely registered it. His body moved on autopilot, every step back to your room rehearsed in his mind.

When he reached the door, Everly was seated by the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Wes stood at the foot of your bed, talking quietly to a nurse. As he entered, both siblings turned — Everly with narrowed eyes, Wes with something colder.

Joel offered a calm, quiet nod. “She doin’ okay?” he looked at the nurse. 

She nodded and gave a small, polite smile, “Just checking vitals, still stable.”

Everly stared for a second too long, then added. “Still asleep. No changes.”

Joel’s gaze moved to you instantly — the way your fingers still lay where he’d left them just hours before, your chest rising and falling. His expression was calm, but the storm behind his eyes hadn't yet passed.

Wes stepped forward, stepping into his gaze that was on you. “Hey… you mind stepping out with us for a sec?”

Joel blinked, setting down the to-go tray of coffee he’d brought for the three of them. “Yeah, what for?”

Everly stood slowly. “Just want to talk, give her a moment of some quiet, yeah?”

Joel hesitated, then walked over and gave your forehead a gentle kiss before he backed up and followed them into the hallway.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wes didn’t wait. “Where the hell were you today?”

Joel’s jaw tensed at the tone he gave. “Told you. Needed to clear my head, plus I told you I had things to take care of.”

“Bullshit,” Wes snapped. “You ghosted us for hours. Didn’t answer a single call. Now you show back up lookin’ like you’ve seen a war, what the hell?”

Everly’s voice was low. “Joel… you’ve got this calm thing going on, and that’s not like you. Not right now — not since yesterday.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Wes took a step closer. “You went after him, didn’t you?”

Joel met his eyes. “Like I said, I had things to take care of.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wes muttered, turning away for a moment. “You think that’s what she’d want?”

Joel’s voice didn’t rise. “I think what she wants is to never need to be afraid again.”

Everly looked between them. “Just… just tell us you didn’t do anything that could tie back to you.”

But Joel didn’t respond, he just took a deep breath in and stared past them, avoiding the interrogation. 

Then the television screen above them flickered, and the hospital hallway stilled as one of the nurses turned up the volume.

BREAKING NEWS: SUSPECT OF ASSAULT WAS FOUND BRUTALLY BEATEN AT ROSEWOOD MOTEL - POLICE SUSPECT TIES TO THE CARTEL. 

The news anchor announced, “…suspected connections to cartel retaliation, possibly linked to unresolved gambling debts. The victim, Riley Jameson, was discovered bound and unconscious, with multiple injuries including a crushed knee, broken jaw, severe head trauma, and fractured ribs. Police say there is no current suspect, but the scene suggests organized involvement as the Los Serpentines tag was found inside the room along with an IOU note in Jameson’s possession.”

The anchor continued, but all three of them were frozen as they watched flashes of the crime scene shown.

Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all.

Wes turned to him slowly. “What did you do?”

Joel said nothing and looked at Wes with eyes that were begging him not to make him say it out loud.

Everly pulled the three of them closer and lowered her voice, “If this was you and God knows who else, just look at me and tell me one thing — were you smart?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak at first; he just did one short nod before he cleared his throat and ran a hand over his scruff then inhaled deeply and quietly said, “Yes. Of course.”

Everly and Wes looked back at the TV and watched as Riley’s photo flashed on the screen. It continued going on about him being the main suspect in your investigation. 

With that, an agreement was passed between the two of them without needing to say a word. They looked back at each other and silently vowed to never speak of this again. 

Later that night 

The soft click of the door closing echoed louder than it should’ve.

Joel stood still for a moment, blinking against the dim hospital light. The only illumination in the room came from the monitors — little green lines blinking, humming, keeping rhythm for the woman that held his heart lying still in that bed.

Everly and Wes had finally left to grab food. Promised they’d be back in thirty minutes. He nodded like it mattered, but all he could hear was the stillness — the kind that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes.

He ran a hand down his face, then walked to your bedside slowly, his boots quieter now, like even they knew they shouldn’t disturb you.

You looked just the same — too pale, too still, too hollow.

A tube still down your throat, a bruise blooming a deeper shade of purple with each hour across your neck, tape clinging to your wrist where the IV line fed its steady drip.

He sat down in the same chair, assuming the position of the same posture. That same knot in his chest that hadn’t loosened since the day before.

His fingers reached for yours without thinking, threaded between them — holding onto you tight.

“You missed a hell of a sunset,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Orange like fire over the ridge. Buck would’ve loved it — Wes said he damn near galloped when he let him out to pasture.”

No answer — just the beeping.

Joel’s throat worked. He leaned forward, elbows braced the edge of the bed, thumb brushing slow circles into your knuckles.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to say this,” he whispered. “I’ve never been good with words. But I think you always saw through me anyway.”

A heavy silence continued.

“I did somethin’, sweetheart.”

He swallowed. “I don’t regret it. Not one goddamn second of it. I’d do it again. A hundred times over.”

His voice cracked then, raw and low. “But I wish… I wish you didn’t have to pay for it. I wish none of this ever touched you.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly. His stubble scratched against your skin as he lingered there.

“This ain’t how your story ends,” he whispered against your hand. “It can’t be.”

Another beat passed, then a sob climbed out of his chest — quiet, guttural, and stolen.

“Please don’t leave me…” he choked, dropping his forehead against your joined hands. “Fight. Please fight.”

Tears slipped from his eyes, soaking the edge of the sheet.

“I’m right here, baby… waitin’. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll be the one to remind you who you are if you forget.” His voice shook. “Just don’t quietly go away. Don’t slip through my fingers like this...”

His body trembled now, voice breaking open like something sacred inside him cracked wide.

“I need you.”

The words spilled out like a prayer. Like a surrender.

“You’re my home. My girl. My heart. If you go… I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”

He kissed your hand again, then moved forward, leaning forward and kissed your temple — soft, worshipful — like the kind of touch meant for memories, not flesh.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

Careful not to tangle in wires or disturb a single part of you, he climbed onto the edge of the bed, curling his larger frame against the small space you took up. His arm slid gently beneath your shoulders, the other resting protectively over your waist. You barely weighed anything. He could feel your ribs rise and fall against him with each breath the ventilator pushed.

His lips brushed your hairline as he settled close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “Come back to me, baby. Please…”

The room stayed silent aside from the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitor.

He closed his eyes, letting his cheek rest against your forehead, his body pressed against yours like a shield. “We’ve got so much left to do,” he murmured. “I want to tell you so much. Show you that canyon we drove past. Take you dancin’ under real stars — not ones strung up over a bar floor.”

He exhaled shakily. “I want a life with you, a family — I want to grow old beside you.”

A brief moment of silence took up space, and then — a twitch against his hand. One so faint he thought he imagined it.

His eyes opened. He looked down where your hand lay loosely in his. The monitor beeped on, steady. His thumb brushed across yours again, and this time— it moved.

Your finger curled — not by much, just the smallest twitch — but enough.

Enough to snap the breath from his lungs.

Joel sat up slightly, staring at your hand in his, as if willing it to move again. And it did.

Another flutter. Just as small. But just as real.

He let out a quiet, broken sound and brought your joined hands to his chest, holding them like a lifeline. His forehead dropped against yours once more.

“I understand,” he whispered, voice cracking with relief. “You’re fightin’.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, one after another.

“I’m right here when you’re ready. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

His voice went quieter still.

“I’ve got you, baby.” he said as he held you close — not like you were slipping away, but like you were slowly, beautifully… coming back to him.

In the early hours of the next morning, the room was dark but not silent — the rhythmic hum of the ventilator filled the quiet space like a lullaby. Joel’s arm stayed around you as he lay curled beside you in the narrow hospital bed, your fingers still resting in his. One dim light above the sink cast a pale wash across the room, but otherwise, it was still. Peaceful.

At some point, he drifted off, forehead still resting near yours.

His dreams weren’t deep. They were full of disjointed memories — your laugh, your hand tugging his toward the photobooth at the fair, the way you whispered his name half-asleep in his bed a few mornings ago. He murmured something in his sleep, his hand twitching around yours.

And then a soft knock at the door stirred him from his sleep.

He blinked slowly, then sat up in a haze, disoriented, but a protective instinct kicked in immediately.

The nurse’s voice was low, gentle. “Mr. Miller?”

He rubbed his face and blinked again, taking in the sight of her and a man in scrubs standing just beyond the threshold. The badge on the man’s coat read Dr. Hayden Callahan, Neuro.

Joel straightened immediately, clearing his throat softly. He almost didn’t recognize him, he looked so different without scrubs on.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you. We just need to do a quick neuro check, if that’s alright.”

Joel nodded and slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb you. His boots hit the tile softly as he moved to the side, folding his arms and watching like a hawk.

Dr. Callahan stepped in first, shining a penlight into your eyes, murmuring to the nurse.

“Pupils are equal and reactive. No anisocoria.”

The nurse was already adjusting the bed, raising it slightly to position your head better.

“Can we remove the paralytics yet?” she asked softly.

“Already cleared with ICU protocol,” the doctor replied. “We’ve begun tapering her sedation, too. Let's see how her reflexes are responding...”

He leaned down and spoke to you calmly, clearly.

“Okay, sweetheart. If you can hear me, I want you to try to squeeze my fingers. Just a little squeeze — that’s it.”

Joel held his breath. His fingers curled tightly into his palms as he watched.

There was a pause — one second, two — and then— a twitch of your right pointer finger.

“Slight contraction in the right hand,” the nurse said quickly, her eyes flicking to the monitor, watching for anything to note.

Joel’s heart skipped. He took a step closer. “She… she uh, moved a couple times last night. Same thing as right now.”

Dr. Callahan nodded once. “She’s tracking. Still delayed, but she’s responding. Let’s try a command.”

He leaned closer to you again. “Alright, Y/N, can you open your eyes for me? Even just a little?”

After a few moments, your eyelids fluttered. Barely — just a tremble. But it was there.

Joel nearly stepped forward again but stopped himself, holding his breath.

“Good,” the doctor said gently. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

He turned to the nurse. “Mark this — reflexes are beginning to return. I’d say 36–48 hours until full arousal is likely, barring any unexpected pressure spikes.”

“Still risk of retrograde amnesia?” she asked softly.

“Always with temporal injuries,” he replied, adjusting the chart. “But it’s promising. Swelling is down nearly twenty percent from yesterday’s baseline.”

Joel’s throat caught. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to steady his breathing.

You were coming back to him.

Not in full — not yet. But it was happening. Little by little. You were fighting. 

He watched as they finished their assessment — the nurse checking the IVs, adjusting your ventilator slightly — before she turned to him with a small smile.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” she whispered.

Joel nodded, eyes locked on your peaceful face. “Always has been.”

She nodded towards the door, “Mind if we step out for a moment?”

He pinched his eyebrows, confused, and looked back at you once, “Uhm, yeah, of course.” 

She led him out to the middle of the hallway and hesitated before saying, “Uhm, there’s… one other thing.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowing.

“Her father’s here,” she said carefully. “He’s been in the waiting room for about an hour, he tried last night too. Apparently, he’s trying to get in to see her.”

Joel’s jaw tensed.

“We’ve denied him access per law enforcement instruction — the hold is still active while the investigation is pending. He’s refused to leave until he gets answers, but as you know, we can’t share any details with him due to HIPAA.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it briefly before muttering, “Christ.”

The nurse shifted her weight, lowering her voice. “Do you want us to call hospital security? Or contact the sheriff to have him removed?”

Joel looked through the window again — to you.

You were starting to look warmer, like you were coming back, you were refusing to give up. 

He stared for a moment longer and then turned back to the nurse.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice calm but threaded with steel. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Her eyes widened a little. “Are you sure?”

He gave a slow nod. “I won’t start nothin’. Thank you for letting me know.”

She hesitated, then gave a respectful nod. “The waiting room’s two floors down. Just take the east elevators. I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

Joel didn’t say another word.

He looked back at you once more — at the color returning to your cheeks, the slow rise and fall of your chest. 

“I’ll be right back, my love” he whispered, then turned, squared his shoulders, and walked down the hallway towards the elevators. His boots were silent but filled with a quiet rage — his purpose burning, steady, with every step.

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[httpvomitello]

I've always seen fics where ellie is sarah's friend and joel starts to care for her as his own (and eventually adopts her because she always has the same bad luck of not having a stable family lol) eventually and I just noticed, after reading your fics, that I never saw anything like that with tommy. So like, what about early!teens!reader who's friends with both sarah and ellie and always visits the millers' house because of their friendship? And she and tommy develop a very special bond with time to the point he lets her count on him and be her "borrowed uncle" when she needs. Either by driving her or picking her up doesn't matter what time, need a help with something or simply just an advice from an experienced adult.

Hellooo, thanks for the request! I hope you like it ~ ☆

Borrowed Uncle .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You’ve always been the kid who floated between houses. Not because you didn’t have one — but because their house always felt warmer. At first, it was Sarah who drew you in. Then Ellie. But somewhere along the way, it was Tommy Miller who became your quiet anchor.

tommy miller & teen f!reader

You don’t remember when it started.

Maybe it was that first afternoon at the Miller house — your backpack too heavy, your math homework smudged from the rain, and Sarah waving you inside like you belonged there.

“Come on,” she said, grinning. “You’re basically family anyway.”

You hesitated on the porch. But Tommy, stepping around Joel’s truck with his sleeves rolled up and grease on his hands, just gave you a nod like it was no big deal.

“Get in before you catch a cold, kid.”

And that was that.

Sarah became your first real friend.

She had a way of making space at her table, in her room, in her world — and you, quiet and awkward and always trying too hard, soaked it up like sunshine.

Ellie came later.

Louder. Wilder. Messier in every way.

But she liked you. Stuck up for you. Teased you without malice.

And you, somewhere between Sarah’s warmth and Ellie’s fire, found your place.

But Tommy?

Tommy was different.

At first, he was just the funny uncle. The one who showed up with snacks and bad jokes and a truck that always smelled like pine.

But slowly, over the months, he became something else.

The adult who saw you.

Who didn’t talk over you.

Who didn’t laugh at your nervous questions.

Who didn’t mind when you stayed a little too long after dinner or fell asleep during movie nights on their couch.

The first time you called him for help, you were twelve.

Your bike chain had snapped two miles from home. Your mom was working late. Your dad… well. That wasn’t an option.

Your hands shook as you pulled out your tiny, beat-up flip phone.

Tommy answered on the second ring.

“Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

You tried to sound casual. “Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for my favorite troublemaker.”

You explained. Voice small. Embarrassed.

He was there in fifteen minutes.

Didn’t lecture you. Didn’t scold.

Just loaded the bike into the truck bed, handed you a soda from the console, and said, “Let’s get you home.”

After that, it became a thing.

If you needed a ride? Tommy.

If you had a school project you didn’t understand? Tommy.

If you needed an adult at a late game, a recital, an award ceremony your own family forgot about? Tommy.

He never made a big deal about it.

Never acted like you were a burden.

Just showed up.

Every time.

Ellie started calling you “Tommy’s kid.”

“Gotta admit,” she said once, kicking a rock down the sidewalk, “you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

You laughed. “I don’t mean to.”

“Dude, he likes it. You’re the only one who can get him to sit through a middle school talent show without whining.”

You snorted. “That’s ‘cause he falls asleep halfway through.”

Ellie grinned. “Still counts.”

One night — a bad night, when home felt too loud, too tense, too small — you texted him without thinking.

"Are you awake?"

The reply came fast.

"Need me to come get you?"

And twenty minutes later, his truck headlights lit up your street.

You climbed in, still wiping at your face, and he just handed you a water bottle and drove.

Didn’t ask questions until you were ready.

Didn’t push.

Just drove.

And when you said, voice cracking, “Can I just… stay over tonight?”

He smiled. “You never have to ask.”

Tommy’s house became safe ground.

A place where no one raised their voice.

Where your opinion mattered.

Where someone always had your back.

Sarah and Ellie teased you about it. Joel rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Maria joked that Tommy was collecting strays again.

Tommy just patted your shoulder and said, “That’s my kid.”

And no one argued.

He was the first person you trusted to read your writing. The first one you asked to help you practice for a presentation. The first one you let teach you how to drive.

And every time, no matter how small the ask, no matter how late or inconvenient, Tommy said yes.

Because that’s what borrowed uncles do.

They say yes.

The day you turned fourteen, he picked you up from school blasting your favorite song. The whole truck bed was filled with balloons — some deflated, some stuck to the liner, all of them ridiculous.

Ellie laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

“God, you’re embarrassing,” you groaned, red-faced but grinning.

“Hey,” Tommy said, mock-offended. “This is quality uncle-ing right here.”

You didn’t stop smiling the whole ride.

[mustachepascal]

omgg can’t stop crying at this one🤧🤧 this is SO cute💓💓 i loved it so so so so much!!!

no one's ever had me (not like you)

joel miller x fem!reader

word count: [7.8K]

summary: After a snowstorm leaves you worried sick about Joel’s wellbeing, he promises you he’ll take a break from patrols to ease your heart and mind. And as seasons change and Joel grows fonder of being safe and sound with you, he starts to reflect on the love you give him and slowly comes to terms that he actually deserves it all—especially the fact that no one would ever have him the way you did.

warnings: no use of y/n, very little angst, age-gap (joel is older, but no specifics of readers age), slight mentions of joel's past/sarah death, reader likes to garden, all takes place in Jackson, mentions of pregnancy, suggestive smut but nothing written in detail, mostly filled with tooth-rotting, heart-aching fluff, lmk if i missed anything!!

thinking of making a very fluffy part two!

It had been a rough and frigid twenty-four hours for Joel and a few other rookie patrollers under his watch. They were miles out from Jackson, on their routine sweep of the area to get them comfortable and familiar with the route, though the unexpected raging winds and heavy snow altered their plans. 

He called for a shelter in place, ushering everyone into the tiny watch tower where they sat tight and faced the bitter cold that ate through their layers. They all managed perfectly fine despite the newcomers’ uncertainties and mutters of bad luck on their first patrol outing.

Joel, with years of experience, talked the younger folks into a state of calm, instructing them to focus on their breathing and preserving every bit of their strength for the unexpected. But most all he made them a promise: they would all be making it back to Jackson in one piece.

And kept was that promise.

By morning the winds had subsided, and gradually the snow above the grass and dirt melted away into sludge seeping back into Earth. Their horses had endured the night bravely too. He and the others sparing whatever food was left in their packs, getting their horses energized for the two and a half-hour ride back to Jackson.

For you, though, it felt like eternity back at the commune.

You refused to leave the watch tower despite Tommy and Ellie’s protests and promises that they would come and get you the second they saw movement. They gave up trying to convince you to go back home, settling for whispering reassuring words as the hours ticked by and at one point Maria swung by to convince you to come down to take a short break and eat a proper meal before heading back up. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t have hope in Joel making it back alive, but you couldn’t stomach the ‘what if’ in the back of your mind–losing your person after already letting so much slip through your fingers. 

You didn’t want to imagine it. 

“Dude you’re going to fall over and crack your skull open.”

Ellie scolded you with no malice behind her words, catching sight of your body nearly slumping out of the chair beside her.

She grabbed onto your arm and pulled you into her side, waking you from the drowsiness that was settling deep in your bones. You rubbed your orbs, muttering out a ‘sorry’ as you straightened up, trying to wake yourself up.

Ellie and Tommy shared concerned looks, the two of them understanding just exactly the worry you were feeling but also knowing that yours was a different kind to theirs. 

You and Joel were everything delicate wrapped up in barbed wire in this day and age. They understood that something like that–what you two had–was once in a lifetime and to lose it would mean never finding it again. 

A high whine coming from the distance pulled their attention, the two of them scrambling close to the shabby window with their binoculars in hand. 

“I see something!” Tommy spoke loudly, and Ellie said something in agreement. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to stand up from the chair even if you wanted to. Your heart felt like it was clawing its way out of your chest and your breathing quickened, salty tears coming to your eyes just waiting for them to say something. To let you know he was alive. 

All you could do was wait and wait and wait and–

“Jesse, open the gates! Joel’s leading them in!” Tommy shouted down below. 

It was all the clarification you needed. 

Your fingers numbly gripped onto the rungs of the wooden ladder until your feet hit the snowy ground. On shaky legs, you dragged your boots through the blankets of snow, listening to the creaky gate sliding open and the chorus of relieved breaths muddled with the trudging of hooves.

You heard him before your eyes found him. His voice strained, shouting the all clear to Jesse that no one was bitten or hurt. And the second you did find him, did all the feelings you buried through nightfall come rushing to the surface, afraid that saying something before you felt him was going to wake you up from a dream that jinxed the sight of him in front of you.

His eyes remained fixated on your figure the second the gates came open. The harsh swinging of your arms as you trampled through the snow, and as you came closer, his aging eyes could somehow still make out the furrow between your brows and the red twinge in your orbs.

To the naked eye you were furious, but Joel knew better than that. The quivering of your frost bitten lips and the frown you wore told him everything he needed to know and he’d do whatever he could to soothe it away. 

He swung his leg over his horse, stabilizing himself on the iron stirrups before he hopped off, and met you halfway.

“Baby—”

Before he could say anything more, you were in his arms, and your lips pressed against his.

As if you were tethering yourself to him, you needed it to be real, to know that he wasn’t going anywhere after making it back to you because you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to survive the fear of losing him again. 

The need for oxygen caused you both to pull away, just enough for you to stare into his eyes, not caring that tears were tumbling down your cheeks in front of everyone that had to brave the night far terribly than you did. 

“You’re never going on patrol again.” You pushed weakly at his chest, swiping at your eyes sharply.

There was that fire.

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, grabbing you by the arms and pressing a kiss against your hairline.

“I’m fine, baby, wasn’t gonna let anything happen to me…or them.”

He turned his head to all the rookies who still were perched up on their horses, reeling from everything, but most of all, on the fact that you were there doting on their gruff superior—and there he was, doting right back at you.

“I don’t care,” You shook your head, pulling away as you reached his gloved hand, intertwining it with yours tightly, “I don’t want you going out of these gates.”

“Sweetheart—”

“N-No, you don’t get that to me,” Your voice was uneven, letting more tears fall shamelessly, trying to keep your tone stern despite how clearly shaken you were.

“I—I want us to go home…right now.” You sniffled, your pleading morphed into demand that made his heart skip a beat. 

Surely the racing in his chest would have been concerning for his age, yet he knew it was perfectly normal as you were the one causing the feeling deep within.

You loved him deeply, and he never had any doubts about it, but each time you love him loud and proudly like you do, it never ceases to feel like a punch in the gut reminding him that he had much more to live for than himself nowadays. 

After all, no one has ever had him, let alone loved him the way that you do. 

“Okay,” He whispered, kissing you shamlessly, not caring who was watching, “Let’s go home, baby.”

He picked up the reins of his horse in one hand, keeping the other in your grasp as you leaned your head against his arm. Taking one last look over his shoulders, he nodded towards his mentees, offering them something small proud.

“Get some rest.” He told them, “And tell whoever you care about that you love them.”

It’d been weeks since you forbid Joel from going out on patrol, and to his own surprise he didn’t feel himself longing to go back, even if it was a shared duty of all citizens to keep Jackson safe.

He knew he had done his part for a while, partaking in a routine that forced him to leave your shared bed before you woke, lacing his boots to depart into the unknown, and hoping that you knew how much he loved you if god forbid something happened to him. 

Instead, there’s was a new routine, one that used to be reserved for weekends that is was ow his daily that he’d pick above patrol duty anytime.

Almost always is dinner made together, plates cleared, and glasses diluted with whatever drink of choice it is that night. He usually always has whisky, though he can’t be totally sure it’s the reason why there’s a balmy feeling in his chest. 

The home he created with you and Ellie was filled with laughter and warmth. The three of you bonding as a family, making fresh memories in the comfort of the four walls.

Tonight, instead of cleaning up early and deciding to watch a movie on the couch, you and Ellie unintentionally brought to light a quirk of his that resulted in the two of you teasing him at the dining table. 

“You so do that thing when you’re a little shy!” Ellie accused from the seat across from him, throwing her back as her laughter combined with yours bounced off the walls.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking between you two with a less than entertained raised brow, “I do not.”

“You so do.” You insisted, standing up with a sly grin on your face, gathering the dirty plates into the sink.

The chairs creaked across the wooden floors, Ellie at your side, dumping the contents of the cups into the drain before stacking them neatly for you to wash.

“Gotta run and see Dina! Thanks for dinner.” You leaned into the kiss she pecked out your cheek, wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug.

“Tell her we said ‘hi’ and stay out of trouble.” Joel reminded her,watching her pull away and round the table to give him his own hug before she dashed out the door.

He was at your side not a moment later, picking up a clean kitchen towel to dry while you continued to wash and rinse. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoyed the domesticity of it all–the small things done together even if in silence, as long as you were there, it fulfilled him. 

“I don’t actually do that thing, do I?” He suspected lowly, taking a wet glass from your hand.

You snorted, glancing up at him as you picked up the next dish and began scrubbing, “You seriously never noticed?”

He pursed his lips, rolling his eyes, “I think you and Ellie are pulling my leg.”

“Well, I know I’m not because I vividly recall the first time you did it and I’ve noticed every time you’ve done it since.” 

He scoffed, mumbling something along the lines of ‘yeah right,’ as he placed the cup into the cabinet. The water then abruptly shut off and you turned to him, stealing the damp towel off his shoulder to dry your hands.

“The day you first asked me out? When you were stalking me in the greenhouse?” You said, attempting to jog his memory.

“I was not stalkin’ you,” He glared, “I waitin’ ‘till you weren’t busy so I could say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, whatever cowboy,” you giggled, “anyway, when you finally came out from hiding and almost scared me shitless, you asked me out, and you did that thing with your arm.”

Your arm extended towards the back of your neck, rubbing away at your skin nervously, followed by a poor impersonation of his voice.

“I uh, was wonderin’ if you wanted to have dinner sometime…at my place. The cafeteria doesn’t have anything appetizing for a date.”

His cheeks turned red, a smile forming upon his lips as he hung his head dramatically and huffed out a laugh.

“How’d you remember that?”

You just grinned, closing the space between you both as you wrapped your arm around his torso, forcing him to look up at you despite the vivid embarrassment on his face that you found rather charming. 

“Kinda hard to forget the first time a guy was actually brave enough to ask me out on the spot.” You gently scratched your nails up and down his back while he smirked, now looking rather impressed with himself now. 

“You’re telling me no one asked you out the second you got here?”

“No one I wanted to go with.”

“So, I wasn’t your first option?” He teased back.

“Oh god, shut up.” You groaned, throwing your head back as you weakly let your arms fall away from him. 

He didn’t let you go far, chuckling as he pulled you in closer and tucked his face against your neck where he pressed kisses muddled with his laughter and finally got you to meet his eyes again. 

“When’s the last time I did that arm thing?” He hummed curiously.

Your eyes filtered up to the ceiling, thinking for a moment, “Last week, when you asked if you could join me in the bath.”

He furrowed his brows, recalling the timeline, and of course, you were right. Just last week you were bouncing back from a common cold, curled up on the couch with about two layers of blankets accompanied with the warm fire Joel started for you.

He knew he could only do so much to help, and he figured running you for a bath would warm you up tons better than the dingy living room set up–but he didn’t want to leave you alone, and you were more than happy to lay your head back on his chest while the hot water enveloped you two. 

“Hmm, didn’t know I did that all this time.” He shook his head with a small smile, leaning down and pressing a kiss near your ear. 

“It’s cute,” You cradled his face in your hands, holding him to you, “Kinda love that you still get shy with me after all this time.” 

“S’that right?” He hummed eyes twinkling with lust even in the dim of the night, “Well if you wanna…” 

One of his arms fell away from your waist, his voice softening while that same arm trailed up behind his neck, causing his biceps to flex under pressure. 

“We can go upstairs and get dirty before I run another bath for you?” 

Your laughter, one of his favorite sounds besides your sweet moans, filled the kitchen and before you knew it, your lips were bound to each other as he guided you up the stairs and his soul devoted itself to you…like he always did. 

Joel had been busy with other things in Jackson since his indefinite leave of absence on patrols. He was grateful for whatever you must have said to sway Tommy and Maria, since none of them seemed to give him trouble for missing out over the last few months. 

He found himself involved in the community in a more personal way. He sketched up blueprints for new builds as more people entered Jackson, and with spring breaking loose it was the perfect time to start construction without the blistering cold bothering. 

When he needed to rest his eyes and relax his aching hands from all the drawing and erasing, you were just a walk away for him to go and visit. It was one of the best parts of not needing to head out on patrols–he was closer to you in all aspects, and his longing didn’t have to wait until he got back through the gates–he just had to find you and you never strayed far. 

He found you at the greenhouse, as he suspected, harvesting some of the seasonal fruits and veggies. Your gloved hands brushing off dry soil and tossing the gathering into a large wicker basket. Working the greenhouse wasn’t a job, at least not for you and your green thumb. 

When Joel figured out just how much you loved it, he surprised you with four planters in the backyard of your home. He traded some of his beloved coffee beans with an older lady who was a teacher in order to get his hands on chalk and paint. He commissioned Ellie with the promise of a later curfew and she managed to decorate the outside of the rickety wooden boxes with a plethora of floras he knew you’d love. 

He felt like a million bucks when you wrapped your arms around him and repeatedly said ‘thank you.’ That afternoon, you and Joel headed back to the greenhouse to gather cuttings to propagate for your personal garden.

Soon enough it had been blossoming with an abundance of plants also found in the greenhouse, but even some rare flowers, all thanks to some seeds Ellie found while out on patrol. 

“What about you and Joel?” 

The older woman’s voice beside you snapped him right out of the flashback. Her name was Mabel, a nice lady who lived on the next street over, jumping between the greenhouse and kitchen duty. She smoothed down the soil from where you had dug it up a few feet over, while you tended to the bed of vegetables. 

There was a smile splaying over your face before you could utter a single word. The question alone, the mere mention of his name, had you smiling widely, just like the day he finally showed you the planters he made by hand. He was certain it wasn’t the changing season that was making his skin hot, but just the sight of you lighting up and making his heart stir. 

“He’s spending more time at home, which I love. I know patrol is important, but he’s been doing it for so long, and he deserves a break from it.”

You let out a soft sigh, hands sweeping over some leafy tops of carrots and giving them a tug, pulling them out of the earth with ease. 

“I know what you mean sweetie,” she said agreeingly, “but he isn’t driving you crazy at home is he?” she asked comically, making your eyes crinkle as you laughed and shook your head quickly.

“God no. Having him home is the opposite of crazy.” You simmered down with a smile, dusting the dirt off the bunch, “I love not having to worry about him outside of the gates. But I love even more getting to hear him just in the next room over, seeing him carving figures for Ellie, and I don’t know, just knowing he’s there. Safe.”

Mable wore a delightful smile, watching you closely as you spoke so highly of him. 

“He’s a good man, Peter talks about him all the time.” 

Her husband often flagged Joel down, asking for help for things he was too old to do on his own nowadays. Replacing the creaky stair on their front porch, tightening the pipe under the sink, checking cleaning out the gutters. Simple things that Joel didn't mind helping out with no matter the time of day or how tired he was.

“The best.” You agreed with a grin, placing the carrots into the basket along with the other goodies you would be taking to the kitchen later.

Joel took a breath, forcing himself to control the skittish smile that wanted to stay plastered on his face. His fingers bumped against the wooden gates leading him into the garden bed area where you were. 

You looked up at the sound of the creak, somehow even more happiness trickling across your face as your eyes met his. 

“Hey cowboy,” You stood, pulling off your gloves and letting them fall onto the ground. 

“Sweetheart,” He greeted with a smile, arms embracing you as he looked at Mabel over your shoulder, “How’re you doing ma’am?”

“Great, thank you,” she smiled, “me and your lady were just talking about you.”

“Good things I hope?” He rose his brows, looking down at you where you rested your head on his chest.

The woman nodded, smiling as she stood up and dropped her own pair of gloves.

“I was bringin’ by lunch,” he held up a brown paper bag filled with a sandwich and some cut up fruits, “Would you like to join us? You can have my half?” He offered, but Mable kindly shook her head. 

“Oh no, I’m okay hon. Peter and I made plans to have lunch together at the cafeteria.” She smiled, walking past you two and stopping just short of the garden gates meeting your eyes, “I’ll be back in an hour and then we can continue harvesting and gossiping OK?”

You withdrew from Joel for a moment, reaching over to give her a small hug for keeping you company, even when you assured her you could handle the harvesting by yourself. 

“I’ll see you back here. Tell Peter we said hello.”

“Will do,” she smiled, pulling away and turning to Joel, patting his back, “Such a good man, you are.”

He didn’t need to ask what she meant, for he knew the weight of her words. And maybe his past self would argue with her, perhaps say he’s a bad man with a bad past, but you’ve helped him see otherwise. He was good in more ways than one now, and it was all thanks to you. 

“I missed you.” You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers as you walked over to the picnic tables lined outside the garden. 

“Missed you more.” He squeezed your hand, placing a kiss at the top of your head, releasing your hand as you rounded the table and took a seat right across him. 

“Wanna tell me about what you and Mabel were gossiping about?” He requested curiously, unpacking your lunch while you smirked and propped your chin up on your fist. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Very much so.”

You hummed tentatively, picking up a piece of cut up strawberry that came straight from your home garden plopping it into your mouth as you chewed. He smiled ridiculously, eyes glued on yours, reaching across the table and letting his fingertips brush away the specks of dirt that clunch to your arm. You swallowed down the fruit, smacking your lips as you nudged his leg under the table. 

“Tell me about the new construction first.” You chirped, awaiting to hear all the details you would later share with Mabel, just to hear you compliment how good he was not just to you, but to everyone around.

By the time summer was in full swing, Jackson found itself hosting more activities, mostly for the younger kiddos who needed something to keep busy and out of trouble. Joel said it should’ve been illegal to confine the entire town into the cafeteria for some silly award ceremony, but of course you managed to convince him otherwise.

Now the two of you were sitting side by side at the cramped table as teachers and students called out various awards and names of folks to retrieve it at the front of the room. 

Ellie snagged the award for ‘Best Storyteller’ to which she threw her fist into the air, high-fiving all the children who were far too young to know she was retelling the PG-friendly versions of movies you three watched at home. You and Joel laughed and smiled, clapping along as you whispered to each other that she was indeed a great storyteller, even if half of it was plagiarism. 

“And the last award is the most prestigious award of all. It’s going to the best helper in Jackson.” Ruth, the kindergarten and first grade teacher, announced.

“Benji, would you like to say who this award goes to?” 

You cooed at the little boy who was Tommy and Maria’s. He was just beginning to get over his shyness, as he made new friends and got used to the routine of going to school. He nodded positively, looking to his left at his parents who gave him an encouraging thumbs up, then fitted his eyes back up to the crowded room where he somehow managed to spot you and Joel. 

“Uncle Joel!” He declared proudly, taking you both by surprise as your eyes widened and you slapped your hand down on his knee in excitement. 

“Oh my god, babe!” You bounded your arms around his shoulders, shaking him eagerly as the room chorused with applause and whistles. 

He laughed against your skin, letting you press a proud kiss to his cheek before you urged him up to get his award. Tiny arms flung around his body the second he got to the front of the room. He bent down at their level, letting them hug him and say their ‘thank you’s’ for all that he did for Jackson. 

He did more than just building houses, scheduling patrols, and even assisting in home maintenance. 

He built birdhouses with scrap pieces of wood and dropped them off at the schoolhouse for kids to decorate for arts and crafts.

He read to the older folks whose eyes were getting weaker and couldn’t make out the words in books.

He checked in on the rookie patrollers, drawing them up copies of his old map marked with shortcuts and locations of emergency kits he stashed.

He even volunteered to take the kids around town for ‘field trips’ when the teachers needed ideas for more engaging lessons and of course much needed break. 

In fact, a few months ago he swung by the greenhouse midday with a pack of children behind him, taking you by surprise at the unexpected guests. He said they needed to get their hands dirty and learn where all their favorite fruits and veggies came from.

You were more than happy to oblige, walking them through planting tomato seeds in one of the empty garden beds and how long the process would take. 

Joel too ended up getting his hands dirty, digging holes a few inches apart and deep, after some kids squealed in disgust and fear when a worm wiggled from under the soil. He assured them it was nothing to be afraid of, just a friend who was going to keep their tomatoes company while you sat by and watched in admiration at his patience and care. 

Those same groups of kids, along with Joel, stopped by every few weeks to give their tomatoes a nice watering and learn more about what you had to say about gardening. Now, their tomatoes were in the kitchen, picked by their little hands and waiting to be blended to make a very special spaghetti dinner for them to enjoy. 

Your heart swarmed watching him be embraced and recognized for all the little things he did out of the goodness of his heart.

“Ew, stop looking at him like that,” Ellie snuck up behind you, poking at your cheek.

You turned, playfully smacking her hand away, “Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna have his baby.” She said bluntly, making your cheeks heat up as you groaned and nudged her away.  

“Go bother Dina, Miss. Best Storyteller.” You stuck your tongue out at her watching her snorted and spin around to rush over to her girlfriend who stood at the back of the room, giving you a small wave that you returned. 

Joel walked back over to you with a colorful trophy made out of cardboard and ribbon in hand. 

“Kinda jealous, I didn’t get one.” You mumbled teasingly, leaning into his chest as he straddled the bench. 

He handed it over to you, letting you hold the lightweight thing, inspecting the messy writing that read “#1 Helper,” in rainbow, surrounded by a border of beads and glitter. 

“What’s mine is yours darlin’.” He assured you, pressing a peck to your lips, feeling you smile against his before you two pulled away, listening to Ruth thank everyone for joining them. 

Soon enough the cafeteria emptied out, the two of you walking hand in hand back to your home to relax before you’d head back and pick up a plate of spaghetti to enjoy on the couch. 

“You mean so much to them.” You said quietly, glancing over at him as he smiled at the pavement and shook his head. 

“It’s nothin’, just doin’ what I can.” 

He was always humble when it came to what he did, even back then when he’d risk his life going out on patrols. Grumbling on that it wasn’t anything special and that it was just what he needed to do and nothing more. 

But he didn’t need to calm those rookie patrollers down with his words when that unexpected storm changed their plans. He certainly didn’t need to promise them that they’d make it back home alive and well. 

But he did all of those things without ever needing to be asked or tasked because it was just the kind of man he was. Always giving parts of himself and never asking for anything in return, not even recognition. 

But most of all he was yours. 

“It’s not nothing,” You protested, squeezing his hand and forcing him to look up at you.

Your footsteps halted in the middle of the sidewalk and you shifted to stand face-to-face to him.

“You’re everything to this town. To me. I don’t know what we…what I’d do without you. I’m so lucky.” You cooed, dropping his hand swiftly, only to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling your bodies closer. 

His breath fanned across your face, a puff of air leaving his mouth as he laughed a laugh that sounded like he was still trying to wrap his head around how in the world he had you. 

“I’m the lucky one, sweetheart. Couldn’t be here without you…you’re the reason.” He confessed, snaking his arms around your waist. 

Your eyes shined brighter than the sun beaming down, cheeks fuller than the flowers blooming in your garden, and stomach swarming with more than just butterflies at his profession. 

“Can I tell you something?” You whispered, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed, “Anythin’ doll.” 

“Seeing you with all those kids, with Benji…with Ellie,” Your voice went on, “I think I want us to have one.” 

The words should’ve taken him aback–made his heart pound out of his chest for reasons too complicated to explain. He should’ve been at a loss for words, telling you it was foolish and impossible because of his age.

But instead, all he felt in the stillness was peace, the kind that wanted the same thing that you did. To bring another life into this unconventional word because you two loved each other enough to at least want to give it a try. 

“Yeah?” He finally cracked a grin, tugging you impossibly closer to him, your tip-toes nearly lifting off the pavement as you nodded and smiled harder, “Think we can make that happen.” 

“Our baby would have the best daddy ever,” You pressed your forehead to his, staring deeply into his eyes as if you could see the vision flashing in his orbs. 

“Only cause their mama made him one.” He replied, pressing his lips into yours unabashedly, not caring who would see you two in broad daylight. 

You squealed against his lips, laughing and letting him pepper kisses wherever he could, branding you with his love you would wear loud and proud. 

“Let’s go home, cowboy.” 

Brown and orange leaves cover the damp pavement, a gloomy darkness hovering over the town now that fall had made its way over. Funnily enough, even though he grew up with scorching Texas summers, he preferred the cooler weather that came with fall. He often sported the tan work jacket that Tommy found for him during a run, paired with the wool gloves you knitted for him.  

His worn boots firmly rested against the stirrups as he trotted around town, passing friendly nods to those winding down on their front porch from a long day. He often found himself coming to a complete stop, letting the children pet the horse and feed him scraps of veggies he kept in his pack. When the horse finally nuzzled their rosy cheeks with his nose, they smiled and waved goodbye. 

He continued on for a few more minutes before ultimately winding up at the front doors of the newest renovation and addition to Jackson where you were just inside. 

During summer, Joel and a few other hands managed to finish up two medium builds. Both small townhomes that would house the single and coupled newcomers who didn’t need a big place to stay, just somewhere to call home. 

In addition, they were able to renovate one of the existing buildings on the commune that used to be an old bank. Instead, he drew up some plans, running a few by Maria and the rest of the town’s council before settling on a flower shop. 

If the reaction he got out of you from the four planters he built made him feel like a million bucks, revealing to you that he was building you a flower shop made him feel like a priceless winner–something he already was all thanks to you. 

All he did was build the place for you, letting you decide how you wanted the inside and outside to look and executing it to perfection before letting you do whatever you wanted with it. The addition meant everything to the people of Jackson, newcomers and old-timers flooding your store with their presence and desire to learn more about agriculture. 

In Joel’s words, you ran a far better, prettier, and more educational version of what was once known as Edible Arrangements.

You were still committed a lot of your time to the greenhouse, but found ways to include more of the community, especially the young.

They’d meet you in the mornings to pick their desired flowers and fruits, before helping tend to the garden and sowing new seeds. By afternoon, you would gather at your shop, helping them trim and assemble their arrangements into mason jars before sending them off home with a gift to give their loved ones. 

The flower shop was hit and soon enough you had a little team that consisted of Mable, Dina, and a few newbies to Jackson who made arrangements out of flowers donated from the town which would then end up being delivered back to them by none other than Ellie and Jesse. 

He hopped off his horse, patting the animal softly and tethering it to the bright red post outside your shop. He plucked the bouquet he made out of the groove of the saddle. Even though you were surrounded by flowers every day, often ones you saw time and time again, it didn’t stop Joel from making arrangements of his own to gift to you. 

He snipped off a few daisies that were growing abundantly in your backyard before making a stop at Mable and Peter’s in order to pick a few stems of snapdragons and sword ferns to add to the bunch. He wrapped a bright yellow ribbon he found in the junk drawer at home, tying it off with a bow that was wonky, but in a charming way that you always said you loved. 

Pulling the door to your shop open, he heard your voice at the same time he caught you cooing down at something cuddled close in your arms. 

“Aren’t you just the most precious thing in the world?” You spoke gurgly and sweet, smiling down at the bright eyes looking up at you. 

The door creaked just lightly, enough to pull your attention as you shifted your eyes and instantly smiled a little wider at the sight of your guy. You couldn’t miss the way he purposefully had one arm behind his back, hiding away a bouquet he made just for you–you couldn’t wait to see what he made today. 

“Hi baby,” You greeted, jerking your head at him to come closer, the woman beside you giving him a small wave, “This is Mel and her daughter Gracie.”

You introduced the two, watching as they exchanged quiet ‘hello’s’ before his eyes drew down to the bundle in your arms. 

“Look at you,” He whispered, his free hand holding out a finger that her tiny fists knocked making the three of you laugh, “Good one kiddo.”

“Mel actually is new to Jackson. She just got here last week, and she’s staying in one of the rooms at the townhouse.” You informed him. 

He looked up at her, brows lifted, “Hot water working OK? Heater?” 

She nodded, wrapping her arms across herself, “Everything is great and perfect. Thank you for what you do by the way.”

Mel looked over at you, then back him, “She was telling me you’re the one who’s been building all these homes and I just wanted to say, thanks. Gracie needs this more than I do.” 

Joel understood the implications, the desperation to provide something stable to a child in a world that almost never was. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Mel is in it all by herself, and with the child in your arms resembling something delicate, he knew it wasn’t that long ago that she was probably out there all alone giving birth with no medication, no help, no home. 

“It’s no problem,” He shook his head, giving her a tight smile, “S’ what we do for each other here…helpin’ one another out.” 

With that, a small cry erupted from the tiny mouth in your arms, a frown covering your features as you gently bounced her in your arms. Mel just laughed lightly, rubbing your arm soothingly before she spoke. 

“She probably just needs to feed,” You handed her over, watching as the cries softened a tad just by being in her mother’s arms, “I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll come back tomorrow?” 

“Yes! Anytime. I’m always here and if I’m not, I’ll be at the greenhouse, which is right across the street.” 

She smiled, waving bye to you and Joel before stopping just short of the door looking back at you two, voice speaking out something filled with sincerity. 

“You two are going to be great parents.” 

His heart pounded, eyes trailing over to your figure as the door closed shut. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, looking up at him past your lashes, eyes coated with something deeper than love. 

“Sweetheart, what’s she talkin’ about?” He stuttered, footsteps following you where you turned on your heel and walked around to the counter, ignoring him, or so he thought.

You bent at the waist, hands wrapped around a vase, bringing it up for him to see and settling it on the countertop. It was blossoming with flowers and foliage of all kinds, but there in the very center rested a small notecard and a stick with two bright lines across it. 

You and Joel had been trying for the last two months, and while you both agreed that it was more than OK if pregnancy didn’t end up happening, you both desperately wanted it more than anything in the world. So when you were just a couple days late for your period, you immediately went to Maria who then accompanied you to the clinic where you found out you were pregnant. 

You had been keeping it a secret for a little while, trying to figure out how to tell Joel in a special way. But when Mel walked into your shop with her tiny daughter glued to her chest, it was like a catalyst telling you that it was time to tell Joel that you two would be welcoming a precious little thing into the world. 

She sat with you, talking to you about the beauty and complexity of pregnancy and parenthood, while you prepped and assembled the florals into something breathtaking. When you asked her how she knew everything was going to be OK for little Gracie, she said,

‘I just knew it would be. I looked at her and I knew…I still know.’

You knew–even before Joel stood before you, eyes glittering with tears that welled and his mouth parted with surprise–you knew that everything was going to be OK. That where you two were was exactly where you were meant to be. 

“We’re having a baby,” you whispered, walking back around the counter, plucking off the positive pregnancy test and holding it up for him to see up close and personal. 

There wasn’t a second to waste, his hand dropping his lousy bouquet to the ground as he lifted you up and kissed you like he was trying to give you the world and all the planets and stars. 

You kissed him back passionately, a breath you didn’t know you were holding puffing against his mouth where you two broke out into a fit of laughter, looking at each other with so much love. 

He placed you back down, shaking his head incredulously at the grand arrangement you had made just for him. His calloused hands reached for your cheeks, pulling you in for another self indulgent kiss before he broke away and just stared at you.

You giggled, noticing the fallen bouquet on the ground behind him. Gently brushing his arms away, you picked it up, admiring the bunch.

“I like yours way better.”

There was a combination of live music and voices filling the cafeteria, the place decked out in bright tinsel and paper snowflakes hung from rafters. Unlike a few months ago, where everyone was gathered for the community awards, they were all now dressed in their coziest and thickest pieces, celebrating the holiday season. 

Christmas should’ve been on Joel’s mind and in some funny way it certainly was lingering despite the deep thought he was in. Just hours ago, he had dressed up as Santa and met the kids at the town square, making every one of their magical dreams come true before he bid a farewell and changed out of the ridiculously baggy red velvet suit. 

Instead, what weighed most heavily on his mind was the fact that it had been a year since the snow storm incident. He hadn’t mentioned it to you, for he knew bringing it up might elicit memories and feelings he didn���t want you to revisit, not when he was there alive and well for you to have and hold forever now. 

“Brother,” Tommy shuffled over to where he sat away from the crowd, handing him a glass.

Joel bowed his head appreciatively, taking a swig of the whisky and swallowing down the rich liquid as his brother took the empty seat beside him. 

“Where’s Benji?” Joel peered around the room, not seeing the little rascal out on the makeshift dance floor with the other kids.

Tommy jutted his chin towards the frosty windows, chuckling to himself.

“Outside terrorizin’ Ellie and Dina with snowballs.” 

Low and behold, Joel could make out the two figures running and ducking while a smaller one chuckled snow cannons through the air. There was a domesticity to it that brought him a special kind of gratitude. Tommy and Joel’s chosen family blended together so happily that it almost felt normal–it was beginning to feel normal the older he got. 

Years ago he would have scrutinized everything around him–how anyone could possibly live their lives as if death wasn’t waiting around the corner, ready to pounce at any moment. But he understands it now all thanks to the life he made for himself. 

Ellie revived a part of him he thought was forever lost when he buried his dear Sarah, and in a lot of ways, he knows she’s still somewhere around always watching over and guiding him–in all honesty, he feels that she led him right where he was supposed to be. 

Then there’s Tommy. His little brother who he had been lucky enough to get closer to through the years despite the time they spent apart during the early outbreak. Together, they often reminisce about their childhood, sharing stories to Benji and Ellie who ask plenty of questions about the world they never got the chance to experience. Despite it all though, he and Tommy try to replicate it the best they can for their children, wanting to craft memories sweeter for them to remember and pass on. 

And of course there’s you.

You’re the shift in his life, a force who reformed him into the man he never thought he’d be able to be, at least not in this lifetime. But you showed him, through and through, that your love for him ran deeper than the potential he had for himself. You never changed him, never tried to turn him into someone he wasn’t. 

All you ever did was love him so honestly and fiercely that all he could do was surrender and let himself feel. You brought the real Joel right up to the surface, loving him for who he always was, and even for the man he was still growing into with each day that passed. 

“I’m happy for you,” Tommy said, watching the way his brother’s eyes stayed glued to your figure across the room, “You deserve all of this.” 

Joel leaned back comfortably in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he turned to the younger.

“You lucked out too.” 

The pair knew they both somehow managed to find their happy endings even if it took a whole lot of loss to finally get it. They’re happy for each other because they know deep down, somewhere past all the guilt and loss–they deserve it. 

“Your lady is comin’ over,” Tommy grinned, whacking him on the arm and pointing over in your direction. 

He looked at you. You looked at him. An unspoken shared gaze that reflected so much love, that he just knew.

He knew he deserved you. 

All your crinkle eyed and scrunch nosed smiles. 

All your fingers entwined between his. 

All your kisses you left emblazoned on his skin. 

Every ounce of your devotion you gave to him, he deserved. 

You used to be a version of hope he would dream up in the middle of the night, patronizing himself over for ever thinking he could have. 

But you were there in the flesh. Everything raw and real, making your way into his arms like there was no place you’d rather be. He reveled in your love for all to witness. For his soul to be bared by you and held in the palm of your hands to keep forevermore. 

And when your lips brushed against his, when your eyes twinkled into his own, when your hands guided his to rest on the swell of your growing belly…

He just knew that no one would ever have him the way that you did…and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

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a/n: second joel fic, hi, hello!!! i've had this idea in my head for a long time, but due to writers block, i wasn't able to execute it the way i wanted. happy to say that i've spent the last two to three-ish days on the document and somehow found myself with this! i think older!jackson joel would just absolutely cherish being loved so loudly by his girl. i'm planning on making a part two to this, but let me know if you'd like that!!! thanks again for reading and i'll see you all soon <3

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

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ᴄʟᴀᴜsᴇ 𝟷𝟷: ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ

Word Count: 23. 7 k

Pervious/Next

Clause 11: Games We Don’t Understand:

June 30th, 1987

“Race you!” Tommy hollered, already halfway down the dock.

“Fuck you, Tommy!” you shouted, laughter bubbling up as you bolted after him, feet pounding the sun-warmed wood.

The lake sparkled like a damn commercial—clear and wide and begging to be cannonballed into. The summer air was thick with pine and sunscreen, with the faint smell of charcoal drifting in from the deck grill where your dad and Raymond had already started prepping dinner. You could hear your dad’s deep chuckle mixing with Lorraine’s off-key humming from the open kitchen window.

Tommy dove into the water first with a splash loud enough to soak the lower half of the dock.

“Cheater!” you cried, skidding to a stop and kicking off your flip-flops. Your shirt hit the dock first, then your shorts, and then you were airborne, squealing as you launched yourself into the lake like a missile.

The water hit you like a slap—cold and delicious. You surfaced with a gasp, pushing wet hair out of your face, grinning widely.

Tommy was already floating on his back like he owned the place. “You’re slow,” he called.

“You’re an asshole,” you shouted back, the words rolling out on a laugh.

You swam over and dunked him before he could respond, pushing him under with both hands. He came up sputtering, eyes wide.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Uncalled for!”

You were already backpedaling through the water, smirking. “I warned you.”

Tommy wiped the water from his face, then shook his head, grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“Thanks,” you chirped, then flipped onto your back, eyes on the sky. It was that perfect summer blue, bright and wide and blinding at the edges. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight.

For a minute, neither of you said anything. You just floated—two overgrown kids in the middle of a lake you’d practically been raised on every summer, water lapping against your arms, the dock creaking somewhere behind you. You could hear a lawn chair squeaking on the deck, the distant hiss of your dad cracking open a beer. Somewhere, a cicada was losing its mind in the trees.

It was the kind of day you’d dream about when you were stuck in a math class or at some soul-sucking part-time job. The kind of moment that felt like it could stretch on forever.

Tommy broke the silence first.

“Eighteen feels different, don’t it?”

You turned your head toward him, eyes squinting against the sun. “Different how?”

He shrugged, sending a ripple through the water. “Like… we could do whatever we want now. No curfew. No rules. Just us and the road and whatever dumb shit we feel like doin’.”

“You know your dad would still beat your ass if he caught doing quote, ‘dumb shit’, right?” you said, flicking water toward him with a lazy hand.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see him catch me first.”

“You? Trip over your own ego and get grounded again by mile two.”

“I’ve been trainin’ for moments like this my whole life,” he said solemnly, which only made you laugh harder.

The two of you drifted closer, still floating but facing each other now. The kind of summer silence fell between you again—not empty, just soft around the edges. The heat off the water made everything feel slower, hazier, like time itself was melting.

Tommy kicked at the water to stay upright. “We should do somethin’ fun tonight.”

“Like what, listen to my dad talk?”

“No,” Tommy scruched his nose “I’m thinkin’ more adult shit.”

“Like being fucking incredible?”

Tommy raised a hand for a high-five, grinning widely. “Hell yeah.”

You slapped it.

But then—maybe it was the sun on your face, the way the water rocked you like a cradle, or maybe it was just the summer madness curling under your skin—but an idea struck.

You paddled over to float right beside him and leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper, like the trees might overhear.

“Let’s get high.”

Tommy’s brows shot up. “Wait—seriously?”

You gave him a look. “C’mon. You know, there’s some sketchy dude in town who sells. We used to pass him every year when we came here. Near that creepy bait shop by the gas station? They’ve definitely got a guy. Probably wears flip-flops year round and calls himself ‘Lizard.’”

Tommy barked out a laugh, tipping backward in the water. “Jesus, I do know exactly who you mean.”

You raised a brow, smug. “And?”

He floated in silence for a beat, clearly weighing it out in that slow, thoughtful Tommy Miller way. You could already see him caving. His mouth twitched at the corner, the idea starting to spark behind his eyes—

And then the spark snuffed out just as fast.

He groaned, loud and tragic, rubbing a hand down his face. “ Joel.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god. You are eighteen. Joel is not your parole officer.”

“No, but he acts like one.”

“Well, Joel can suck it,” you declared, flinging your arms dramatically in the water. “Let the man build a house and mind his business. I am offering you freedom, Tommy. Enlightenment. Possibly the best night of your dumb, new adult life.”

Tommy sighed, head flopping back to float with only his face above water. “Yeah, he can also immediately tell on us and get us killed. With a C.”

You frowned. “That’s not even how you spell killed.”

He didn’t move. “Exactly.”

You stared up at the trees, brows furrowed. He was right. Joel would rat you both out. Not to be noble, or responsible, or even because he cared. No, Joel would do it for the smug satisfaction. Just to see you suffer a little. You and Joel had been pissing each other off since you could walk, and nothing thrilled him more than watching your life go sideways.

Which meant he had to be neutralized.

And suddenly—oh. Oh, you had it. You grinned. “Okay. I have a plan.”

Tommy turned his head just slightly, skeptical. “That tone never means anythin’ good.”

“It’s going to be disgusting.”

He groaned. “Why does it always start like that?”

“But it’s going to work.”

He slowly floated back upright. “I don’t like where this is goin’.”

You leaned in closer, voice conspiratorial. “Look, we just need to distract him. Throw him off the scent.”

“Of what? Weed? He’s got like, built-in dad radar for that. And he smokes for God’s sake.”

You waved a hand. “Exactly. So we feed him something worse.”

Tommy blinked. “Like… what? Meth?”

You gave him a flat look. “No, you idiot. Something worse.”

His brow furrowed deeper, still trying to catch up. “Worse than meth?”

You leaned in, eyes glittering with mischief. “Worse for Joel.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re scarin’ me.”

You dropped your voice to a whisper. “We make him think I’m in love with him.”

Tommy choked, slapping the water. “I’m sorry—what?”

You shrugged, innocent. “We grew up together. He’s known me since diapers. I’ve been sweet and annoying and right under his nose. All I have to do is act a little bashful. A little lovesick. He’s twenty. He won’t know what to do with that kind of emotional chaos.”

Tommy’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You want to—just so I’m understandin’—seduce my brother… so I can go buy weed.”

“Seduce?” you scoffed. “Don’t be gross. I’m going to confess my feelings. There’s a difference.”

“No there’s not!”

You grinned. “I’m gonna write him a note.”

“A note?”

“With a little heart on it. Maybe a lipstick kiss. We’ll see how theatrical I’m feeling.”

Tommy groaned and flopped backward into the water. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, floating beside him. “We’re setting the scene. He thinks I’ve fallen for him—like, hard. And the moment he’s spiraling, thinking shit, how did I miss this? I’ll tell him to meet me on the dock tonight. Alone.”

Tommy raised his head from the water. “And what happens on the dock?”

“You will be in town. Getting supplies. And I will be keeping Joel occupied, red-faced, and deeply uncomfortable. Nothing too bad.”

“You’re not gonna traumatize him for life with this, right?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe just a little.”

He groaned again.

“Come on, Tommy,” you said, voice sugar-sweet. “One night. One teeny little white lie. A nervous, wide-eyed girl and a note she’s too shy to even mention? He’ll never see it coming.”

“He’s going to think you’re unhinged.”

“He already thinks that.”

“He’s going to move out of the state.”

You grinned. “Then we’ll finally get the lake house to ourselves.”

Tommy squinted at you suspiciously, wringing lake water out of his curls. “Okay, so what makes you think he’s gonna believe all this? Joel? The most emotionally stunted, unromantic, no-nonsense person alive?”

You gave him a look. “Because I’m going to sell it like it’s gospel. Like Jane Austin came down and personally ghostwrote my head.”

He let out a disbelieving breath, treading water. “You are so full of it.”

You leaned back, letting the sun warm your face, your voice light. “I’ll be trembling, Tommy. Like… hands shaking, voice cracking, all teary-eyed. The works.”

“You gonna pull the ‘I’ve always loved you from afar’ card?”

“Oh, I’m talking full backstory. Emotional roots.”

He raised a brow, clearly both horrified and impressed. “Jesus. You’ve been plannin’ this.”

You smirked. “Not this specifically. But I’ve had the dramatic monologue in my back pocket since I was twelve for whatever guy looked my way.”

Tommy groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, you’re gonna make me regret this, I already know it.”

You grinned wider. “You remember when I told you Joel ruined my almost first time?”

He paused, lips twisting. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Come on,” you laughed, bumping his shoulder. “You remember. It was the party at my house?”

“The one I didn’t go to?”

“You had a fever, you sickly idiot.” You glared.

“Still pissed you didn’t just dance around my bed.”

“Anyway, me and Chris were about to fuck and then—”

“So what, you’re gonna tell him you fell in love with him because he cockblocked Chris?”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“Ever since that night,” you said dramatically, placing a hand over your heart, mimicking like Tommy was Joel. “I’ve been haunted. Like something shifted in me. Like you were protecting me. Looking out for me. It was… it was the moment I realized—you’d always been there. And maybe… maybe I wanted you to be him.”

Tommy blinked. “You are the villain.”

“Damn straight.”

He exhaled slowly, staring up at the sky like he was questioning all his life choices. “Alright. I’ll play along. I’ll sneak into town, grab the goods, do the dirty work—while you devastate my brother.”

You beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

“But if he ends up in therapy because of this—”

“Totally worth it.”

He groaned again, splashing water at you. “Just make sure he doesn’t kiss you or anythin’, alright?”

“Ew. He won’t. He’ll be too busy staring at me like I grew a second head.”

“You are a second head.”

“Your second head.”

The day drifted on, slow and golden, until the sun began its descent—casting a rich, molten orange over the lake’s surface. You couldn’t stop staring. It looked like the water was on fire, shimmering with every ripple. 

After a few lazy laps and at least five returns to the same half-baked scheme you'd been tossing back and forth all afternoon, you and Tommy finally climbed out, shaking off lake water like a pair of drenched dogs.

The lake house belonged to a wealthy older couple who, according to rumor, started renting it out after their kids convinced them to turn it into a summer investment for some money scheme. Didn’t matter to you, though; at least you got your nice summer vacation.

 Ever since the property was available, your dad and Raymond had scraped and saved to bring both families out here for one week every year. A tradition. A ritual.

You might have grown up in Arlington, but pretending this place didn’t feel like home would’ve been a flat-out lie. The lake was glassy and vast, surrounded by only three houses—each hidden behind thick curtains of forest. And just a mile down the road, a sleepy little town sat waiting with its single diner, gas station, and antique shop. Of the three homes on the lake, yours was the smallest, but somehow, it never felt that way.

You took the long, spiraling staircase from the dock up to the deck, your legs burning as water dripped from your swimsuit, clinging to your skin and making the climb feel twice as hard. But when you reached the top—god, the view. 

The sunset exploded across the sky and the lake in hues of pink and gold and lavender, turning everything it touched into something magic. You never got used to it. It stole your breath every time.

Inside, the blast of air conditioning kissed your damp skin, and you let out a soft sigh. The house was like a cabin and a tech showroom had a baby—wooden log walls, carefully curated furniture, and every smart feature imaginable humming quietly in the background.

Because the house was built on a slope, this deck-level entry was technically the first floor. Above, a sleek wooden banister lined the open hallway of the second floor, which just meant... more stairs. You groaned quietly at the thought.

You slipped into your room, not bothering to say goodbye to Tommy. You’d see him soon enough.

The room was dim, the last threads of sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting golden stripes across the wooden floor. Your damp clothes clung to your skin uncomfortably, and your hair was still dripping, leaving dark spots on the old rug beneath your feet. You peeled the swimsuit off slowly, the fabric cold and stubborn, and wrapped yourself in the soft, oversized towel from the hook by the bed.

The house creaked in that familiar way—like it was exhaling after a long day. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear the muffled sound of someone laughing. Probably your dad or Raymond, maybe both. The comfort of it settled you.

The shower steamed up fast, hot water hitting your skin like relief. You stood there longer than necessary, letting the lake water rinse off, letting the heat sink into your shoulders. The air filled with the scent of coconut soap and something citrusy from an old bottle you’d used every summer since high school. It clung to the tile and your skin, familiar and strange all at once.

You braced a hand on the cool wall, eyes closed. It was quiet, save for the steady patter of water. Peaceful. But your mind wouldn’t shut up.

You were actually doing this. Following through on the mean little idea you spitballed like a joke, like a dare. Make Joel think you were falling for him. Bat your lashes, dangle a few compliments, get him all flustered.

You should’ve felt terrible.

You didn’t.

Instead, a thrill curled low in your belly. Something electric. Exhilarating. Maybe it was the heat of the shower or the slick way water traced down your spine, but your skin buzzed. The plan shouldn’t have excited you this much. But it did.

The kind that was hard to shake.

You pressed your forehead against the wall, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

This was wrong. Objectively, cosmically, maybe even karmically wrong.

But God, you wanted to see how far you could take it.

The water shut off with a sharp twist. The bathroom instantly felt colder, steam clinging to your skin like a second thought. You toweled off, fast but methodical, like your body was moving on autopilot while your brain still spun with too many thoughts and not enough brakes.

You dressed quickly—nothing flashy, just shorts and one of those loose tanks that always dipped a little too low when you leaned the wrong way. Innocent, but dangerous if Joel happened to be looking.

And if he looked, well... wasn’t that the point?

You towel-dried your hair, let the hair fall where they wanted, then gave yourself one last glance in the mirror. You looked calm. Relaxed. Like your stomach wasn’t a mess of adrenaline and bad ideas.

You stepped out into the hallway, the floorboards creaking under your bare feet as you made your way past the railing. The sky outside the windows had deepened—sunset giving way to the softer blues and purples of late evening. Music played faintly from the living room, something warm and easy.

You stopped just outside Tommy’s room and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, tapping your fingers lightly against your bicep.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Tommy stepped out—still towel-drying his hair, wearing the same old cutoff tee he always brought to the lake, the one with the faded Lynyrd Skynyrd logo across the front. It was so ugly it looped back around to charming

He didn’t even flinch when he saw you. Just gave you that cocky half-smile. “You’re early.”

“I’m motivated,” you replied smoothly, gaze sharp.

The upstairs floorboards creaked as you and Tommy descended, both freshly showered and sun-warmed, your hair still damp at the ends and sticking to the back of your neck. The scent of lake water had been replaced with Tommy’s overuse of body spray and the faint citrus-and-sunscreen combination clinging to your own skin. 

He glanced over at you and rolled his eyes.

“This is still so dumb.”

You took a breath, shoulders back, channeling every ounce of melodrama you could muster. “It’s not dumb. It’s theater.”

Tommy’s head dropped back with a groan. “You are not doin’ your little actress voice.”

You ignored him. “We are mere moments away from greatness. From glory.”

“You’re wearing that top,” he pointed out.

“Battle armor.”

“Barely counts as clothin’.”

“Just admit this is the closest you’ll get at looking at a woman’s tits and we’ll move on.”

He gave you a long, flat look as you reached the landing. The comforting clatter of dinner prep came from the kitchen—Lorraine’s voice rising and falling with your dad’s laugh. The familiar murmur of grown-ups, the clink of glass, the soft roll of a fan rotating in the corner.

“You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “We could still just sneak out later. Just… be normal.”

You turned, halfway down the stairs, catching him with a grin over your shoulder. “We passed normal like four ideas ago. This isn’t about weed anymore, Tommy.”

He blinked. “Then what the hell is it about?”

You descended the last step and faced him full on, hands on your hips like a Disney villain in the third act. “Bragging rights.”

Tommy stared. “That’s it? Braggin’ rights?”

“Tommy,” you said, completely sincere, “Do you know how satisfying it’ll be to see Joel genuinely confused for once in his smug, emotionally-repressed life? He thinks he knows everything. Thinks he’s smarter than both of us. And all I have to do is bat my eyelashes and fake a little vulnerability to completely short-circuit him?”

He let out a slow whistle. “You are terrifyin’.”

You smirked, patting his shoulder. “You’ll thank me when you’re high on the dock with a bag of gas station candy and Joel’s still at the house, trying to process his feelings.”

He held up both hands. “Just for the record—when this backfires, I had no part in it.”

“You’re literally the getaway driver.”

“Fine. But when he starts monologuin’ about betrayal and siblin’ dishonor, I’m sellin’ you out.”

“Rude.”

“You’d rather I lie?”

You pushed through the screen door to the back deck, where twilight glowed gold through the trees and fairy lights blinked lazily above the long wooden table. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, charred corn, and whatever casserole had enough cheese in it to be dangerous.

Your dad, waved a pair of tongs at you from the grill. “C’mere, Sugar Cubes. Tell me what you think.”

You strolled over, smoothing down your shorts, trying to keep your nerves tucked in place. “If this is burnt, I’m telling Lorraine.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, handing over a forkful of something. It had meat. It had sauce. It had… an identity crisis.

You chewed slowly. “That’s… bold.”

Lorraine appeared at your side like a Southern ghost, all pearls and pink lipstick. She leaned in, pressing a perfectly manicured hand to your shoulder and whispering low enough only you could hear:

“I made most of it, honey. Clyde just stood near the heat and tried to look useful.”

You nearly choked. She winked, kissed your temple, then floated back to the table, complimenting her own potato salad as she went.

Wiping your lips on a napkin, you slipped away before your dad could make you try another ‘experiment’. Your eyes scanned the yard— Raymond was staring over the railing with beers, Tommy with him as they talked.

But where was Joel?

You stepped off the center of the deck and moved to the edge, placing your palms on the wooden banister and leaning forward. That’s when you saw him—back near the garden beds on the ground, hauling a stack of folded chairs. He was in a white t-shirt, one arm flexed under the weight, hair curling just a little with the heat.

You didn’t like the way your stomach fluttered.

‘All for an act,’ You thought for yourself. Getting into character.

He paused to shift the chairs in his grip, lifting his shirt slightly with the movement, revealing just a sliver of hip, of lower back.

Your eyes were glued to him before you caught yourself.

Okay. Showtime.

You pushed your lips into a little smile—like you’d just noticed him by chance, like your gaze wasn’t glued to him like velcro—and let your expression soften. Your hand came up, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear in the most cliché move you could think of. Then, as if on cue, he stopped mid-step, lifting a hand to wipe his brow.

His eyes flicked up.

Met yours.

Time froze.

For a split second, you just stared at each other. You widened your eyes a little, faked the oh-god-you-caught-me-staring look, and then turned your head so fast your neck nearly cracked, pretending to fuss with the cuff of your sleeve.

Bingo.

Let him chew on that all through dinner.

Behind you, someone called out—“Where’s the dessert at?”. You didn’t turn. Just let the sounds of the backyard swirl around you as you took your time strolling back to the long deck table, still half-giddy, half-drenched in nerves.

You slid into one of the rickety white chairs like you had all the grace in the world, ignoring the tremble at the top of your spine. This was a performance now. A con, as Tommy had so lovingly called it, and your only job was to sell the illusion.

Lorraine clapped her hands, signaling the start of the meal. Her voice was honey-dipped, somehow louder than everyone else’s without being sharp. “Alright now, everyone grab a plate. Clyde, Raymond, y’all stop hoverin’ by the grill and come sit down ‘fore everythin’ gets cold.”

Your dad, spatula still in hand like a soldier off duty, came around to the table and plopped down at one of the heads of the table you. “It’s not gonna be cold,” he grumbled. “I had the heat timed perfect.”

Raymond followed with a fresh beer, sitting next to Tommy, giving Clyde a skeptical look. “Sure you did.”

You smiled tightly, grateful their usual back-and-forth would keep attention off of you for at least a few minutes.

Across the table, Lorraine waved Tommy over like he was a child again. “Tommy, come sit by me. And fix your posture, honey, you’re too cute to be slouchin’ like that.”

Tommy groaned, but did as told, sparing you one last look on his way over. His eyebrows rose meaningfully. A warning.

If you’re gonna do this, do it right, his expression said.

You resisted the urge to make a face back at him, settling instead for widening your eyes like some sweet, angelic little thing who’d never plotted a damn day in her life.

Then it happened.

The screen door creaked.

You didn’t have to look. You felt it—felt the way the conversation dipped just slightly, the way your spine straightened like someone had pulled a string through your ribs.

Joel stepped out onto the deck, arms full of folded lawn chairs. His shirt clung a little tighter now, damp with sweat. His brows were furrowed, but not angry—just focused, jaw tight, like the whole world was a chore.

He scanned the table.

Your stomach sank in triumph.

Only one empty seat.

Right next to you.

Joel hesitated. Just for a breath. Long enough that you wondered if he’d try to eat standing up instead. But Lorraine noticed too, and with a flick of her hand, she sealed his fate. “Joel, honey, put those down and come eat before it gets cold.”

He grunted something low and indecipherable, set the chairs down by the steps, and approached like a man headed for execution.

You schooled your face into something wide-eyed and delicate. Blinked once for dramatic effect. Looked straight ahead like you hadn’t noticed he was about to sit so close your knees might brush.

And still, you felt Tommy’s glare like a laser across the table.

You didn’t look. But you knew. He was absolutely seething in the way only a best friend who knows your evil plan can be.

Joel slid into the seat beside you, shifting his chair an inch farther away as subtly as he could. You didn’t react. Just smiled politely at your plate.

Then—like the gods were playing along—Lorraine handed you the mashed potatoes. “Here you go, baby, pass that down to Joel, would you?”

You turned, holding the bowl out between you with the softest smile you could summon. “Mashed potatoes?”

Joel glanced down, then up at you. For half a second, you could tell—he was still thinking about earlier. Still wondering what the hell that look had been. His hand brushed yours as he took the bowl, fingers rough with calluses.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

You beamed. “Anytime.”

Tommy groaned across the table like he’d been stabbed.

Lorraine raised her eyebrow. “You okay, honey?” She immediately put her hand on his forehead. “Don’t tell me you have another fever comin’ up…”

“I’m fine!” Tommy hissed.

You left Tommy to avoid his mother’s hand. Raymond and your dad had fallen into their usual conversation… perfect.

You turned to Joel with what you hoped was a casual, effortless smile. Nothing suspicious. Nothing flirtatious—not on paper, anyway. The real art was in the subtext.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here with us tonight,” you said lightly, poking at your roasted zucchini with the side of your fork. Your voice was soft, only just loud enough to cut through the hum of conversation, but low enough that it could pass for innocent curiosity.

Joel didn’t look up right away. He was buttering a roll with the kind of quiet focus that made it seem like the fate of the meal depended on getting the edges perfectly covered. “Didn’t think I had a choice,” he muttered back. His voice was low, dry, but he didn’t sound mad. That was something.

“Oh, sure,” you teased, now dragging your fork through your mashed potatoes now. “Lorraine definitely threatened your life to make you show up.”

He shrugged. “Close enough.”

You giggled—soft and breathy, like it had just slipped out. You caught Tommy’s eyes across the table, his brow twitching as if to scream, stop giggling, but you ignored it. Joel, for his part, still hadn’t looked directly at you.

So you leaned in. Just a little. Barely anything. If the adults saw, it would seem like you were just whispering something private, something harmless.

“Gotta say,” you murmured, still twirling your fork idly, “I didn’t have ‘deck dinners with Joel’ on my bingo card for the summer. Makes me think we’re overdue for a little… bonding.”

That got his attention.

Joel looked at you. Not fast. Not wide-eyed. Just a slow, careful glance like he was trying to figure out why you were being nice—what trap was waiting just under the surface. You could see it behind his eyes, the way his brow pinched, the way his mouth pressed tighter. Suspicion. Confusion. All the best ingredients.

He didn’t say anything.

So you smiled again, just a touch sheepish. “Y’know. We’ve known each other for what… eighteen years? You’d think we’d have more conversations that didn’t involve yelling.”

Joel scoffed under his breath and turned back to his plate. “You do most of the yellin’.”

You gasped, hand over your chest, just as Lorraine returned to her seat with a pitcher of sweet tea. “I do not.”

“You screamed at me for breathin’ near your cassette player last summer,” Joel said, biting into his roll. “’Cause apparently I was throwin’ off the ‘vibes’.”

“Okay, but you were,” you said, louder now, letting the words spill out like you were defending your honor. You glanced around—your dad and Raymond were still deep in conversation about some awful war movie. Lorraine had leaned into Tommy’s shoulder, whispering something only he could hear. Good. No one was really listening.

“You breathed like a construction site,” you continued, turning to him again, this time with a smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m sorry, but someone had to say it.”

“I don’t breathe like a construction site,” Joel muttered.

“Oh no, not now,” you replied, casually brushing your knee against his under the table. “Now you’re trying to breathe normal. But I know the truth.”

He stiffened for just a second. You noticed, then shook it off.

“Maybe I’ll just stop breathin’ around you altogether,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, blinking innocently. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

His eyes flicked up to you again—just for a second. A flicker. A twitch of the corner of his mouth.

And then?

Back down to his plate.

Progress.

“You sure you’re feelin’ alright?” Lorraine’s voice rang out again. She was watching Tommy closely, eyes narrowed with motherly suspicion.

“I said I’m fine,” Tommy groaned, shoulders slumped now in full surrender. “Can I just eat?”

“Don’t get snippy with me,” she warned, then leaned back to sip her tea. “I raised you better than that.”

You used the moment to shift in your seat again, bumping Joel’s arm very gently as you reached for the bread basket.

“Oops,” you whispered with a small smile. “Sorry.”

“You’re not,” he muttered.

You turned to look at him, resting your chin in your hand and smiling wider. “You’re right,” you said sweetly. “I’m not.”

Tommy choked on his tea.

Lorraine turned back toward him in concern. You turned back to your food like nothing had happened.

The hum of conversation continued around the table—Raymond laughing about something your dad had said, Lorraine dabbing her lipstick with a napkin, Tommy chewing like his life depended on it just to keep from making a scene. All of it folded together into this soft, domestic warmth.

You barely heard any of it.

Because Joel had just pushed his chair back with that familiar low scrape of wood against deck and muttered, “Gonna grab a drink.”

No one seemed to think anything of it. Not Raymond, not Lorraine, not even Tommy, who was too focused on not looking at you.

You gave it five seconds.

Maybe six, just to be safe.

Then, you slipped your napkin onto the table, murmured a vague “Be right back,” and followed.

Inside, the house was dim and cool, the kitchen lit only by the little counter lamp tucked near the breadbox. Joel was standing in front of the fridge, one hand braced against the door, the other wrapped around the neck of a longneck beer bottle. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing tan forearms dusted with just enough dirt and oil to remind you he’d been helping Raymond with the boat motor all day.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, your face carefully arranged into mock surprise.

“Wow,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d catch you sneaking drinks on your own.”

Joel turned slightly, beer in hand, brows low and suspicious. “I ain’t sneakin’.”

You shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He didn’t rise to the bait, just twisted the cap off and tossed it into the sink without looking.

A small silence bloomed between you.

This was the part you had planned. The quiet moment. The moment to plant more seeds, little glances and half-smiles, and phrases vague enough to make him think he was imagining things. You had rehearsed them in your mind while floating in the lake. But standing here in the kitchen, with only the soft click of the fridge door closing and the low, earthy smell of beer in the air, you felt… slightly unprepared.

Maybe it was because Joel was so damn quiet when he wasn’t making fun of you. The weight of his silence was something real. Like a presence.

You pushed yourself off the doorway and walked toward the counter where the backup drinks were kept. You didn’t look at him, didn’t need to.

“You’re a whole mystery, Joel,” you said, keeping your voice light as you rummaged for a soda can. “One minute you’re grunting about boat motors, and the next you’re sneaking off to nurse a beer in silence. Real enigmatic.”

“I just wanted a drink,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious.

You cracked open the soda and leaned back against the counter, sipping slowly. “Sure. Just a drink. Definitely not an excuse to escape all the noise outside.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. He took a long sip of beer instead, eyes flicking over to you just once before returning to the floor.

“Tommy talk too much?” you added, feigning innocence.

That earned you a small smirk. “Always.”

“Knew it.” You smiled into your can. 

More silence. The good kind, though—soft-edged, familiar. You glanced over at him again. Joel was leaning against the kitchen island now, ankles crossed, beer resting at his side. He looked relaxed, or as relaxed as Joel ever got.

“I used to think you hated these lake trips,” you said after a moment. “You’d always be out in the garage or chopping wood or just… not here.”

Joel tilted his head. “Didn’t hate ’em.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Just like my time to myself.”

You raised a brow. “That tracks.”

Joel’s lips twitched again, and for a second, he almost looked like he might say something back. But then his eyes flicked toward the back door, and his shoulders stiffened just slightly.

“Dinner’s probably still goin’,” he said, like he’d remembered where he was supposed to be. “Should head back out.”

“Sure,” you said easily, stepping back so he could pass.

But as he did, you let your fingers graze lightly against his arm—barely there, just a brush.

Joel paused. Didn’t move. Just stood still for a second too long before walking past you.

You watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him.

The quiet snapped back into place, humming low around you like a powerline buzz. The fridge kicked on with a faint click. Somewhere outside, Tommy’s voice drifted up in a burst of laughter. But all you could hear was the sound of your heart, steadily picking up pace behind your ribs.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, peeled away from the counter, and started pacing the kitchen in slow, looping steps.

That was good. That was decent. The brush of your fingers, the look you gave him before dinner, the sweet smile when you passed him mashed potatoes—those were fine. All part of the plan.

But they weren’t enough.

Joel was cautious. Stubborn. Built like a brick wall and twice as impossible to move. If you were going to convince him—really convince him—you needed something better. Something sharp. Something that would lodge in his head and stay there for the rest of the night, gnawing like a tick under his skin.

You grabbed your soda from the counter and took a swig, pacing faster now. The tiny things were working, sure. You’d caught him off guard twice—once at the deck, once in here—but they were flashes. Fleeting. You needed something that would stick.

You chewed your bottom lip, mind racing. What would throw him? Really throw him?

The look? You were already laying it on thick. The fake bashfulness. The nervous giggle. It was good. But Joel wasn’t a fool.

Words. He’d need words. Something direct, less soft. Something that would hit all the nerves he didn’t even know he had.

And then… it clicked.

Something stupider. Riskier. The kind of thing that would make Tommy roll his eyes and mutter “You’re actually stupid” when you told him how it went down later—right after you helped him sneak out to meet the weed guy.

You paced the kitchen once more, heart thudding against your ribs like it knew what you were about to do and was begging you not to.

But it had to be messy.

Joel had to be… unsteady tonight. That was the whole point. You had to take whatever little space you occupied in that perfectly ordered brain of his and crack it wide open. Let confusion and interest start leaking in, even if he didn’t know what to do with it. Especially because he wouldn’t know what to do with it.

So you straightened your shirt, smoothed the front like it mattered, and stepped out through the deck door again, into the thick syrup of a Texas summer night.

Your dad and Raymond trading some war story over beers, Lorraine trying to convince everyone to eat more peach cobbler. Tommy caught your eye instantly from the table, eyebrows flicking upward in a silent question.

You gave him the barest shake of your head. Not yet.

Joel was standing near the railing now, staring off toward the dark line of the lake. You walked past him casually, heading to the table to grab another bite off your plate. But then you doubled back and went back to him again, this time with purpose.

You cleared your throat.

“Hey, um—Joel?”

He turned.

You gave him your best ‘helpless little summer girl’ look. “Do you mind helping me real quick? I think I broke one of the dresser drawers upstairs.”

He blinked, and you added quickly, “I was just trying to shove stuff in it and it made this horrible cracking noise. Thought it might fall through the bottom. I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, already moving. “I got it.”

You nearly skipped all the way to the stairs.

God bless that creaky dresser. It had a history of betraying you. At least this time, it was doing it in service of something greater.

Joel followed you down the hall, the sound of his heavy boots muted by the old wood floors. You stepped inside your room. You gestured toward the dresser in the corner.

“That one,” you said. “Top drawer. I think it caught on something.”

Joel knelt in front of it, fiddling with the wooden runners. You watched his fingers work, steady and rough and sure.

You shouldn’t have been looking at his hands. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Still, your throat felt tight when you spoke. “I broke up with Chris.”

He didn’t look up.

“Last month,” you added, like it mattered.

Joel muttered something under his breath, probably about the dresser, but you saw the way his shoulders stiffened just slightly.

Good.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. “I probably shouldn’t be looking at anyone right now. Should be figuring myself out. That’s what everyone says.”

Joel didn’t comment. He yanked the drawer out entirely, inspecting the bottom.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “But there’s this guy.”

That got him.

He didn’t react much—just paused, just barely, hands frozen on the drawer’s edge for a fraction of a second. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head.

You smiled down at your knees like it was a secret. “It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d be into someone so… different. But he’s kind of been stuck in my head lately.”

Joel sat back on his heels. “Drawer’s fine. Just slipped the runner. I’ll fix it.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

There was a pause—just long enough for you to feel the tension pull tight in the room like string.

You tilted your head slightly, voice soft. “You ever have that? Someone you weren’t supposed to think about like that? But then they just… get under your skin?”

Joel didn’t answer.

He was trying not to move. Trying not to breathe.

Perfect.

You smiled, leaning back on your hands now, voice lighter. “It’s like… I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him. But I do. Sometimes my eyes can’t help but find him in the crowd. Like when I’m doing my homework. Or when we’re at dinner. Or…”

Your eyes flicked up to his. 

“When he’s fixing a dresser.”

Joel’s eyes widened.

And then you pushed yourself off the bed, brushing past him quickly, already walking to the door. You paused at the threshold, turned just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“I think it’s the hands,” you said. “Something about them just... sticks in a girl’s memory.”

And then you left.

Let him stew. Let him spiral. Let him try to piece together what just happened.

You had a love letter to write.

And a weed run to pull off.

Dinner soon came to an end. Joel never came back down—never cleared his plate, didn’t say goodnight. Didn’t even give you the satisfaction of one last flicker of a glance across the table.

Which meant one thing.

You had him.

Right there. His quiet little brain, always chewing on some thought or worry, now gnawing down on you. On what you’d said. On the way your eyes had locked on his and lingered. You knew he was probably pacing around up there right now, hating how fast his heart was beating. Trying to tell himself he was imagining things.

But he wasn’t.

And now, it was time to rip the bandage off and send him over the edge.

Tommy crept into your room sometime after the lights in the living room dimmed, crouching low and slipping past the banister line. Clyde and Raymond were planted on the couches, deep in a bottle of something dark and smoky. Lorraine was flipping through a worn magazine. No one saw him.

Your door creaked open and shut quietly, and he promptly threw himself onto your bed like he owned the place.

“Jesus,” he said, blinking at the mess of torn notebook paper and your furious scribbling. “You writin’ a love note or cursin’ his bloodline?”

“Shut up.” Your pencil scratched hard at the page. “I’m working.”

Tommy leaned up on one elbow. “You’re workin’ on a fake love confession. For my brother. Who you hate.”

“It’s not fake, it’s strategically manipulative,” you muttered. “Big difference.”

He watched you thoughtfully. “Should I be scared of you?”

You didn’t answer.

“I feel like I should be scared of you,” he mumbled.

You kept going, chewing on your bottom lip as you scribbled another line:

I never wanted to feel this way. It’s embarrassing. But the way you carry everything… the way you stay quiet and never ask for anything…

You gagged in your own throat and crossed out the whole paragraph with a dramatic X.

Tommy reached over to take the paper. “Let me see.”

“Wait—” You shoved it into his hands, standing. “Don’t read it out loud.”

He laughed, already scanning it. “God almighty. This is corny. ‘Ever since May second I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you’? You literally got cockblocked that night.”

You pointed a finger at him from across the room. “We discussed this. That’s the origin story, okay? It’s not real.”

Tommy made a face like he tasted battery acid. “I never understood what you saw in Chris anyway. Looked like a fuckin’ mop in jeans.”

“You’re a mop in jeans.”

He held up the note, ignoring your jab. “This is vile. I feel dirty.”

You turned your back to him and pulled open your bottom dresser drawer, rifling through for the dress you’d been saving all summer. White, crisp, sweet as hell. It had a delicate pattern of threading on the straps and skirt, small buttons down the back, and it ended just high enough above your knee to be considered ‘trouble’ by any dad within a 500-foot radius.

Tommy caught sight of it and physically gagged. “No. You are not wearin’ that. I don’t need to see your shoulders and thighs while plottin’ this.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “You’re lucky I’m not adding heels.”

“You’re unwell.”

You stepped behind the changing screen anyway, shimmying out of your shorts and top. “You know it’s perfect. It’s got confused, innocent lake girl who can’t stop staring at his forearms written all over it.”

“That sentence alone should be a crime.”

You slipped the dress on and stepped out dramatically, smoothing the front. “Okay. Tell me I don’t look like I’m about to hand over the dumbest love letter ever written.”

Tommy groaned and rolled onto his back. “I hate this. I hate this whole thing.”

“No, you love this whole thing,” you corrected. “Because it ends with us getting high off our asses by the lake while Joel stares into the dark wondering what the hell happened to his world.”

Tommy sighed, still staring at the ceiling. “So what’s the plan again?”

You turned to your tiny cracked mirror and started putting on a little makeup—just enough to look like you didn’t try. Lip balm, mascara, blush, nothing more.

“He usually sits out on the porch late, right?” you said. “Just like every night for the vacation. I’m gonna go out there and give him the letter. I’ll be dramatic. Maybe even tear up a little. He’ll feel awkward and stunned and he’ll actually listen.” you paused to powder your face,

“And how does that translate to the docks?”

“Well, I’ll say I’m too embarrassed, and can’t bear the idea of seeing him reading it.” you clasp your hands together like a damsel in distress. “And ask him to meet at the docks.”

“And he’ll say yes?” Tommy crossed his arms after writing something on a new piece of paper. 

“Of course. Tommy, your brother is a white knight to the extreme. If I shed a tear out of frustration, no matter how much he hates me, he’ll come.”

“How long will  you keep him there?”

“For as long as possible,” you promised. “Long enough for him question things. Make him flustered. Well, as long as you need to get the weed.”

Tommy gave you a long look. “You know… this plan is kind of devious. Like. Too devious. You thought of everythin’. Why are you like this?”

You turned to face him, lips glossy, eyes full of wicked sparkle. “I’ll teach you how to do it one day.”

He gave you a dramatic salute, one hand to his forehead, the other resting over his heart like he was pledging allegiance. “Can’t wait.”

You popped your lips into a grin, feeling the delicious little thrill of victory hum through your chest. “Glad you’re ready for lessons. But first…” You turned and snatched the pencil out of his hand with a flourish. “Let’s write that damn letter.”

You flopped onto your stomach on the bed, kicking your legs in the air, while Tommy remained half-curled on his side beside you, cringing like this was the most emotionally vulnerable he’d ever been by proxy.

“Spit something out to me.”

Tommy made a face like you’d asked him to recite poetry from memory. “Ugh, do I have to?”

“Yes, you do,” you said, tapping the paper. “You’re my ghostwriter. It has to be pathetic, but not too pathetic. Honest but also flattering. And it has to sound like a girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing, even though I absolutely do.”

Tommy sighed. “Alright. How ‘bout this… ‘I'd known a lot of boys but I never knew a man, and you were somethin' I just couldn't resist.’”

You squinted. “Too cliché. Sounds like I copied it from a country song.”

“I did copy it from a country song. Skaggs and White.”

You rolled your eyes and started scribbling.

I know this probably doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s sudden. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it.

You stopped. “Too forward?”

Tommy leaned over your shoulder. “Nah. Keep it. Joel’s dumb. He needs forward.”

You smirked, then kept writing:

It started back in May. I know the day, I remember the exact moment. You interrupted something stupid and—

Tommy groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “Why do we gotta talk about you almost gettin’ railed? Why is that in this letter?”

You ignored him and continued:

—you said I deserved better. And I think maybe that’s when everything changed. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You dropped the pencil, shaking out your hand. “Okay, now it needs a turn. Like, something softer. Something he’ll read twice.”

Tommy peeked at the page. “Say somethin’ about the way he never asks for anythin’. He likes bein’ all broody and self-sacrificin’. Makes him feel manly.”

You clicked your tongue. “You’re right. He’s gonna lose it over that.”

You scribbled:

You never ask for anything. Not from anyone. But you always give. And I don’t know why that stayed with me, but it did. It really did.

Tommy groaned. “I’m gonna vomit.”

“You can vomit in the car on the way to the dealer. You’ll be fine.”

He flopped back dramatically and muttered, “My life peaked at the lake when I was eighteen.”

You nudged him with your foot. “Help me with the ending. Something that’ll make him have to meet me. Something desperate and sweet.”

Tommy tilted his head, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Hmm… how about… ‘If I’m wrong, just forget I ever wrote this. But if I’m right… meet me by the docks.’”

You blinked. “That’s… actually good.”

He gave you a proud shrug. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

You jotted the last few lines:

If I’m wrong, forget this. Throw it away. Forget this, forget everything that happened tonight. But if I’m right—if you’ve ever even thought of me the same way I think about you—meet me at the docks tonight.

Please don’t make me stand there alone.

You stared at it for a second. The handwriting was yours—soft, slanted, slightly messy around the edges like a nervous girl wrote it while her heart raced. You had looped the y’s and dotted the i’s like a dreamer. You’d even smudged a corner with your pinky, like it was clenched too tightly in your fist.

Perfect.

You folded the page with dramatic care and slid it into a blank envelope you’d tucked into your summer journal weeks ago.

Tommy reached for it. “Don’t seal it yet. Lemme gag again.”

You handed it over, grinning. “Be honest. Would you fall in love with me?”

He skimmed the note, gagged audibly, then shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

You winked. “Then it’s perfect. Joel’s not half as smart as you.”

He rolled his eyes and held up the envelope like it was a cursed object. “Alright, drama queen. Time to ruin a man’s life.”

You stood and adjusted the straps of your white dress in the mirror, tilting your head as you dusted a final sweep of blush on your cheeks. “No. Time to break his brain.”

You gave yourself one more look over. Satisfied, you looked back to Tommy.

Tommy stood behind you with the letter dangling from two fingers like it might bite him.

You smiled with  syrupy satisfaction. “Go out the back entrance. Quiet. Then post up by the side of the porch. I want eyes on him.”

Tommy narrowed his gaze. “And what am I watchin’ for exactly, boss?”

“When he leaves,” you said, adjusting your neckline, “And heads to the docks. You’ll know. He’ll do that thing where he walks like he’s not in a rush, but his head’s down, hands in his pockets like he’s nervous.”

“Wow, you’ve really studied this man.” Tommy raised an eyebrow.

You ignored that. “As soon as he’s gone, you go. Take the car, head straight into town, and don’t let that dealer talk you into anything stronger. We’re still amateurs.”

Tommy gave a low whistle. “Alright, alright. This is all very James Bond, but—how the hell are you gonna know when I’m back?”

You tapped your chin dramatically, walking to your window as you thought, peering out into the trees like the answer might be spelled out in the stars.

Then—you smirked. Turned back to him.

“Easy. When you come back, turn on the lights in your room like you’re just up late again. Joel’ll think you’re being a nerd per usual, and I’ll know the mission was a success.”

Tommy blinked. “So the lights are my spy beacon.”

“Exactly. The Bat-Signal for potheads.”

He handed the letter to you, just shaking his head.

“You’re welcome.”

Tommy hesitated at the door. “You’re really sure this is gonna work?”

You smiled, saccharine-sweet and scheming. “If it doesn’t, I’ll have something even worse cooked up by next summer.”

He groaned and disappeared into the dark hallway.

You were alone now, bathed in the moonlight spilling through the window. The house around you creaked and settled, quiet with the comfort of this long game.

You held your breath as you tiptoed past the living room, moving slow. The adults were still laughing about something—the clink of a glass, your dad’s booming chuckle, Lorraine’s hum of approval when Raymond said something charming that only she would get. All safe. No one noticed you.

You slipped past the hallway rug like it might scream if your foot landed too heavy, and there it was—the front door, just slightly ajar like someone had gone out to get a beer and forgot to close it behind them.

You peeked through the crack of the door, heart already thumping harder than it needed to. Joel.

Corner of the porch, one leg stretched out long, the other bent, foot tapping gently. His guitar sat across his lap like it belonged to him more than anything else in the world. He hadn’t started playing yet, just adjusting the tuning pegs. It was the same way he always started—like the whole world needed to wait until he was ready.

His eyes flicked up, catching movement. You.

He paused. Still, quiet, but his hands hovered on the strings, not playing, not adjusting—just watching.

You froze for a second, like some rabbit caught in a porchlight, then made yourself move. Slow. Small steps as you headed out the door. You let your shoulders round like you were uncertain. Like something was heavy on your chest. A performance, yes, but one you'd honed over years of tricking substitute teachers and avoiding awkward questions from grown-ups.

This was the final act.

You thought of the saddest thing you could.

Three-legged puppies getting kicked, little kitties sleeping on the road, only their fellow litter mates to keep them warm. Orphans in those ads that begged for one dollar to feed four children.

You blinked, and sure enough, your eyes glassed just enough.

Joel straightened a bit. “You okay?”

Your smile was small, broken. “Hey.”

He gave a faint nod, brow furrowed now, guitar forgotten. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You let out a quiet breath, stepping toward the porch rail, letting the moonlight hit your white dress just so. “No, not really.”

He didn’t say anything. Just waited.

You swayed a little where you stood, toes curling over the edge of the porch plank like the ground below might swallow you up. The air was warm and thick with pine and old wood, and still Joel hadn’t said anything else. Just sat there, eyes unreadable, like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, had walked out of the house and interrupted his night.

You cleared your throat, soft and quiet, almost like you were afraid of disturbing him. “You always sit out here this late?”

Joel finally leaned back, shifting a little like he realized he was staring. His hand dragged across the strings of his guitar—lazy, not enough to make music, just noise. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, gaze dropping to his boots. “Time for myself.”

You nodded like you understood. Like that meant something deep to you. “That’s good. It’s a good to have.”

He looked up at that. Just a flick of his eyes.

You added quickly, fiddling with your fingers like they might tie themselves in knots, “But sometimes it makes me think too much. About stupid things.”

Another pause. Joel squinted slightly, suspicious. “Like what?”

You blinked at him. Blinked again, slow and dreamy, like you were gathering up the courage to speak. “Like… people. Things I wish I could say but don’t.”

Your voice had dropped to a whisper at the end, and you didn’t miss how his jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, not quite frowning, but trying to read through the lines.

You let out a tiny breath and stepped closer, the boards creaking under your weight. Now you were at the rail, just a foot from where he sat. You let your shoulder brush against the post, close enough for him to smell the coconut in your scent.

Joel didn’t move, but he was watching you now. Truly watching.

You reached into the folds of your dress, where the hem was stitched just above the thigh, and pulled out a small, sealed envelope. Your fingers trembled just a little for show—not too much. Just enough to seem like this was something big.

Something delicate.

“Here,” you said, voice barely more than a breath. “I was gonna leave it on your guitar case, but since your here...”

He didn’t take it at first. Just looked at the envelope like it might catch fir.

Your lashes fluttered, and you looked down, cheeks burning in pretend embarrassment. “I know it’s stupid,” you whispered. “But I… I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And I figured if I didn’t say something, I’d regret it.”

Joel slowly reached out and took the envelope from you like it was made of glass. His fingers brushed yours, warm and calloused, and you fought the urge to grin like a wolf.

You stepped back just slightly, looking anywhere but at him. “Don’t read it now,” you said quickly. “Please. Just—when I’m gone.”

Joel didn’t say anything, just looked down at the envelope again, like it was written in code.

From the corner of your eye, past the banister, you saw Tommy shift in the shadows. Arms crossed. Silent. Watching.

Joel followed your glance, half-turning.

You panicked for half a second and moved quickly, reaching for the porch rail to anchor yourself. “I should go,” you said. “Before someone sees.”

He nodded slowly, still staring at the envelope like it would explain everything if he just stared hard enough.

You gave him one last look—eyes wide, lips parted slightly like you might say something more. Like you wanted to.

But then you turned, stepping back into the house, the door creaking quietly behind you.

The moment you were out of sight, you broke into a silent run—straight to the back doors, heart racing.

You sprinted barefoot through the hallway like a criminal escaping the scene of the most ridiculous heist in history. Your heart was hammering so hard in your chest, you thought it might shake the old floorboards. Every creak behind you felt like Joel catching on, felt like his voice calling your name, felt like the whole plan unraveling before it even had the chance to bloom.

But no one followed.

The back door groaned open, and cool night air kissed your flushed cheeks. You flew down the grassy path to the docks, arms tight around yourself, teeth biting back a breathless laugh that nearly bubbled out of you.

You’d done it.

You actually handed Joel Miller a fake love confession. In a white dress. On a moonlit porch.

You felt like you’d robbed a bank. No—worse. You’d robbed Joel’s brain. Cracked it open like an egg and scrambled the hell out of it.

The wooden planks of the dock shivered under your feet as you reached the end and finally stopped, gasping softly, lungs catching up with your adrenaline.

The lake stretched out in front of you, ink-black and endless, the moon like a smudge in its reflection. Frogs croaked somewhere in the reeds. You bent slightly, bracing your hands on your knees, heart still punching your ribs. You had to breathe. Had to calm down.

You plopped down on the edge of the dock, the wood cool and familiar beneath your thighs. Your legs dangled freely over the water, toes skimming the surface. It was colder than you remembered—chilling and sharp, like reality trying to grab hold of you again.

But you didn’t let it.

You stared out at the lake, back turned to the house.

You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see a porch light flicker. Didn’t want to see movement. Not yet. The moment you turned your head would be the moment your plan became real.

Instead, you let the silence settle. You let the frogs sing and the soft rustle of pine branches whisper around you. You let the cool breeze tug at the hem of your dress and mess with the ends of your hair.

You thought about how easy it was to slip into that role—soft-spoken, shy-eyed, girl-next-door. It wasn’t you. Not really. But damn if it didn’t come naturally.

You could almost see his face when he read it—slow, cautious, like he was deciphering a bomb. You hoped he’d hesitate. You hoped he’d squint at it, confused, questioning every second of every memory you’d ever shared.

And while he was piecing together the lie, you were here. Stealing time. Guarding the docks like it was sacred land, waiting to stretch this ruse until it gave Tommy enough time to slip out of town with the car and come back with exactly what you needed.

All you had to do was stay here and wait.

So you let your shoulders relax.

Let yourself breathe.

The wooden boards creaked softly as you shifted, knees curling up just slightly. You leaned back on your hands, the lake’s scent—damp and earthy and clean—filling your lungs.

But then you stayed there longer than expected.

The night settled around you like a weighted blanket—too still, too heavy. The thrill of the plan, the high of it, started to wear off in layers. First, the rush in your chest. Then the smirk tugging at your lips. And finally, the certainty.

Minutes dragged. You picked at a splinter in the dock post. Checked over your shoulder. Nothing.

You craned your neck to glance back toward the house. The trees framed it like a shadow box, deck still and empty, windows aglow with that soft yellow warmth that always made the lake house feel like home. But Tommy’s window?

Still dark.

You swallowed, your throat tightening with something colder than the water brushing your toes. It wasn’t like Tommy to abandon ship, not without a backup plan. And while he always put up a fight about your bolder ideas, he wasn’t a flake.

He was just as dumb as you were, just with better timing.

Still, doubt crept in.

Maybe Joel hadn’t believed the letter. Maybe he’d read it and shrugged and decided he didn’t want to be bothered with whatever weird emotional sabotage you were trying to pull. Maybe he fell asleep. Or maybe—worst of all—he knew. Knew it was fake. Knew it was all bullshit. Knew you were scheming something and decided to let you rot in your own mess.

You shifted your weight on the dock again. Hugged your knees to your chest this time.

The moon had climbed higher. The lake, once just black and flat, now glittered like it had secrets too. You leaned your head against your arm and sighed through your nose.

He’s not coming.

You said it aloud, almost. Whispered it inside your mind, like it’d break the spell and let you stand. Maybe you’d fake some tears when you walked back inside. Say you were overwhelmed. Say you were stupid. Say nothing.

Then—

Crunch. Creak

You heard it. Soft. Measured. The sound of boots on old leaves and wood shifting. Your spine straightened before your brain caught up. You froze, wide-eyed, every horror movie you’d ever seen flashing through your head for half a second. It could’ve been a coyote. A hiker. A killer.

You turned slowly, your heart climbing up your throat.

And then—you saw him.

Joel.

Tall and carved from shadow, only the slant of moonlight catching the side of his face. His jaw tense. His shoulders rigid. His eyes… locked on you. And in his right hand—

The letter.

Folded and crumpled within his grip, the paper looked as wrecked as he looked. Like it might dissolve if he let go. His knuckles were white around it.

He didn’t say anything. Not right away.

And neither did you.

You stared at him, stunned into stillness. For a second, the only sound was the lake lapping gently beneath you and the faint rustle of leaves behind him.

He was breathing hard. Like he’d been pacing. Thinking. Rereading the thing over and over until it made less sense the longer he looked at it.

“Joel…” you started, your voice barely there, unsure what note to strike.

He shook his head slowly, eyes unreadable, mouth tight. “Why’d you… why now?”

His voice was gravel. Soft, but rough. Unsteady in a way that made something low in your stomach turn over.

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because you hadn’t rehearsed this part. You had planned for everything except the moment he’d actually show up. You’d counted on confusion. Not… emotion.

You forced yourself to look back out at the lake, letting the silence stretch before you said, “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

A half-truth. Enough of one.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t sit. Just stood there, letter crumpling tighter in his hand. You could feel his eyes on your back, burning like the sun that had kissed your skin earlier that afternoon.

“And you thought… this?” he asked, voice low. “After all these years?”

You turned to look at him again, letting your face soften, eyes wide and lashes heavy with something just shy of guilt. “I’ve been trying to forget it,” you whispered. “But you—you never made it easy.”

Joel looked stunned for a breath. Almost like you’d struck him.

“I tried to push it down. Keep it in. But… it just came rushing back.” You ran your fingers through your hair, as if calming yourself from rambling.

Then his jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed just a little. That mix of suspicion and restraint written all over him.

“Why now?” he repeated, like it had to be asked again.

You tilted your head, a faint smile flickering on your lips—just enough to keep him off balance.

“Because I’m tired of pretending.”

And then—before he could respond, before he could say anything at all—you stood.

Your heart dropped.

Because now… now you were getting closer to him. And Joel’s gaze was intense, looking straight at you.

You felt like you were out here like some love-struck teenager in a white dress at midnight with moonlight in your hair and absolutely no goddamn follow-through.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

You blinked once. Hard. Tried to swallow the panic crawling up your throat. You hoped he’d walk away. Maybe ask a question you could dodge. You hadn’t accounted for him just standing there, chest rising and falling slow and controlled, eyes locked on you like he was waiting—for a real answer, for the truth.

You glanced up at his face—unreadable—and then, very subtly, just right of his head.

Tommy’s window.

Still dark.

Goddammit, Tommy.

You cursed him internally, cursed the plan, cursed yourself for wearing this stupid dress that now felt way too dramatic for the moment. Because now the ball was in your court and you had nothing. Not a line. Not a cute laugh. Not a backup smirk.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, heart hammering so loud you were half-sure Joel could hear it.

What do you even say in this situation?

Which doesn’t lead to either:

A. Joel kissing you.

Or

B. Joel storming back to the porch with a grumble and maybe tossing your letter into the lake for good measure.

You forced yourself to inhale. Slow. Think.

Stalling.

You tilted your head just slightly, letting your lashes fall low and voice go quiet, soft. “You don’t have to say anything back, you know. Just… needed to get it off my chest.”

That’s safe, right? Casual. Unthreatening. Honest without being too real.

Joel’s brow furrowed, just a flicker, but he stayed quiet.

You kept talking. You had no choice.

“Couldn’t sleep, kept thinking about it.” You dared to meet his eyes, even if just for a second. “Just figured… it’s worse to keep something like that locked up forever, right?”

That was good. That sounded real. Maybe too real.

Still nothing from Joel.

You tried again. Your tone shifting lighter, a nervous little laugh tucked under your breath. “You remember last month?” You stepped closer, slow, slow, like you weren’t about to jump out of your skin.

He blinked. A faint crease in his brow.

You gave a little tilt of your head, mock thinking. “When I was about to fuck Chris Henderson until you barged in and nearly broke the damn door?”

That—that got a reaction.

Joel’s jaw ticked. His nostrils flared slightly, and he gave a sharp breath through his nose. “I remember,” he muttered.

You almost smiled.

You waved a hand lazily, as if brushing off a fly. “You did me a favor, you know. He would’ve cried.”

That earned the tiniest twitch at the corner of Joel’s mouth. Almost imperceptible. You pressed forward.

“Funny thing is,” you said, voice dipping slightly, “I thought I was mad at you back then.”

Joel tilted his head. “Weren’t you?”

You smiled now. Soft. A little sad. “Not really. Just confused, I think. Because something about the way you looked at me that night…” You trailed off, then added, “Kinda messed with my head.”

And then—like a damn idiot—you turned away again. Because Tommy’s window was still dark and your heart was now threatening cardiac arrest.

You took a step back toward the lake. Let yourself breath a little, as if relaxing. Buying time. Faking calm.

You worried if you got to close to him, he would see the thrill in your eyes. The way you glanced back to the lake house too often.

Please, Tommy. Please, please, just flip the damn light on.

You stood there like an idiot, bathed in tension and your own overconfidence rotting in your gut.

Joel just… stared.

Silent. Still. Eyes unreadable.

Not a damn word from his mouth.

You didn’t know if it was a good thing or the worst thing that had ever happened to you. Your heartbeat was a riot, each thud echoing in your ears like a countdown to absolute humiliation.

You blinked. Swallowed. Waited.

Nothing. No bite. No bark. Not even a mutter.

You scoffed under your breath and turned away slightly, facing the lake, letting your shoulders drop.

“If you came out here just to stare at me, Joel…” you said, soft but sharp, “Then this conversation’s not going anywhere.”

It came out cooler than you felt, like maybe you weren’t seconds from spiraling. You crossed your arms tight over your chest. The lake shimmered dark and glassy under the moonlight, and the wind teased the hem of your dress.

Joel moved.

Slow and quiet, boots thudding softly on the old dock boards. You didn’t look at him—not yet—but you felt him, the heat of him, the weight of his presence closing the space between you.

And then he was there. Standing right behind you.

You kept your eyes on the lake. You had to. The moment felt like ice cracking under your feet, and the only way to keep it steady was to pretend it didn’t matter. A role.

Even if his shadow now stretched over your legs and your shoulder burned from the way he was watching you.

The silence stretched long and taut, pulling tighter with each second he didn’t speak. You felt his hesitation like it was its own living thing. He didn’t sit. Didn’t move closer. Just stood there. And then—

“Is this a joke?”

His voice wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t angry. It was something else. Something tighter. Confused. Wary. Like he was trying to step through fog without tripping.

You blinked slowly, forcing your mouth not to twitch. This was the moment. This was the fork in the road. Say the wrong thing, and he’d walk back to that porch, sit with his damn guitar, and pretend nothing ever happened.

So you inhaled softly, like you’d been caught.

“A joke?” you repeated, brows lifting slightly as you turned your face to him. “You think I’d go through all that trouble… just to mess with you?”

You had to bite your cheek to hide the fact you had.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw shifted, clenched, then unclenched again. The note was still in his hand, crushed now around the edges. Like he didn’t know whether to throw it or fold it into a goddamn origami swan.

You let out a quiet breath, leaning forward to wrap your arms around your body. You didn’t look at him this time.

“I’m not that cruel,” you said softly. “Even if you think I am.”

The reflection of the moon’s light caught your dress just right as you sat down again—casting pale light along the edge of your thigh, your arm, your cheek. You’d placed yourself here for a reason. Let it do the work.

Joel exhaled slowly, but still didn’t sit. You could feel the way his thoughts were turning, clunky and slow. He’d never been fast with emotions. Never had to be. That was Tommy’s job. Yours too, in your own chaotic way.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “We’ve known each other forever and now, all of a sudden, you’re… sayin’ this.”

You tilted your head, just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it.”

Joel moved again, this time to the edge of the docks, and finally, finally, he sat. Not too close, but closer than he had to. His elbows rested on his knees, and he rubbed a hand over his face like he’d just woken up into a dream he didn’t trust.

You stayed quiet. Let the silence stretch again.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he said after a beat. “With you. With that note.”

You leaned back on your hands, lifting your chin toward the stars. “You don’t have to do anything, Joel. Not tonight.”

“But you wrote it.”

“I did.”

“On purpose.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s usually how writing works.”

He gave a soft, humorless huff at that.

You turned to him fully then, letting the corners of your eyes go soft. “You ever think maybe I’ve just been better at hiding it?”

His brows knit. “Hiding what?”

You gave him a look. Let it linger. Let the unsaid things swirl around you like fog.

His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You leaned in, just an inch. Close enough for your scent to reach him. Not too close. Not yet.

“If you really think this is a joke,” you said softly, “Then maybe I’m not the one who’s been blind.”

Joel didn’t flinch, but something in his face shifted. Like the ground had moved under his boots.

You turned back to the lake again, heart pounding, throat dry.

Joel’s voice broke the silence again, low and uncertain. “What do you want from me?”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t demanding. It was real. And raw.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because the real answer was nothing. You weren’t trying to win his heart, or pull him into some sudden romantic future. This wasn’t love. This was strategy.

But he didn’t know that.

So you looked at him again—eyes wide, lips parted just slightly.

Words escaped you, your focus on Tommy. 

No car engine, no quiet knock on the back door, no stupid little grin with a victorious bag of weed. Just night and silence and your own rising panic screaming through your chest.

He should’ve been back by now. This entire plan depended on it. On perfect timing. On you being the distraction, the decoy, the girl on the dock whispering things that sounded like love but weren’t. A curtain of white to hide the heist.

Except now? It was just you. And Joel. And your mouth was dry and your cheeks were hot and you were starting to spiral.

So you made a choice.

You pushed your legs out and let them dangle over the water again, arms bracing behind you. 

“No games. No teasing. Just… honesty.”

Joel didn’t move. Just looked at you, the letter still clutched in his hand like it might tell him what to do.

“I didn’t come out here to play,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the lake. “Not really. Not tonight.”

A pause. “What’d you come out here for, then?”

You turned your face slightly toward him, letting your lashes lower in something almost shy. Almost soft.

“I don’t know. Maybe to try something.”

Joel blinked, slowly. “Try what?”

You smiled a little. “You, Joel.”

That cracked something. His jaw twitched. His throat bobbed. His fingers curled tighter around the letter.

And then—he said it. The thing you didn’t expect.

“I don’t know if that’d be a good idea.”

You froze.

Just… blinked.

“What?”

Joel looked at you, eyes darker than before. Serious. Not cold, but solid. Like he was pulling every ounce of his weight behind the next thing he said.

“You just turned eighteen.”

You inhaled like you'd been hit. Not from the content of it—you knew your age. Knew his. What did he mean by that?

“And I’m twenty,” he added, voice low, like he was trying to be careful. “It’s not a lot, I know that. It’s not illegal, or weird. But it don’t feel right.”

You turned your head slowly toward him, caught off guard by how real he sounded. How genuine. There was no judgement in his voice. No awkwardness, either. Just restraint. Measured, tight restraint. Like he was holding himself back not out of fear, but principle.

It should’ve made things easier.

It didn’t.

“Oh,” you said, because your brain had momentarily stopped working.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “I just think… you’re young. You’re smart, yeah, and way too sharp for your own good. But this?” He glanced down at the letter. “This don’t feel fair to you.”

You let out a breath and turned your gaze back to the lake, chewing the inside of your cheek.

He was rejecting you.

Nicely.

Quietly.

With logic and decency and adult moral grounding.

But still—rejecting you.

You were too wrapped up in the heat of it to remember this wasn’t real. That this wasn’t actually about love or feelings. This was about keeping him distracted so your co-conspirator could grab weed.

But Joel didn’t know that. He just knew a girl he’d known since she was in diapers was sitting beside him in a dress, looking like every bad idea he’d ever tried to avoid.

And it was working.

Even if he didn’t act on it.

You sat in the silence for a moment longer before turning your head, watching the way his jaw was tight, how his lips were pressed in that flat, unreadable line. His eyes were out on the lake, but you could tell they weren’t seeing it.

"Is it because you don’t like younger girls?"

He stiffened.

Didn’t look at you, but his head tilted slightly. That little pause you’d come to recognize. The one he always gave when he didn’t want to lie but couldn’t tell the truth either.

"Joel?" you pressed, voice soft but insistent.

He exhaled through his nose. Slow. "Ain’t about that."

"Then what’s it about?" you asked. "Because I’m trying to understand. I really am."

Still, he didn’t look at you. Just scratched at the back of his neck, then dropped his hand. You blinked, tried to keep your tone light, teasing. “So it’s just about the age thing.”

Silence.

“Is it because you don’t like girls like me?”

That got his attention. Joel’s head turned. His brows dipped low.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tilted your head, curling a bit toward him. “Girls like me,” you said again, a little airier now, like it wasn’t a trap but a real question. “Your little brother’s best friend. Loud. A little too much sometimes.”

Joel didn’t answer.

And that was answer enough.

You sat up straighter. “That’s it, right? It’s not just the age. It’s that it’s me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Joel muttered, jaw tight again.

“But you’re thinking it.”

He turned to fully face you now. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you demanded. “Because you know it’s true? Because you don’t like the idea of even thinking about me like that?”

He shut his mouth, eyes hard. You could see the restraint flickering in him again, tight as a tripwire.

Joel shook his head, quiet but forceful. “I know what you’re doin’.”

You leaned in. “Do you?”

He glared. “Yeah. You’re tryin’ to get a rise out of me.”

You crossed your arms. “And why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because I ain’t gonna be the guy who ruins somethin’ good just ‘cause a pretty girl’s bored.”

You recoiled a bit, stung, even though you weren’t supposed to be. “Wow.”

Joel looked away again. You could see the muscle twitching in his jaw. Hear the tension in his breath.

“So that’s what this is,” you said, quieter now. “I’m just… a bored little girl, poking at the big bad man on the porch.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that’s sure as hell what it sounded like.”

He didn’t speak.

And your heart began to clench.

Not because of the plan. Not because of the logistics. But because a part of you really had wondered. Wondered if someone like Joel—quiet and rugged and older, someone who saw you but never said anything—could ever really want someone like you.

“Forget it,” you muttered, standing abruptly. “Forget the whole thing.”

“Don’t,” he said, instantly, standing too.

You turned on him. “Why not? If I’m just some kid playing games, why even entertain this conversation?”

His mouth opened, then shut again. 

This was stupid. Illogical. Not like you. Why did it matter what Joel thought? Why did it twist in your gut when he looked at you like that—like you were some burden he never asked for? You didn’t love him. Hell, most days, you barely tolerated him.

So why did the thought of his rejection sting like it mattered?

The silence stretched.

And then, something snapped. 

You stepped closer, toe to toe now, eyes fierce. “Answer me this, Joel. Just one thing. And then I’ll go.”

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t agree either. Just stood there like a man on the edge of a cliff, bracing for the fall.

You smiled. Soft. Sweet.

“Did you wish,” you began slowly, voice barely above the ripple of the lake, “That you were Chris on May second?”

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But something in him tightened—his jaw, his shoulders, the set of his spine like steel pulled taut.

You watched it happen in real time. Watched how that name hit him square in the chest, dead center.

And he didn’t answer.

Didn’t even try to lie.

“Thought so,” you whispered.

Still, he didn’t speak. And you didn’t know if that was better or worse.

You didn’t look away. You stepped forward, just a little, like you weren’t even aware of it. The wind rustled your dress, hair brushing across your shoulder, and Joel didn’t breathe.

Another step. His boots didn’t move.

“I bet it won’t have been good with him,” you added, voice softening. “I was just trying to get it out of the way. Thought maybe Chris could just make it quick.”

You looked down at your feet. Then back at him. “He didn’t.”

And still… nothing.

So you did something very, very stupid.

You pressed your chest against his

Not fast. Not dramatic. But deliberate.

Your bare skin grazed his fabric, cool beneath your skin. You rocked on your heels, looking up at him like a girl trying to understand a riddle—like someone searching for the answer on his face.

His hands twitched. You didn’t miss it. Not the flinch, not the breath that hitched in his throat.

“I’m not doing this to mess with you,”You whispered, tilting your head, still watching him. “I know it seems like that. I know you probably think I’m being mean.”

He exhaled, hard through his nose. “Step away.”

You didn’t. You tilted your head the other way.

“Would you have done something different?” you asked, the words like a purr, low and coaxing. “Would you have made it better for me?”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You watched his jaw flex, tight as stone. The muscle ticked hard under his stubble.

You inched closer.

“Would you have told me to wait?” you whispered, pretending to sound hopeful. “Or would you have shut the door behind you and made sure it felt like something?”

You leaned in a little on your balls of your feet, your hands moved to the hem of your dress inching it up your legs with the movement, like you were nervous. Let him see. Let him squirm.

“Would you have held my hips?” you asked, softer now, breathier. “Would you have kissed my neck? Said my name?”

Joel flinched—barely. But you saw it.

Your voice dropped another octave, nearly a rasp. “Or would you have just taken it? Rough. Fast. Would you have fucked me like you were mad about it?”

That did it.

Joel’s fists curled, his eyes burning holes into you now. But you weren’t done. Couldn’t be.

You leaned in again, hands sliding up his forearms, towards his shooulder, spine curving like you were drawn to the heat of him. He didn’t snap away, didn’t shove you back.

“Would you have made me come first?” you asked, innocent and filthy at the same time. You watched your fingers, watched them trace every muscle in his arm. “Or would you have made me beg for it?”

Joel’s breath hitched. His chest rose once, sharply. And then, just as his hands twitched at his sides—

You gave the final blow. Your voice dropped into a hush, meant only for him.

“Did you touch yourself to me that night?”

Joel moved before you could see his face change.

He grabbed your arm—fast, firm—and hauled you to him like you weighed nothing. Your feet scrambled for purchase, breath caught in your throat, and then you were upright, your face inches away from his.

His grip didn’t hurt. But it pinned you in place, burned like a brand on your skin.

“Cut it out,” he snapped, low and furious. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He was breathing hard. Eyes wild. “You think this is some kind of game?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because maybe it was supposed to be one. At first. A tease. A push.

But now?

Now your pulse was pounding in your ears, and your chest was tight and hot and confused. Too far. This is going too far. What were you doing?

“I put your damn feelings down,” he hissed, his voice a little hoarse. “I told you my reasons, don’t spin stuff that confuses the shit out of you.”

“I don’t know,” you said, and your voice cracked on the edges with honesty. “I don’t know what I think anymore.”

You were shaking now—not out of him, but yourself. What are you doing? His intense gaze drowned any of your pervious thoughts.

Joel’s gaze moved all over your face, searching, burning, hurting.

You ripped your arm away—not harsh, but sudden, sharp, like the snap of a thread.

And that’s when you saw it.

The light from Tommy’s bedroom flicked on.

Relief punched through you so hard your knees nearly gave out. Your breath escaped in a half-laugh, half-gasp. Thank God. He made it. He did the thing.

You were free.

But now you had to act like none of that mattered. You had to get away.

You swallowed, steadied yourself, and rolled your shoulders back.

“Fine,” you huffed, shaking your head and putting on that mask again. Cool, cocky, careless. “Don’t feel the same. Got it. Loud and clear.”

Joel blinked at you, stunned by your one-eighty.

You turned from him, back toward the narrow path leading to the house, tugging your dress down slightly as you walked.

“I’ll just go find some piss-poor man to fuck me instead.” You said it like a shrug. Like it meant nothing.

But you heard his footsteps behind you before you even got halfway up the dock.

“What the fuck are you sayin’?” he barked, voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t stop walking. You were done. You played the part. You did your job.

Now you needed Tommy and a goddamn escape route.

“What do you think it means?” you threw over your shoulder, picking up the pace. “Means I’ll survive. Means I can move on.”

“You talk like you want that,” Joel snapped, louder now. “Like you want some stranger’s hands on you.”

You stopped, mid-step, and slowly turned around, eyes wide and cruel with fire.

“Yeah. Maybe I do.”

Joel looked like you slapped him. The words landed hard, and it made something behind his eyes snap.

You took a breath and walked back toward him, not close, but enough to land the hit.

“You think you’re the only man who’s rough? The only one who can use his hands? You think I can’t find someone else who knows what they’re doing?”

Joel’s fists balled again.

You continued, voice cold now. “I grew up right next to you, Joel. Should’ve known you’d never want someone like me.”

He didn’t say anything.

You smiled—empty, bitter.

“I’ll find an older guy. Someone experienced. Someone who likes virgins. Lotta guys get off on that shit, did you know that?”

That’s when Joel moved.

One step. Two. Then three—and suddenly he was in your face again, breath hot, eyes burning.

“You think that’s funny?” he hissed. “You think this is some kinda joke? That you can just say shit like that and walk away?”

You tilted your head. Abort, abort, abort. Get him mad, push him away. “I think I’ve been waiting on you to want me for so long that I stopped caring who actually does.”

Joel’s nostrils flared. “You don’t mean that.”

“No?” You crossed your arms. “You said this was wrong. That this wasn’t a good idea. So why the fuck do you care who touches me next?”

He opened his mouth. Then shut it.

Your voice cracked with something you didn’t recognize. “That’s what I thought.”

You spun back around and started walking again. Faster now.

Joel’s footsteps followed.

“I care because it’s not just about you,” he bit out behind you.

“Oh, sure,” you laughed bitterly, “It’s about you, right? Your guilt. Your precious self-control. Your pride.”

He grabbed your wrist this time—not hard, not tight. Just enough to stop you.

You turned to him, lips parted in a gasp.

“You’re not walking back in that house thinking I don’t care,” Joel growled.

“Oh really?” you spat. “Because it’s sure felt like that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand. You act like I’m a bomb you’re trying not to set off.”

He looked wrecked. Silent. His hand still on your wrist.

You stared up at him, breath shaky.

“I didn’t want to want you,” you whispered. “You think this is easy for me? You think playing games and teasing you and pretending like this is some mission makes it better? Makes me feel less like a fucking idiot for wanting the one man who’ll never touch me?”

Joel’s eyes flickered with something unreadable.

You took a breath. “I wanted to be more than just Tommy’s dumb little friend.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to say something. But nothing came.

You cut him off before he found the words.

“I’m going to Tommy’s,” you said flatly. “And if you come near me again tonight, I swear to God, I’ll scream.”

You ripped your wrist from his hand and stormed off—feet slapping against the wooden dock, dress brushing your thighs, the light from Tommy’s window your only North Star in the dark.

You didn’t look back.

Not when your foot slammed against the dock’s last board. Not when the wind caught your dress, pulling it tight against your thighs. Not when the trees whispered behind you, or when the lake rippled with the echoes of your footsteps fading.

Didn’t let yourself feel.

You had a mission.

But as you crept through the side entrance of the house, holding your breath and counting every creak of the floorboards, that thought looped like a cracked record in your head.

What had you done?

All this for weed?

You swallowed hard, slipping into the shadow of the stairs. The house was silent, heavy with the kind of darkness that clung to your skin. Tommy’s light still glowed dim yellow upstairs. But your chest felt hollow. Unmoored.

This was just a plan. A con. A beautifully executed, perfectly timed trap.

So why did you feel like the evil person?

You tiptoed up the stairs, breath caught behind your teeth. Quiet as death.

And then you slipped into Tommy’s room.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning like a damn idiot, waving the plastic baggie in the air like he’d just won the state fair raffle. “You’re not even gonna believe how smooth that went,” he whispered loudly. “Swear to God, he was sittin’ out there strummin’ like a sad cowboy for a good five minutes. Then boom. Whole store opened like I was King of England.”

You didn’t answer. Just stood there in the doorway.

Frozen.

Tommy’s grin faltered. He lowered the bag. “Hey… hey, what’s wrong?”

“I…” you started, voice like broken glass. “I don’t know.”

His brows knit together. “What happened? Did he—did Joel say somethin’?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, not like that.”

“Did he touch you?” That got Tommy’s eyebrows furrowing, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

You shake your head furiously, “God! No, not like that. Never.”

He watched you for another beat. And then you stepped in farther, the door almost shutting. You didn’t even make it to the bed before your knees gave a little, back hitting the wall beside his dresser.

Your throat burned. You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, like you were trying to wake up.

“I don’t think I recognize myself,” you whispered.

Tommy slowly set the weed down on his desk, his grin fully gone now. “What are you sayin’?”

You dragged a hand through your hair. “I said awful things, Tommy. I—I pushed and pushed and kept pushing, and he just stood there. Like he didn’t know whether to run or… or grab me. And I liked it. Like I broke him.”

You blinked, and your voice wobbled. “I didn’t say those things because of the plan. I said them because I wanted to. Because I wanted to see.”

Tommy’s face was tight now, jaw clenched. “You were supposed to keep him distracted. That’s all.”

“I know,” you said, the word cracking apart.

He stepped forward, slower now. “So what happened?”

“I kept going. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I—” Your breath caught. “I told myself it was to sell it, but it wasn’t. It was going to be fine, but I turned it weird. And now I don’t know if I was acting or just—just sick in the head.”

Tommy crouched in front of you. “Hey. Look at me.”

You couldn’t. Your eyes were fixed on some dark corner of the room. “He’s gonna hate me.”

“No, he’s not.”

“I made him think things, Tommy” you choked. “And he let me. He stood there and let me put those ideas in his head. And now I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face. Like he wanted to believe it, but knew he shouldn’t. And I made him feel that.”

Tommy’s hand rested lightly on your knee. “Are you okay?”

That question shattered something inside you.

It broke your ribs. Cracked your spine. Tore right through the numb fog and pierced something soft and sore beneath.

“I don’t know,” you said.

And then the tears came. Silent and slow at first, slipping down your cheeks like traitors. And then all at once. Sobs that pulled your lungs tight and made your chest cave. Ugly, deep, shaking cries.

“I’m a monster,” you whispered between gasps.

“No, you’re not,” Tommy said quickly, grabbing your arms, pulling you forward.

You collapsed into him, your arms winding around his shoulders, face burying in the crook of his neck.

“I did it for weed,” you sobbed. “Who the hell does something like that? Who weaponizes themselves like that and then enjoys it?”

Tommy’s arms held firm around your waist, grounding you. “You’re not a monster. You’re eighteen and a goddamn hurricane. You were tryin’ to win. You always do. It’s not evil. It’s just you forgettin’ you’ve got a heart sometimes.”

You shook harder.

“You didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said. “You just got too deep. And now you’re spiralin’ because you do care. That’s not nothin’. That’s not a monster.”

You clung to him like a lifeline. He didn’t let go.

Not until your sobs dulled into hiccups. Not until your breaths came easier. Not until the shame felt a little bit smaller, like maybe it wouldn’t eat you whole.

“He was so mad… and I said shitty things.”

“What did you say?”

You blushed, not out of anything romantic. No, there was nothing romantic about that moment. It was control. Vicious control “I said… God, I said I would fuck a older man if he wouldn’t fuck me.”

“Jesus, you really took things to the next level.”

“I know!” you wailed, throwing your head back, dragging your hands down your face. “I know. And the worst part? I didn’t even mean it like that. I just— I just wanted him to say somethin’. I wanted him to fight back. Or… I don’t even know.”

Tommy leaned back, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Well, he sure as hell won’t take it lightly.”

“He looked like he wanted to throw me off the dock.”

“Probably wanted to throw himself off first.”

You snorted, then grimaced, then groaned like your own voice hurt. “Tommy, I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You swallowed. “Can I just… stay here? I don’t want to be in my room tonight.”

His expression softened instantly. “Of course. You know that.”

Tommy moved to his suitcase, lying discarded on the floor. He tosses you his hoodie, with the logo of his favorite scorer team. Some college team. It didn’t matter, though, when you put it over your head.

Inching toward the bed, you curled your knees up against the pillows like you were ten years old again. Your face pressed into the sleeve of your hoodie, still damp with tears. For one second—just one—you felt safe.

But then, you saw it.

The door.

Barely a breath of space between the door and the frame. But it was enough. Enough for the hallway’s amber light to pool in like molasses, enough for a shadow to shift in that quiet, lingering way. You sat up so fast your spine popped.

Tommy noticed it too. His eyes cut to the door, then back to you.

His jaw clenched. “Motherfucker.”

Your voice barely scraped out. “Is that—?”

“Stay here,” he said, already rising to his feet. “Do not move.”

The door whispered shut behind him, and for a heartbeat, you stayed frozen.

But then your palms met the floor, and you were moving—crawling, silent and low. The carpet was rough under your knees. The wood was cold under your fingertips. You reached the door and pressed your ear to it, one hand braced against the frame, the other clutching the sleeve of your hoodie to muffle your breathing.

And then—

You heard him.

Joel.

Voice sharp, pissed, carrying a kind of fury that made your breath stutter.

“The fuck is this?”

There was a smack of paper—your note—hitting Tommy’s chest, crumpling between their bodies like a bomb detonated on impact.

“Are you serious?” Joel hissed. “You think this is funny?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“She said she wanted me to fuck her, Tommy. Me.” Joel’s voice cracked, like it was physically painful to say it out loud. “You know what kind of shit that puts in my head? You know what it does to hear her say that?”

You flinched.

Every word hit like shrapnel, slicing clean through the nerves in your chest.

“I know,” Tommy said, voice low, calmer than it had any right to be. “But it wasn’t her idea. It was mine.”

You went still.

Cold.

“I told her to write the note,” Tommy continued. “Told her to wait on the dock. She didn’t wanna—fought me on it. Said it was too far. But I pushed. Told her you’d crack and give up. I would go get weed while your distracted. That it’d just be talk.”

He was lying for you.

Your lungs forgot how to work. The shame hadn’t faded—not even close—but now it curled into something new. Guilt, thick and suffocating, crowding out all the air.

Joel didn’t respond right away. You could hear him pacing. Breathing hard through his nose.

“She played me,” Joel finally bit out. “She played me and it worked. You got your stash, so congratu-fuckin-lations.”

“No,” Tommy said firmly. “I didn’t. ‘Cause the second she came back, Joel? She broke. Down. She cried, man. You know her. You think she’d fall apart like that if this was just a game? If she didn’t care, even a little?”

“Don’t do this,” Joel snapped. “Don’t twist it.”

“I’m not twistin’ anythin’,” Tommy said. “I’m tellin’ you the truth. She didn’t come up with it. I did. I gave her the note. I told her what to say. I put that damn dress in her hand and told her to wear it. You wanna be mad at someone? Be mad at me.”

Joel let out a slow, heavy exhale, and then—silence.

Your heartbeat pounded in the silence, loud enough to drown out reason. You weren’t the victim here—you knew that. But somewhere along this stupid plan, you’d miscalculated. Missed one crucial piece of the equation. 

Because while Joel might play the brooding protector, it was Tommy who had the real white-knight complex. And he’d always charge in, sword drawn, whether you asked for saving or not.

Then, finally, Joel’s voice came back, low and bitter:

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered, “The fact that you thought I’d fall for it, or the fact that I did.”

“You didn’t fall for anythin’,” Tommy said. “You just… reacted. You cared.”

A long pause.

“You think I wanted to care?” Joel snapped suddenly. “You think I’m proud of what she made me feel tonight?”

That stung. Harder than anything else. Not because you’d expected something different — you hadn’t. But hearing it aloud made it real in a way nothing else had.

There was a pause. A long one. You could almost feel Joel turning toward Tommy, venom spitting in his breath.

“What the fuck did you tell her to do, huh?” Joel growled. “Did you hand her a script? Did you tell her to push herself on me and say the most vile shit known to man?”

Tommy’s voice came back with a scoff. A sound you could almost see, complete with an eye roll. “You really think she fuckin’ stupid?”

Joel was dead silent.

So Tommy kept going. “C’mon, man. You know her. She could weaponize that smile if she wanted. She needed some pushin’.”

Joel didn’t let that go. Not even for a second.

“She said—” he snapped, voice climbing into something shaken, “She asked—”

“Jesus, spit it out Joel.”

“She asked if I wished I fucked her.”

The hallway went still.

You pressed both hands over your mouth, your heart thundering so loud that you were afraid they might hear that through the door.

Then—

Tommy let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he said, not even trying to sound remorseful. “She really went for it, huh?”

Joel snarled, “Don’t joke about this.”

“I’m not,” Tommy said. “I’m serious. You think I told her to say that? I gave her a dress and a note and told her to get you riled up enough to give up the porch. I didn’t script a fuckin’ porno.”

“You call that riled up?” Joel barked. “That wasn’t riled up. That was—Jesus Christ. She said it like it meant somethin’.”

You flinched.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. You imagined him folding his arms. Leveling Joel with a look.

“She’s smart, Joel, I bet she didn’t,” he said. “She just knew how to get to you.”

Another pause.

You imagined Joel backing up a step. Running a hand over his face.

When he spoke again, it was softer. But not gentle. Broken down.

“I can’t un-hear that.” His words came out so quick you thought you missed it “I don’t know how I’m supposed to look at her now and not remember the sound of her voice sayin’ shit like that.”

Your eyes burned.

Because neither could you.

Neither could you forget how it felt to say those things. How some part of you wanted to say them. How they’d tasted in your mouth—sweet, dangerous, powerful. Until they’d turned into ash.

Then Tommy—dry as hell, trying to cut the moment—

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t’ve been listenin’ if you didn’t want to hear it.”

Joel snarled. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Start.”

Tommy definitely would have raised both hands, placating but smug. “Just sayin’. You’re the one who walked out there, man.”

Joel laughed then—but it was hollow. Mean. “You knew what she is, and used it so you could get high.”

Tommy said nothing. You didn’t either.

So this is wonderful. Again, if you want to read this chapter, please head over to a03!

[natalieispunk]

he tried to LIFT HIMSELF UP FOR HER

[alexispunkkk]

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks. 

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night. 

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning. 

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires. 

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature. 

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver. 

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you. 

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once. 

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner. 

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town. 

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close. 

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read. 

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights. 

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big. 

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more. 

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look. 

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’ 

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms. 

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window. 

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working? 

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen. 

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men. 

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome. 

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day. 

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else. 

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique. 

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous. 

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.” 

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it. 

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?” 

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.” 

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews. 

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return. 

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs. 

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container. 

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him. 

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire. 

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another. 

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more. 

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.” 

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.” 

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire. 

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all. 

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin. 

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly. 

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially. 

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms. 

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind. 

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble. 

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men. 

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation. 

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it. 

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable. 

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good. 

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy. 

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice. 

Then there's Joel. 

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words. 

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually. 

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it. 

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can. 

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time. 

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother. 

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way. 

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror. 

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out. 

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother. 

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see. 

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you. 

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do. 

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother. 

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties. 

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire. 

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight. 

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand. 

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar. 

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller? 

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother. 

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch. 

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin. 

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his. 

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top. 

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker. 

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod. 

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh. 

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly. 

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak. 

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for. 

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it. 

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted. 

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in. 

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen. 

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless. 

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey. 

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space. 

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor. 

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it. 

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor. 

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder. 

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up. 

And you let yourself be used. 

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss. 

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything. 

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible. 

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close. 

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist. 

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips. 

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie. 

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods. 

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother. 

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands. 

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down. 

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men. 

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands. 

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries. 

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs. 

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed. 

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls. 

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail. 

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly. 

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down. 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.” 

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock. 

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time. 

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break. 

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy. 

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair. 

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down. 

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight. 

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet. 

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute. 

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow. 

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head. 

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat. 

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss. 

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now. 

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied. 

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it. 

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling. 

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow. 

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned. 

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get. 

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine. 

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing. 

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began. 

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

@possiblyafangirl @monicasblues @stories-we-read @pattwtf @kimm4710 @darkheartgatita @melmel-fandom @elliesr1fle @aretha170 @luvrgirls @whitewolfstar01 @taytay0403 @valyrianflower @alidiggory92 @love-you-inside-n-out @darknight3904 @cinnamon-slut @caramelic3dlatte @atthediscowithoutpanic @maystyles @justsarahbella @mynameisbaby9 @american-exodus @visenya-targarye @dilflover-3 @mani-pedro @ilovetoomanymen @xplicitz @foggypenguinrunaway @pigeonpinata0xo @majesticalcocoa @wildxxwolf @yoursweetgirl18 @millersbby @alwayswndr @zroberts13 @marzplanetz @lonelygirl56 @godlypresley @emilynersinger @ivyleagueeeee @lowrisemiller @staley83 @junajun4 @bluegardenn @grayandthyme @heavens-whore @nihilophobias @romancherry @catch1ngmoths

[sankta-wraith]

He was barely conscious and literally on the brink of death, but he still tried so fucking hard to get up, because he knew Ellie needed him. He didn’t want the last thing he did to be failing her again.

GIFs by @pennywises (so sorry I forgot to credit)

[k8snotgr8]

The cycle continues

[elycetellsall]

“they were walking side by side from the start”

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried: holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea. Nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise, somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh, to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left. No joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name, just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel. Subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it, but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice, but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming. A fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly: Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then, Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate, too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom. 

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life, once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls. it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world, you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then, without ceremony, unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Jus–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

There it was.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical, mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight: thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes, hesitation, uncertainty, but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity: broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower, disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand. 

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable, but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked. Something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth, low and full of something dangerous, made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit...it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting, pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now, building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter, trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered…

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now, chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected. 

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reade

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Joel has had a ‘crush’ on you for a long time now and will make sure no man gets in the way of that.

Warnings: PORN-WITH-PLOT. Kinda. Reader is not legal to drink but still legal. Polite reader just trying to not be a bitch while dealing with a pervy old man! Joel has a crush on you, a BIG one. Bro gets so mad he gets a boner. Mutual touching he drives, daddy stuff, a teeny bit of spanking & nipple play, unprotected P-In-V, tummy bulge, aftercare for once wow!! No beta.

A/N: ANON REQ!! (you know who u are and here’s my take on a bit of a jealous Joel) I would've done way more smut if I didn’t have a high fever rn + writers block 😵‍💫! so VERY rushed.

No man should covet a woman he doesn’t own. 

And you weren’t his. 

Your daddy would make sure you would never be. 

Joel tells himself that. Over and over again, the only prayer in his head, the hymn he lives by ever since you’ve been staying with him per your father’s request. You yourself slowly recognizing Joel’s patterns of life. As he wakes up he takes pills for his headaches, swallowing them dry without a blink. His body is accustomed to the feeling. Every Saturday he’d take a weekly drive to the liquor store to stock up on the much needed provisions to his day-to-day routines. Booze, in much less dramatic terms. 

Your father was out of state for work forcing you to settle up with Joel for a couple of months, the only man your father would allow you to actually be around. In fear of you doing something bad. Bad as in… Sex? You could only assume that’s what your darling daddy meant. 

A rocky relationship in the cruel reality. 

Joel’s home. It was livable, there isn’t much to say when it’s the house of a man who’s been living alone twenty years. Indications of life scattered upon furniture the only real telltale signs that someone actually lives there. Coffee table littered with rings from mugs he’d simply leave for too long, the way the worn, vomit-colored green couch sags in the middle. Any prints that were on the buttons of the TV remote had been rubbed off by pressing around them, the last time he had gotten a new television was probably going on fifteen years now. Sad. Truly and utterly sad. 

Then you came along. 

Remnants of your liveliness woven into the once so dreary place. Something as so simple as a hair tie left on the counter, the very vague scent of perfume you left lingering in the small space of the bathroom every time you’d leave it. Now at night he’d walk past the second bedroom of his home that had been left unused, once depressed and dark, had the warm glow of your lamp being left on, leaking through the gap between the door and the floor. The littlest things.

Joel pretends not to notice. 

Though, he does. 

He notices the way you hum so very quietly the times you’re obligated to cook your own breakfast. How you pull your knees up onto the couch when you sit. Rolling your eyes at him every time he’d vexingly tell you to make sure to lock the front door when you came in. You listened. 

You’re too comfortable here. Too at ease. 

And what’s worse is he was getting used to it.

He’s not your fuckin’ father. He’s not your keeper. He’s just the man your daddy trusted well enough to take care of you when he was gone. Sorry excuse for a babysitter all the while you weren’t a baby. An adult who can well take care of herself. Only agreed because he wouldn’t want you to discover how he’s been living for practically twenty years by being alone for two months. The dark quietness of a home when it was just you there. 

He told himself it would be easy. Two months. He’d keep his distance. 

It’s almost impossible. The way you made him feel was sickening. You’re always around. Sinking deep into the couch, marveling in whatever boring sitcom would play on the box of blue light that flickered throughout the room. How you’d take sips from his beer just to tease, wrinkle your nose at the taste deep down you liked. Making your tongue buzz. You were making yourself at home in a place that was never meant to be yours. 

The only thing that worsened it for Joel is that you were so blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. 

He thought the hardest part of this arrangement would be keeping you out of trouble. Your father acting like if he was gone you’d fall apart as a person. Be out partying or fuckin’ every night. Far from the truth. Laying so contently home every night.

Coming back to reality, the hardest part was keeping himself out of it. 

It’s the way you’d walk around his house in whatever you had slept in that night, no matter it be a tank-top and those tiny, plaid shorts that went up your ass. Appreciating the comfortability, though, he fucking hated it. You acted like you belonged there. 

Often he’s finding himself watching you too long, staring at the curve of your mouth while you speak, the plump of your lips as you stay entertained by the television with your face at a gentle rest. He was always seemingly gawked. 

Fifty-seven wasn’t the age to have crushes. 

And on Sunday’s, the day of the lord, of course. Joel Miller goes to the local bar.

Nighttime was surprisingly when the crowd died down. You were surprised to see that as you walked through the doors that sheltered the poorly kept saloon style establishment. Tables seated with older men closer to Joel’s age, some luckier than others to be accompanied by a woman. Smelled like stale beer and sweat which in reality was more disgusting than appealing. Loud breaks in the casual conversions of the crowd as pool balls clacked together. Rejoicing coming soon after. 

Usually you had something better to do on these nights. Going out with your friend’s always suffices though of course they canceled out today. Great, stuck with Mister Miller for a night of drinking all the while you weren’t allowed to let alcohol in your body at your age.He wouldn’t lie for you either, he was supposed to take care of you. Not turn you into the starts of an alcoholic. 

Torturous. Did the man want you to shoot yourself?

He led you through the slim pickings of a crowd there really was, hand grazing the small of your back to keep you close. Nothing more. Both sliding your bodies onto the leather tops of the barstools. Uncomfortability was the price to pay for the first hand of drinks. A squeak in your stool that no one had the patience to fix. 

“Whiskey.” The request sounded more like a plea from his lips. “Two.”

You knew the second one didn’t mean for you. 

Rubbing his temple as he flagged down the waitress. She was all too polite for what seemed to be the shittiest bar on earth. As if a small town in Texas would give you any better. Nodding her head in your direction. Your lips pursed as if ‘Beer” was gonna be the next thing to move past them. Though, you digressed. 

“Soda. I guess.” Joel gave a nod to you. Of course he approved of that action. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he sighed. Forgetting to take his pills this morning. Fuck, the throb behind his eye was something only the alcohol could numb by now. 

“You could’a stayed home.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You shrugged, admittedly so you rather be home- no. You rather be out with your friends as you were supposed to be tonight but in an act of such kindness, you came here with Joel. “Maybe I wanted to see why you liked this place so much.” It was a simple muse to him, though it did strike your curiosity. 

“Quickest bar from home. Quickest way to get drunk.” Curiosity met with an undeniably depressing answer. You were used to it by now. His lips pressed into a thin line. Once the barkeep came back she handed Joel his drinks, plural. As she also came with yours. Soda rimmed with ice. He picked up the first drink given, perspiration coating the glass. His thumb pressed against the cold lowball as he took the first sip. Heavy hot liquid sliding down his throat. Numbing him, his mind. Felt refreshed. 

You hum, stirring the ice in your soda in circles with your straw. He hears the clinking over the din of the bar. Louder than his own thoughts. 

You crossed your legs. Your thighs squishing together through the denim of your jeans, the material a bit loose on your body, a choice out of comfortability to buy baggier bell bottoms instead of the ones that hugged your ass tight. Drawing Joel’s eyes unintentionally.

Fuck this. 

He drags his palm down his face, trying to wipe away whatever the fuck he was feeling. It’s sickening for him. It’s so easy to not feel like this when it’s something so simple, so selfish as a one night stand, a whore he had paid to suck his cock. Different. Far different, especially since the last month he’s spent his time admiring the woman before him. You. The innocence in your eyes that served your beauty. It was this crawling under his skin he wanted to rip away from. 

So fucking vigilant on the scent of you, the sound of your voice, the way you shift ever so slightly closer to him as another group of men pass.

Joel breathes out slowly, averting his eyes to the sweet sight of you. 

The night goes on, the whiskey dulling the edges of restraint with every slow, steady sip. Slowly the place was growing on you, the night seemed to cool it down, less noise less chatter. Seems everyone needed to knock out a couple drinks before settling. You would’ve been happy to say the same if you were allowed to order that beer. You propped your chin in your palm, your elbow flat against the bartop avoiding any of the sticky substances that would coat some unfortunate patches of it. Your eyes scan throughout the place. Not much to take in, not much to see.

Though the slow deliberate movements draw the tiniest bit of attention from a table your eyes accidentally glance at for too long. Subtle but inevitable. 

Joel catches the way the men sitting at that table glance your way. The way you adjusted your body to once again sit straight up. Clearing your throat. 

And that’s when it starts. 

The first one wasn’t particularly bold about it. Just a flick of his gaze in your direction before returning to his minutes-til’-flat beer. The second man, greying, looks a little longer. Too closely. He nudges his friend, mutters something incoherent- something probably offensive to earn a laugh from him. Now he looked again.

Joel knows that look.

The kind that lingers for too long. That waits for an opening.

The kind that makes Miller’s teeth grind, his shoulders go rigid. His fingers slowly begin tightening around the glass of gold as he keeps his eyes forward. His eyes flutter just a bit to the left, seeing your smile. Trying to hide it by gently pressing your lips to the rim of your glass. Pretty pink lips. Before time heat is bubbling in his belly. Praying to god that was the fuckin’ whiskey. 

Those men are still watching. 

The next sip of booze doesn’t quite help as much as he’d want. It doesn’t smooth out the sharp edges of this feeling, the low simmering deep inside his pelvis. It keeps getting worse. 

He’s coming over. Walking with heavy legs. 

Joel sees it from the corner of his eyes, the way the man pushed back the chair, unhurriedly, sloppily walking straight towards you. From what Miller could gauge from the corner of his eye and what the wiry grey hairs covering the man’s beard told him is that he was older. Older as in his own age. Fifties either early or late. Joel wanted to die. Exhaling sharply, slamming down his glass a bit too hard. 

Muddled, you’d lift your head from your glass to look at Miller with an eyebrow cocked. And before you could even speak-

“Evenin’.” The man spoke.

You’d blindly blink at the man now standing beside your barstool. Startled for only a second before schooling your expression into something- polite. Something surely this man was undeserving of yet you really couldn’t help it. Instincts. 

“Hi.” Joel wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.  

“Can I help you?” You smiled, sweetly.

The man would lean in as expected. The strong smell of beer radiating off his breath. Open-mouthed ogling like a fucking dog. He was clearly absolutely wasted. Just those words were an absolute understatement. 

“Is this your daddy?” Of course he’d say that. Gesturing to Joel who was looking straight on before he turned a glance to the man, his eyes slits as he glared. Understandable. If you weren’t trying to give this man the benefit of the doubt you’d be glaring too. This guy was undeniably a fucking dick.  

“No- no,” You’d giggle. “My babysitter.”

You didn’t like how your mind and soul was making you act, unfortunate your internal instincts were to be tooth-achingly sweet in public.

You wanted to die. 

“S’my lucky day, huh?” You’d blink again. Silence as if the man had stole all the thoughts from your head- not in the good way. 

“No. Not- not quite.” 

You’d laugh, trying your best to brush it off. The man should go away soon. Probably just mistaking you for something you’re not while you’re here trying your best to avoid something awkward. Joel’s jaw clenched. 

“Well,” He hushed. A finger twirled into one of your soft locks. Your body tensing as you kept up another nervous giggle– you were only egging him on more. “I just wanted to see you up close.”

“She ain’t interested.” Miller told the truth with that. You weren’t and you were further from interested. Though the nervous, dumb smile on your lips told the fuckin’ pervert otherwise. 

“She didn’t tell me that.” He pushed. “I’d much rather hear that from your mouth, sweetie.”

You hesitated, your lips parted though words weren’t falling. Refusing. Alas, Joel Miller reached his breaking point. 

He popped up from his stool as he moved over to the guy. The greying man hesitated at the sight, of course. He wasn’t gonna be the kinda man to get his ass beat over something fucking stupid. Though, Joel was willing to beat his ass for your sake. 

A long beat of silence through the access chatter swimming around the bar enters the space between you, Joel and this sad fuckin’ man. 

Joel doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe. 

He just stares. 

The man exhales a chuckle, deep down he didn’t want to walk out of here with a broken nose for flirting with a girl he wanted to fuck. A girl he thought was alone, dumb enough to possibly join him and his sad excuses for friends sitting around his table.

“Didn’t mean any trouble, pal.” He threw his palms up in a mock surrender though, he didn’t mean it. That’s what that beer was for afterall. Stepping back only an inch, letting the hair that was between his fingers fall back to your shoulder. 

“Just bein’ friendly.” 

Joel didn’t answer, why should he? The man let out a scoff as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. That was good. All Miller could do was sigh. His shoulders still at unease as he sat back down on the bar stool. Your heart at a slow thump against your ribs. 

You knew deep down that really, you were fine with that. Sure that man was a cuck, sure, you were uncomfortable, but you also knew yourself and you knew if that man would have touched anything else other than the tip of your hair. Oh fuck. He would’ve been gone.

Or– would he? 

It doesn’t shake the feeling that Joel was annoyingly protective if that was the right word for it. That man wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to stick up for you.

He never did. 

He ran a palm down his face –again– he couldn't take the way he was around you. 

“Ohh, what the fuck.”

He was tired of this.

Goddamn if that happened a month ago chances are he wouldn’t have done anything other than roll his eyes and tell the fucker to go jerk off somewhere else but– oh my god did Joel wish he was the one that close to you. Breathing you in. 

Of course, you weren’t a random woman at a bar.

If only he had enough balls to speak to you. 

Pent up hormones ready to blow out of him every moment he was around you. He was too fucking old for this. 

Too fucking old.

If he felt the rush of blood to his cock one more time this night he was gonna–

Joel was already moving by now. Already shoving back from the bar, the scream of the stool leg against the glazed wooden floor of this god forbidden place made you inherently flinch. His jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he reaches for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the counter without counting. He didn’t fucking care about the act of either over-paying or under-paying right now. He had one, sinfully unfortunate thing on his mind. 

He knew he’d never do it. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it.

Then his hand was on your wrist.

Grasping.

Firm. Unyielding. 

“C’mon.” He gritted. “Time to go, baby.” 

That was a new one. The name melting of his tongue like an instinct.

His grip was tight. Breathing hitched at the feeling of the grip. He was lucky it didn’t hurt. It was enough to make it clear he needed to get out of there. The reason wasn’t clear. It could be innocent on his part: he didn’t want you in a space where old men are looking at you. Ogling you like a slab of fuckin’ meat. 

His real reason was sickening. 

“Joel– c’mon!”

You’d whine, maybe you had a good reason to stay. Maybe you were just being defiant. 

Typical, like a child.

He didn’t give you time to finish.

The bar stool nearly topples as he pulls you up. Stumbling in the boots you were wearing. Tugging you in tightly to stand beside him. He was tensed, heat radiating off his body like a goddamn furnace. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak as if there was a point to. Nothing he said got through to you anyways. He just moves.

People are watching. Who wouldn’t? 

Your pulse spikes as you catch the amused glances throughout the pub. Folks who weren’t looking before now blinking. Causing a scene. Again, 

You. Wanted. To. Die. 

And to make it all better Joel’s eyes rip to the table those men from earlier were sitting at. The ones who eyed you. That same man who had harassed you muttering something to his friend beside him. Fuck. 

He thought he couldn’t get any more pissed. 

His palm covered his lips with no way to read. The music playing throughout the room covered any sounds of a hushed whisper into another man’s ear.

Though, Joel is pivoting. 

His grip on you released as he took a heavy-footed stomp over to that table. He frowned. He wanted to kill them. He would if he could. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” One of the men mused. Of course, Joel Miller was just another sorry excuse of a man to them. “You don’t give it up do you.” Your babysitter wasn’t intimidating in a setting like this. To a man drunk as a fuckin’ skunk sitting with a bunch of men who reeked of the same stench. 

Joel doesn’t move.

He goes to walk away. No. There was absolutely no point in doing anything.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“All I said is that if I were you I would’ve fucked her by now.” No. Nope that was it.

A quick turn back around and Joel had slammed his fist into the man’s face. Heavy handed. Joel’s knuckles cracking with the impact in the same note as the man’s nose. 

“Fuck!!!” The man cried. It was well deserved. Why would Joel let a man talk to his–

You weren’t his.

Miller couldn’t breathe in the moment. His breathing ragged, watching the blood quickly drip out the man’s nostrils. God was it satisfying.

Your stomach plummets. You can confidently say you’ve never heard a man yell like that. Before the next tick of epinephrine hits Joel his hand now runs to your waist instead. Pushing you out the doors before running into the parking lot.

Holy fucking shit.

The air of the night hit you like a bucket of ice quickly. Suddenly you were regretting only wearing a thin hoodie with a tank top underneath. Joel was dragging you to his truck, practically throwing you into shotgun. 

Slamming the door to your side.

He rounds the front quickly. Pulling open the driver’s side as he slid into the seat. You swore you could hear the way his breath shudders in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his seatbelt over his body– safety first, right? 

The truck was suffocating. Too small. Too fucking warm. 

You lick your lips, tasting salt. Your nerves were shot to hell. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

He frowned. Fist on the shifter before pulling it into drive. He was speeding away, far away from that bar. Yeah, that one punch may had ruined his personal ‘holy day’ for a good while. If him and that man are ever in the same room again most likely one of them is getting there shit rocked and Joel worries that next time it may be him. 

He doesn’t necessarily wanna take that chance. All because of something so FUCKING stupid.

He doesn’t speak. Nothing to say on his part as for you– too stunned to say anything. You had no understanding of why Joel Miller of all people, of all the men you know was acting like this. His fists balled against the steering wheel. Knuckles turning pale. Ghostly. 

“Fuck.” 

He broke the silence with a curse. He was mad. At least, he sounded so. The growl in his voice masked the need. He could feel every twist, every coil in his gut. All because of you.

He can’t keep hiding it. 

“You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

The smell of hard booze on his breath impregnated your nose. Slowly beginning to understand the acts in the bar. “That wasn’t me trying to flirt.” You quickly retorted. That was the honest truth that you’d be abiding by. You were too nervous to do anything except giggle like a dumbass so that’s what you did.

“I can’t help the fact I try to be polite. Even if they’re verging sexual harassment.” 

You’d try to keep it light hearted with a quip. Joel didn’t laugh. Pursing his lips into a line before speaking. It only pissed him off more.

“Not what I’m sayin’.”

You breathe. What the hell did this man want from you if it wasn’t some reasoning from your lips? The road was wet, asphalt glistening with a sheen of rain making light reflect easily off like a mirror. As Joel turned his brights on to properly see through the dark road that light reflected into the truck. The formally dark truck.

Your gaze was pulled to his lap. An accident at first but–

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His cock would writhe against the tightening denim of his jeans. If that didn’t tell you enough you didn’t know what would. 

Joel’s hands flex against the wheel, the veins in his hands popping.

“Whatever you say, M’not fuckin, jealous.”

No no, he was.

And the tension rolling off of him is suffocating, filling the small front space of the truck like a thick fog. Choking you. You could almost still feel the touch he left on you. The phantom of his fingertips that had branded your skin only a few minutes ago now.

He wanted you to touch him and it wasn’t a secret anymore. 

You reached your hand out to place on his thigh. The way his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip. Yeah, he fucking needed this. You felt your own stomach bloom with heat as your fingertips just barely scathed the denim of his jeans. You were just so close. Closer than you’ve ever been. And if this is something to forever be forbidden,

For all you know this could be as close as you’ll ever be. 

He adjusted his hips. Spreading his legs as if to coax you, as if to tell you this is the right thing. Maybe it was too vague. He took a hand off the wheel as he began soothing more into things. His shoulders finally relaxed as he took a long. Deep breath in. Then out. His fingertips danced along the crotch of your own jeans. Pressing the pad of his middle against your extremely clothed clit, muscle memory of where he knew it was.

He knew.

It was that touch that made your legs wanna buckle. Your cunt clench. 

Your palm soothed up his thigh as he focused on the road. Eyes adjusting, focusing. While his cock focused all by himself. Finally your smaller hand went to the tent in his jeans. Taking your pointer and tracing a line up the curve of the bulge. Wooing a twitch from him. His finger pushed harder into your clothed heat. Rewarding him in your first gasp of the night. 

“Jesus, baby. Soon enough I’ll be the one with the broken nose.”

A jest like that was hard to process currently. 

“What do you mean-?” 

Joel takes his hand away from between your legs just for a second to turn the radio on. Very very low, some old 80’s rock song came on. The background noise almost calming.

“Your daddy.” He’d grunt. “If he ever knew I was touchin’ you–”

“I know. My mouth is shut.”

It was a promise. A promise as your palm slipped beneath his belt.

Home sweet home.

Once the front door was closed the exchanges between your mouths were all teeth and tongue. Messy, sloppy. No shortage of drool dribbling down either of your chins. His fingers latching around the hem of your tank top as he pulled it over your head. No bra. Less work for him. 

It was like clockwork how his big, rough hands scooped under your thighs to grab you, pick you up with a strained grunt ripping from his chest. He couldn’t remember a time where his cocks been this hard. He could almost completely promise that it’s never been. It was heavy and once his jeans were pulled down it was hanging heavy, loose in his boxers. Though his flannel stayed on. Unbuttoned, fabric framing his tummy and bare, soft chest. 

You laid on his bed, splayed upon his blankets like a goddess as you awaited for him to finishing taking his clothes off. But he just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. The sight of you laying there, helpless. Those pretty, lace panties he wanted to rip off with his teeth made his brain turn to mush. He crawled on top of you, leaning down to place a hot kiss on your throat as his hands moved down to your ass. 

“Don’t got time to take you over the knee, baby.”

This sentence came with a squeeze to the soft flesh of your ass. Flipping you over belly-down with his fingers tangled in your hair. Face stuffed into the pillow.

His hand came down firm on your lace clad ass. Watching the thickness of the skin ripple. 

Again. Harder.

You let out a sharp whine at the feeling. Each left with a stinging buzz that lingered within the plush skin. You were addicted. Though, what was fun for a moment was soon boring for Mister Miller, his cock in a painful state in the confines of his boxers. Feeling like he was gonna burst any good moment now. 

But were you ready?

He flipped you back on your back in a sinfully quick motion. One of his practiced, old hands laid flat against your stomach before slipping down beneath the lace of your panties, hooking a finger to the side before pulling them down. They were damp. That just wouldn’t suffice for him. His finger tested the waters, how gluey, slick your folds were. Taking what was currently dripping out of your hole and spreading it around like a glaze. 

He dipped his head down into your sternum, his lips pressing firmly against the skin there before he deliberately moved to one of your tits. Brushing the pad of his thumb across the already hard nipple before taking it between his teeth. 

“Fuck-! Joel-”

Funny, when you touched yourself you weren’t nearly this loud. 

This sensitive. 

The tip of his tongue swirled around the bud, it was smooth against his tongue. Warmer than your skin. His hips dug down deep into his own mattress. Mussing the blankets beneath both of your bodies as if they were neat before. He squeezed your other breast with his free hand, continuing his ministries just for another moment. Keeping his moments practiced and planned for the time being. He flicked your unintended, rock-hard bud with his free hand. Mind Numbing stimulation coursing throughout your body. 

Your hand came down to paw at his erection straining painfully against the grey cotton of his boxers.

“Oh–”  

He groaned, his hips pressing into yours before you could touch more. Clamping himself down so the only way you could feel him throb would be against your thigh.

“You think you’re ready, baby? Ready for my cock?”

Of course the answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes how you were writhing, practically salivating at the thought. Both panting like dogs. He pulled himself out of his boxers. The dim light of the room making it impossible to see was was between your legs. The details left unseen and unsaid as all you could rely on was feel.

You felt his head begin running up and down between your folds. With a girl so fuckin’ wet who needed lubracant. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began to push in. 

You’ve never felt anything like it.

Funnily enough. He’s never felt a girl like you either.

“Joel!” You’d squeal. “Fuck, Joel– JoelJoelJoelJoel–”

You were quickly chanting his name under your breath like an invocation. He was big though a three-letter word so simple as big was a fucking understatement. He was stretching out every ounce of your gummy walls. Your head craning backwards into his pillow. His pillow. The scent of his hair, his scent all seeping into your nose mixing with the sensations throughout your body.

“S’fuckin’-- shit, babygirl…”

Joel’s words were slurring together as if he had drank more than those two lousy whiskeys at the bar. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as you enveloped him. Clenching up every time the tip of his fat cock would graze your cervix. His hand pressed just over your pelvis. Feeling around, ‘til– oh fuck.

“Fuckkkkk… Feel that, baby?” You felt a lot of things right now, your body all too hyper-fixated on the feeling of him to focus on anything other than that. Then Joel took your hand. Trailing it down your stomach as he weakly supported himself with his left arm. Palm flat against the sheets. His bicep tense.

He brought your smaller hand down to your low stomach, feeling the bump there. The bump he was oh-so obsessed with. Jutting out against your palm. 

“S’my cock. Yeahhh. He wants you, s’fuckin’ bad.” 

He was barely there.

“--So. Fuckin’. Bad.”

He punctuated his words with every thrust. You wanted to call out, say something over and over again like your only fucking prayer. But words defied you in the moment. As soon as you felt the unbearable pressure build up in your gut, the pressure that took over, spilled from your pelvis to your pussy. You felt the wiry hairs that crowned his cock scratching against your clit only adding to the feeling. The feeling that was building and building. 

“Joel– I’m gonna–!”

It was so cliché. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it. Feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused. Your hips wriggled against his as your orgasm came ripping through your body. Leaning up as best you could to bury your face in his neck to gasp. Cry out into his ear as much as you well pleased as you felt your legs kick out, your thighs buzz.

His cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowing, becoming sloppier, rushed. His hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him til’ he was dry. Just wasn’t safe for an old man like him to blue-ball himself like this, huh?

“Fuck- she’s gonna milk daddy dry, ain’t she–?” He was trying to kill you.

With that it was only one more thick, deep thrust into your tight, throbbing cunt where he spilled his cum inside of you. Using what little energy he had left to paint those pretty walls white. Rolling his hips to drive his semen into your pretty little hole. His thumb pushed past your parted lips, your mouth quickly latching on. Cock-drunk, suckling on his thumb to muffle any whimpers. No more cries.

“Atta girl.”

He’d praise. His sweaty, damp body pressing heavily against yours. He didn’t wanna pull out. It’s almost like his body wanted him to stay this way until he was passin’ out. Though, he wouldn't let that happen. He slowly unsheathes his thick cock from your pussy with a wet, squelch as your walls adjust back to normal. Opaque, pearly cum dripping out of your cunt, drooling down your inner thighs all the way to your ass was pornographic. 

Reaching around the back of his head to seize a chunk of his greying, soft-to-the-touch curls. Your tongue licking his way into his mouth instead of his thumb. 

You felt absolutely and utterly euphoric. 

Laying with the blanket lazily draped over both of your bodies. Joel took a long sip from the bottle of alcohol, drinking it like water to refresh his mouth. He felt exasperated. He wouldn’t be able to pin point the last time sex made him feel this good if you were paying him a million bucks. But now he could say with you.

You tucked your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him, the stickiness of his skin. The salty scent of sex still lingering in the air around. 

It was silent. Like you were both trying to process what had happened within the last hour- hell, the last three. Even the whole bar thing seemed like an impossible daydream you’d watch on a soap, something that you’d say is unrealistic. 

“I was jealous.”

He murmured. Turning his attention back to you as the silence was officially broken. You could’ve figured as much.

“I guess I should be flattered.”

You’d giggle. Real and genuine. Not the fake one you put on for that pervert at the bar. 

“I’ve never had a man break another guy’s nose for me before.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Wrapping his warm arms around your body as he pulled you in close. The first time in twenty years his bed wasn’t empty and cold. A warm body tucked right against him, perfectly as if you belonged. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Jackson!Joel x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Joel's got a superpower. Alternatively, Joel swears he can smell when you're ovulating.

author's note | @gracieheartspedro said something about joel being able to smell when you're ovulating as a joke but i am a very serious person. so serious....i swear lmao

content warning | 18+ MDNI, BREEDING KINK!!!, joel can definitely smell it on you, talks of pregnancy/future together, established relationship, established free-use, possessive!joel, he's creepin' into peepaw status (he's 58 but no defined age for reader so let your imagination run wild), mentions of joel possibly being sterile, unprotected piv, creampies for obvious reasons

word count — 2.5k

Joel could smell it on you.

At least, he liked to make you think he could.

He can, though. He swears.

He’s tapping his bare foot against the hardwood floor as he rocked gently in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the Space for Dummies book Ellie had gifted him for his birthday a few months ago.

It was dark aside from the table lamp beside him, the glowing, soft orange hue wrapped around him, illuminating the side of his face as he angled the book to catch the light, unaware of your presence until your fingers were plucking the book out of his hand.

Joel offers a small noise of acknowledgement as he looks up in your general direction, welcoming the spread of your legs with his warm, open palm as you rest yourself in his lap.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you tell him gently, voice thick with sleep.

It was the middle of the night and not entirely out of character to find him up and busying himself with anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, for some reason or another.

“M’right here,” he responds with a tender touch, his hand curling against the side of your neck as his thumb runs along the line of your jaw, a smile growing as you push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down, “you up tryin’ to drag me back into bed?”

You laugh softly but decidedly shake your head, curling the fabric of his cotton shirt around your finger until it wrinkles, aware of his wandering hand as it glides up your thigh and under the waistband of your underwear hidden beneath the oversized sleep shirt you had worn to bed that night.

“Didn’t come down here for nothin’,” Joel teases, “whaddya need, baby?”

You two had established your dynamic months ago—you had worn Joel down quite a bit since his initial arrival, turning a hardened man into a softer, kinder version of himself. You often wondered how similar this version of him was to himself before the outbreak, wondering how long it had been since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.

It was simple, really.

As long as the house was empty—no Ellie and her friends, you were both fair game to take advantage of, no preamble, no questions.

Luckily, Ellie had slipped out earlier that night. The kid liked to think she was good at sneaking out, always slipping back in before breakfast—Joel and you were both aware, but you didn’t bother to make a deal out of it.

Joel wasn’t her father, as much as he tried to protect her.

You were only a friend, more than just a stranger, but you were in no position to make points or discipline a teenager who was already set in her ways.

Still, Joel often thought about the possibilities of family.

It took him a year before he opened up about Sarah, despite the scattering of pictures throughout his home, another failure in his life that he tried to avoid at all costs.

You couldn’t always tell if he meant it, but there were moments where it was all he seemed to think about, driven by a mix of desperation and lust, it was blinding.

And, he was doing it now.

Joel buries his nose into your chest, snuggling into the space as he sniffs and drags his face up and into your neck, your hand pressing against him as you giggle softly, feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your skin.

“You smell different,” He notes, his voice low, lips parted and pressed against your skin but only barely, pressing a featherlight kiss against your neck.

“Here we go,” you reply fondly, slowly adjusting yourself over his lap more firmly, centered against his slowly hardened cock, watching the fabric tent under your touch as you untie the knot at his waist, “you got some kinda superpower I don’t know about?”

“Nah,” he sighs, his lips curling into a smirk, “I just know my woman,”

Your eyebrow raises in amusement as your mouth forms into a quiet “Oh.”

“Why you came down here, ain’t it?” Joel assumes, “You achin’ baby?”

Bingo.

You nod meekly, sighing in relief as his hands curl against your hips, guiding you slowly over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the show as your eyes flutter shut and your hands grip tight against his forearms, feeling the distinct ridge of veins under your fingertips.

“Greedy as hell,” Joel comments with an air of amusement.

The roughness in his voice sends a pulse of pleasure to your core, awakening that distinct primal need inside of you.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joel reprimands, somewhere through the distraction of his guided movements, your shirt has been removed and tossed to the floor, his lips pressing at the center of your chest and right between your breasts, “can we?”

There was never a distinction of yes or no, because Joel knew what your boundaries were.

If he had sought you in the night, buried himself inside of you to satiate his own urges, you wouldn’t complain—that was how this worked and why you worked so well.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Joel admits, looking up at you from where his mouth was centered at your chest.

“About what?” you ask curiously, brain feeling hazy and unfocused.

“You get a little sweeter,” Joel explains, pulling away to drag his finger along your sternum, “right here.”

You roll your eyes dismissively, threading your fingers through his hair to push him back against the recliner as you roll your hips in time with his own movements, moaning softly.

“And you know how much I love sweets,” he breathes, turning his head to drag his tongue along the underside of your breast before he’s moving his hands up to squeeze them.

It doesn’t take long before his hand drifts, slipping under the fabric of your underwear to circle your already swollen clit, throbbing with need.

Joel examines you carefully, listening to your breath hitch as he follows a steady rhythm until your hips begin to naturally rocking against his movement—he’s got this all down to a science, knowing exactly when to speed up and pump the breaks and you’re quickly tripping over the precipice of a much-needed orgasm, though he knows it wouldn’t satisfy you.

“I need you,” you beg with a pant, head feeling light as you come down.

“Come here then,” Joel commands softly, his tone clear as he pulls you closer, pressing his hardening length against you more prominently, a breathless gasp escapes your lips, “feel that?”

You nod again, tiredly.

“I need you too,” Joel admits, “all day—all the time…”

You both switch into auto-pilot, rising only long enough to drag your underwear down your legs while Joel shoves his sweats down far enough that his cock springs free, leaking pre-cum into the hem of his shirt as you situate yourself back over his lap.

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he tells you, voice thick with desire as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds before guiding you down onto him, inch by tantalizing inch.

Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips when he fills you completely.

You always expected the sensation to wane, but the stretch of him surprised you every time.

“Goddamn, I’m lucky,” he gumbles, throwing his head back as you slowly begin to roll your hips, his eyes dark and half-lifted with lust as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, “all mine,”

The sound of his voice—so deeply possessive—makes your heart race.

You can’t help but rock against him harder, relishing in the friction as your hands settle against the sides of his neck, breathing into his open mouth. It’s intoxicating to feel him throbbing inside you, cunt squeezing him like a vice when he grazes that sweet, too sensitive spot inside of you.

“You—you’ve been thinkin’ about it?” you ask curiously, moaning softly as your eyebrows thread together, face scrunched up as Joel reels you in closer, arm winding around your back, pressing your bare chest against him, the reclining chair rocking with your slow, but forceful rhythm. 

“About?” Joel hums, noticing the you should know look in your eye, mouth curling into a subtle smirk as one of your hands slip underneath his shirt and claw at his stomach, forcing a low groan to slip from his throat.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks with a fond, sated smile, “Raisin’ a baby with me?”

You nod silently, distinctly aware of his roaming hands and the one that squeezes at your ass, his mouth gravitating towards your tits again, this time swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple before he takes it into his mouth, thinking about how heavy they would feel in his mouth if this time were to take, if he could actually get you pregnant—he was even sure anymore.

Fifty-eight and likely shooting blanks, the chance seemed slim.

It was just another thing he couldn’t give you.

But, you had faith.

No, not in a higher power or some god.

But, him. Joel.

“God, you make me crazy,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath washing over your skin as you ride him harder, feeling him push into you deeper. 

Claiming you.

The chair creaked under the weight of your fervent need, the sound only adding to the symphony of gasps and moans slipping from your mouth as your hands press into his chest and his hands, again, find their way to your hips, keeping you rooted in place as he fucks himself into you, eager to fill your cunt.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Joel begins with a broken grunt, “You’d be prancin’ ‘round this place provin’ to everybody that you’re mine—”

“And—fuck—you’d love it,” you challenge him, “you can’t even stand when guys breathe in my direct—direction, Joel,”

Joel smirks at your calculation, knowing you were correct, “Gotta let ‘em know,”

“Uh huh,” you reply breathily as the sweat on your skin collects under both the heat of the dying fire beside you and the percolating heat of your bodies as Joel leans forward and licks a line up the center of your chest to your throat before biting at your jaw to make you squeal.

He always seemed to have a second wind; a calm before the storm.

It works, his teeth nipping at your skin—incredibly thankful that the adjoining couch was only a short distance and you can both scramble towards it in a hurry, watching as Joel pulls his shirt over his head in one swift and fluid movement, carefully removing his glasses with a gentleness that contracts his heaving chest, placing them on the table before he’s kicking his pants off the rest of the way and shifting between your legs.

There’s adoration that floods your features, giggling softly as his hands twist around your thighs to pull you to him before his hands wrap around his slick-covered shaft and he’s pushing inside of you for the second time that night.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that,” Joel warns through a soft cough as he settles on his knees, moving his hips at a slow pace as you tilt your head, squeezing one of the hands that rest on your thigh, “we’re gonna have a problem,”

“I think we established I am the problem,” you challenge him.

“You really want a future with me?” Joel asks candidly despite the lust so evident in his eyes, his face, the way his tongue swipes against his bottom lips as you moan softly and your grip shifts to his wrist, anchoring him to you, “Because that’s what I’m seein’ with the way you’re lookin’ at me right now,”

“Wow, all that from one look?” you tease, earning a quick snap of his hips for your obvious amusement, “Fuck—oh, I mean…ye—yeah, I do,”

You’ve had this talk countless times, wondering if Joel would ever truly believe it.

That you wanted him. Only him.

Always him.

“Yeah?” he goads, leaning forward to curl his hand around the edge of the cushion near your head as the other digs into the back of the couch, immediately fixing the angle to something much more intense, his hips working faster to drive you over the edge.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, reaching up to drag your hand against his cheek, his gaze drifting toward your joined bodies, your cunt being greedy in the way it takes him in.

 "Look at that…” Joel says in a husky, low tone that makes you shiver, “look at how your body wants this—knows exactly what it needs from me,"

You could barely speak, feeling yourself drift, offering a barely audible mumble in response.

 "I know, baby. I know,” It was like a comfort, his voice always putting you at ease, “Feels right, huh?"

“Don’t,” you gasp as Joel suddenly becomes more frantic with his pace, eyes stuck on your open mouth and arched back, “don’t—don’t stop,”

“I gotcha,” he promised, “Got you wrapped around me like this—squeezin’ me—pullin’ me in. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

“I want it,” you promise with the same intensity, “want all of this, with you.

"You’re gonna get it, baby.” Joel groans, sounding wrecked, “Gonna take every drop I give you ‘cause you’re greedy like that, ain’tcha?”

You nod instantly, two—three—four sharp thrusts before his hands are curling around your hips and holding you to him, no space between your bodies, “M’gonna stuff you so full you won’t even have to worry,”

Joel meets your gaze with fierce intensity, his dark eyes reflecting a blend of hunger and a possessiveness that bleeds true as he comes deep inside of you, feeling his cock pulse as he spills a load he had been holding back for a few days, hoping it would make a difference.

In an instant he slumps back, but not before dragging you toward him, resting against the arm of the couch as you settle into his lap again, his cock softening inside of you but neither of you threatening to move.

“Joel?” you whisper softly, legs still trembling from the intensity of your climax, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest, his hand rubbing gently along the length of your spine.

“Yeah, baby?” He hums, tilting his head to look at you.

“I could go again,” you admit, earning a deep chuckle that shakes his chest and you.

“Never enough, is it?” Joel asks, leaning your head back to look at him before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” you shrug, “breed me up, baby.”

Joel groans affectionately and throws his head back, suddenly attacked by your own share of kisses as you climb his chest to reach his face.

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows in question before he cracks a playful smack to your ass.

“Go on,” he encourages, “I’ll be up in a few, breed you all damn night if I gotta,”

Until you were satisfied, at least.

Truthfully, Joel just couldn’t get enough of you either.

Too damn sweet.

[joelsrose]

For the Hour

Being a hooker in Jackson isn’t glamorous, but it pays in coffee, bullets, and the good kind of winter gloves. So when your regular—Tommy—asks if you’d see his brother, you don't hesitate in saying yes.

omg this is literally 11k words im ded - warnings: literally porn with a plot, sex work (mention of terms hooker etc), explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, age gap (Joel is in his 50s), subby!Joel energy, soft dom reader, emotional vulnerability, Joel has a bad back and feelings, praise kink.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

You caught your breath as the last wave of pleasure ebbed from your body, chest rising and falling in a slow, quiet rhythm while Tommy lingered there a moment longer, his breath warm against your neck as he let out a low groan, still half-drunk on the high you’d given him. The morning light filtered in through the tattered blinds, casting soft golden slats across the tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothes strewn across the hardwood floor. Somewhere, from the corridor or maybe the neighbors', drifted the scent of burnt coffee—bitter, familiar, grounding.

Tommy sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his damp hair as he muttered, “Shit,” under his breath, his voice still heavy with sleep and satisfaction. He glanced over at you with a lazy grin, tugging his jeans from the floor. “Remind me to come by more often.”

You laughed—quiet, genuine—watching him as he passed you a towel and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t part of the deal, not really. But then, Tommy had always blurred the lines—sweet in the way men like him weren’t meant to be, not in this town, not in your world.

“You’re already my best customer,” you murmured, eyes gleaming as you took the towel and began to clean yourself up, your voice laced with a teasing fondness, the kind reserved for people who came back again and again not just for the sex, but for something else they couldn’t name.

He stood with a quiet exhale, tugging his flannel over his broad shoulders, his belly soft where it peeked above the denim as he buttoned his jeans. His eyes lingered on you a second longer, not quite lecherous, not quite innocent either—just… watching, like he didn’t want to leave just yet, like he hadn’t quite figured out what you meant to him.

He watched you, gaze lingering over the bare slope of your chest, the way your skin caught the muted morning light spilling through the cracked blinds, casting golden lines across the sheets like something sacred.

You didn’t bother covering up—not with Tommy. The two of you had done this too many times, in too many rooms, on too many mornings like this, for there to be any shame left between you. There was something quiet in it now, a kind of unspoken understanding that had formed over time—not love, not quite friendship, but an intimacy that lived in the space between laughter and the sound of a zipper being drawn.

As he buckled his belt, fingers fumbling slightly around the worn leather, he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake something from it, something heavier than dust.

“Do you, uh…” he started, then hesitated, licking his lips like the question might taste strange coming out. “Do you have an age limit or somethin’?”

You tilted your head, brow lifting in easy amusement as you smiled faintly. “Sorry?”

He laughed, soft and awkward, and rubbed the side of his nose—a nervous little tick you’d seen before, like his body gave him away even when his voice didn’t. “I mean—with what you do,” he said, trying to sound casual but missing the mark by an inch. “With your… services. You got a limit, or...?”

“For my services?” you repeated, feigning offense, a teasing lilt in your voice as you leaned back against the headboard. “You make it sound so formal.”

“Quit,” he muttered, a laugh under his breath, but there was something beneath it—something that wasn’t quite a joke.

You smiled at him again, slower this time, more real. “Not really,” you said with a shrug, reaching for the towel more out of habit than modesty. “As long as they’re sweet... can get it up... and make sure they pay well.”

Because in Jackson, payment wasn’t green bills or cards anymore—those belonged to a world that had crumbled with the last election and the first outbreak. Now, people paid in what mattered. A tin of that good jam made from the summer’s last raspberries. A half-empty bag of coffee beans that still smelled like mornings from before. Gloves thick enough to survive the frost that rolled in from the mountains. Cans of peaches, salt for the roads, shotgun shells, antibiotics, clean socks. Favors. Names. Protection. A seat near the fire.

He chuckled at that, the tension easing from his shoulders like you’d let him off some invisible hook.

You tilted your head again, watching him as you sat forward slightly, your hair sliding over your shoulder in a loose, dark curtain. His eyes caught on it—just for a second, but enough to notice.

“So,” you said softly, the teasing edge slipping just slightly from your voice, replaced by something gentler—curiosity with a tilt of wariness, a shift in the air between you. “Why’re you askin’?”

Tommy exhaled with a quiet huff, running a hand back through his hair and catching the loose strands that had fallen from his ponytail, fingers dragging through it with a kind of frustrated carelessness.

“It’s just…” he started, voice trailing off before picking back up again with a sigh. “My brother. Joel. I think he could, you know—benefit from... all this.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, hand cutting through the air as his eyes flitted across your still-bare body, lingering but not ogling, like he was trying to make a point without being crude.

Joel.

The name landed with a quiet thud, familiar but unexpected.

Of course you’d seen him around—Jackson wasn’t big enough for anyone to stay invisible for long. He was older, that much was clear; wore the years like a weight across his shoulders and a scowl that never quite left his face. Always furrowed at the brow, jaw set like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet. Handsome in a rough-edged, quietly dangerous way—not like Tommy, whose smile came easy and whose touch always felt a little more like comfort than command.

Sometimes, when you looked at them side by side, you forgot they were cut from the same cloth. Same blood. Same broken world.

You let out a breath of laughter, amused and maybe a little intrigued, as you rose to your feet, the light catching along the soft curves of your body, bare and unashamed, each step toward him slow and fluid, the kind of motion meant to be watched. Your hips swayed with the ease of someone who knew exactly how she moved, your skin still flushed from the morning, the remnants of pleasure humming faintly in your limbs. Sensual without trying to be. Just a woman in her own skin.

“Your brother,” you said with a soft, knowing smirk, brushing your fingers gently through the messy strands of hair that had fallen across Tommy’s forehead, still damp with the sweat of sex and sleep and something in between. The gesture was easy, instinctive—your touch lingering only a moment before it drifted lower, settling at the nape of his neck where your fingers curled loosely, not to pull him close, but simply to stay connected. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d pay a visit to a hooker.”

Your voice was teasing, light on the surface, but there was something deeper threaded beneath it—some quiet question you didn’t ask aloud.

Tommy’s hands found your waist without hesitation, as if drawn there by muscle memory more than intent. His touch was broad, familiar, grounding—palms warm against your skin, a little rough from the kind of labor this world demanded of men like him, the kind of years that wore into the bones. There was nothing hurried about the way he held you, nothing that spoke of possession in the traditional sense, but it was there nonetheless—a kind of unspoken tether, something formed not from love or lust but from routine, from comfort, from the simple ache of being human in a place that had taken too much.

Whatever this was between you and Tommy—it didn’t have a name. There’d never been promises or claims, no plans made or futures built. But the line between business and something softer had blurred a long time ago, and neither of you had ever bothered to draw it back again. It was easier this way.

He looked down at you, lips quirking into a crooked grin that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, which always seemed just a little too tired, like he hadn’t had a real night’s sleep in years. “Yeah,” he murmured, the words softer now, almost thoughtful. “He ain’t. But maybe that’s exactly why he needs it.”

You hummed quietly in response, letting your hands slide from his neck down to his chest, fingers resting lightly over his heartbeat. You tilted your face up to meet his, chin angled just slightly, and the distance between you felt at once too close and not close enough.

“He’s fifty-six,” Tommy said, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth crooked and amused, eyes crinkling just a little as he shook his head. “Old bastard,” he added with a chuckle, like he was fond of the man but couldn’t help teasing him anyway, like it was easier to speak in jokes than admit the weight behind the thought—that time had moved on without asking, and they were all just trying to catch up.

You let out a dramatic gasp, sharp and playful, one hand flying to your chest as though genuinely scandalized, though the glint in your eyes gave you away immediately. “Tommy,” you said, drawing out his name in that mock-offended tone you knew always pulled a smile from him, “what kind of girl do you take me for?”

Your voice was honey-drenched, rich with pretend indignation, all wide, fluttering eyes and arched brows, even as you stood in front of him still completely bare, the golden morning light licking across your skin like it had been invited.

Tommy’s grin tugged crooked across his lips, slow and easy, like it had nowhere else to be. “The kind of girl who says she’s shocked,” he drawled, eyes dipping meaningfully down your body, “while standin’ butt-naked in my arms.”

And then, as if to punctuate his point, he gave your ass a firm, unapologetic slap, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Now put some clothes on,” he added, voice light but still edged with that gravelly fondness he tried to hide. “Before I end up stayin’ another hour and missin’ patrol—again.”

You yelped, laughing as you twisted away from his touch, jumping back into the warmth of the tangled bedspread, sheets twisted like vines beneath you. His handprint still tingled on your skin, a reminder of how close things could still burn even after the fire was out.

Tommy bent to grab his jacket off the chair, slinging it over one arm as he turned toward the door, but then paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with that half-smile he always wore when he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he meant.

“So, Joel?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t trying to care too much. “You’ll see him?”

You met his gaze, all ease and softness now, letting your weight sink back into the bed as you pulled the sheet loosely over your thighs. You smiled, slow and sure.

“I’ll see him.”

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

Tommy sat at the far end of the Tipsy Bison’s bar, his knee bouncing beneath the table with a restlessness that betrayed more than he meant it to, jittery and twitchy like the truth was sitting in his lap and he didn’t know where to put it. His beer sat mostly untouched in front of him, beads of condensation sliding lazily down the bottle’s neck, forgotten. Across from him, Joel nursed his second glass of whiskey with the kind of single-minded focus that suggested he was trying not to think too hard about anything else.

Joel was mid-grumble, voice low and gravelly, muttering into his glass like it had personally offended him. “These kids on patrol,” he said, shaking his head, “they’re damn near still in diapers—think they know everything, but can’t read a fuckin’ map to save their lives. I had to double back twice today. And my knees…” he trailed off with a grimace, reaching down to rub one as if the act alone could conjure youth. “Shit don’t work like it used to.”

Tommy blinked, and then—without really meaning to, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them—he blurted, “Hey, you should go see this masseuse I know.”

Joel paused mid-sip, squinting over the rim of his glass like Tommy had just spoken in tongues. “Masseuse?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual but already feeling the weight of what he wasn’t saying begin to gather in his chest. “She’s real good. Works outta her place. Kinda… therapeutic.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. You did use your hands. You did know how to relieve tension. But if Joel had even the faintest idea of the things you did inside that soft little house of yours—the same one with the blue curtains and the jasmine Tommy had planted out front in exchange for a particularly memorable morning—he would’ve spit his drink out on the floor, gotten up, and walked home on those bad knees just to scold Tommy like they were kids again.

Because Joel, bless him, would’ve done what Joel always did—squint real hard, say something like “Jesus Christ, Tommy,” then go on about morals and dignity and how the world’s gone to hell.

So no, Tommy didn’t tell him everything.

Didn’t tell him about the soft, lilting laugh you had, or the way your door was always unlocked for him. Didn’t mention the way you said his name when he showed up late, or the sweet little things you did with your mouth that had nothing to do with pressure points. And he sure as hell didn’t mention the way you made him feel—warm and wanted and like the end of the world hadn’t already come and gone.

“Why the hell would I need a massage?” Joel muttered, voice rough as gravel as he leaned back in his chair, scowl etched deep between his brows. “What I need is for people to stop assignin’ me shifts with goddamn teenagers who can’t tell north from their own ass, and a patrol route that doesn’t run me straight into a fuckin’ ravine.”

Tommy scoffed, lifting his beer but not bothering to drink from it, eyes rolling as he shook his head. “You just spent the last thirty minutes complainin’ about your back, Joel.”

Joel shot him a look—sharp, defensive—the kind that had scared men once, back when fear was still a luxury. “That don’t mean I want some stranger touchin’ it,” he said, shoulders stiffening as he reached instinctively for his glass again. “Ain’t lookin’ to have someone mess it up worse than it already is.”

Tommy flinched at the word—touching—and it landed wrong, punched straight into his gut like a sucker hit. Not because Joel meant anything by it, but because he did. And before he could shut it down, there it was again—you—bent over him, lips parted, breath hot against his neck, your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow like you had all the time in the world. The soft sound you made when you sank down on him, the way your tits bounced against his chest, warm and slick, and how your fingers dragged down his spine, nails scratching just enough to make his hips jerk. His cock twitched, hard and immediate, a pulse of heat shooting through him that had no place in this conversation.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present. “Come on,” Tommy urged, voice lighter now, too easy to be innocent. “She’s real good. Not just in the way you’re thinkin’, either. She’s sweet. Quiet. One of those girls you don’t really notice till you do, and then it’s like you can’t stop.”

Joel arched a brow, unimpressed, suspicion already creeping into the lines of his face. “That so.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said quickly, pushing past the moment. “Real good hands. Knows what she’s doin’. And I’m tellin’ you—first one’s on the house. She won’t even charge you.”

Joel grunted, unconvinced, but didn’t push the conversation away completely. He just shifted in his chair, bones cracking, and muttered something under his breath about not likin’ surprises.

And Tommy—well, Tommy just smiled into his beer again, trying not to think about how you’d looked the last time he left your place, tangled in sheets and flushed with sleep, calling his name like it was something soft.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

Joel stood stiffly on your porch, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he pressed his thick fingers into the knot burrowed deep in the side of his neck, muttering low, gravel-soaked profanities beneath his breath—half at the knot, half at Tommy, and half at himself for agreeing to this in the first place. The porch was too damn pretty for cursing—lined with flower boxes overflowing with jasmine and wild mint, and some old rocking chair that looked like it had actually been made for sitting, not surviving.

He knocked twice—sharp, reluctant—and already regretted whatever the hell Tommy had gotten him into.

The door swung open almost immediately, like you’d been waiting on the other side, like you’d known he’d hesitate and come anyway.

Joel failed—spectacularly—to hide his reaction.

Tommy had mentioned you were a woman, sure. He had not mentioned that you were the kind of woman who made men forget how to breathe. The morning light spilled in behind him, framing you in gold like some holy sin, soft and warm, the robe you wore cinched lazily at the waist like it wasn’t trying to hide anything, just loosely draped to suggest comfort—but his eyes caught the line of your collarbone, the way the fabric parted ever so slightly, and dropped, uninvited, to the swell of your cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, hard.

What the fuck kinda masseuse looks like this?

He’d been expecting someone else entirely—some no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and orthopedic sandals, maybe a raspy smoker’s laugh and a mug that said #1 Back Cracker, someone who would offer him over-steeped tea and tell him stories about her son in the army or her time stationed in Kabul. He hadn’t planned for this—for lace peeking out from under your robe, for legs bare and smooth in the glow of a Jackson sunrise, for you smiling at him like you already knew he didn’t have the guts to walk away.

“Joel, right?” you asked, your voice light, almost teasing, as you leaned a little deeper into the doorway, the name tasting curious on your tongue. “Tommy’s brother?”

“Oh—yeah,” Joel said quickly, the syllable catching on the rough edge of his throat as he blinked like he was just remembering where he was. His boots scuffed slightly against the floor as he shifted his weight, shoulders twitching with a discomfort he clearly didn’t know how to hide. “I, uh… Tommy said you do massages.”

The words came out like a question, like he wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth himself—and maybe he wasn’t.

You paused, something flickering behind your eyes as your lips parted—then closed again. A breath. A scoff. Quiet, sharp, and laced with a kind of tired amusement as your gaze flicked briefly to the floor. Of course Tommy hadn’t told him the truth. Of course Tommy had sent his older brother to your door with that same boyish grin and a half-assed lie, hoping Joel wouldn’t figure it out until it was far too late to back out gracefully.

He hadn’t told him that this wasn’t just a massage.

He hadn’t told him that he was coming over to have sex with a woman—with you—and not in some hurried, transactional way, but slow, deliberate, intimate. The kind of encounter that lingered on the skin long after the door closed behind them.

You bit your lip without thinking, the movement soft and sensual, more out of habit than seduction—but it was still enough to make Joel glance away, like he’d seen too much too quickly and didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Well,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one bare leg to the other, the silk of your robe whispering across your thigh like it, too, was trying to decide what kind of evening this was going to be. “Come on in.”

You didn’t confirm or deny his assumption—just stepped aside and let him walk into the space where everything might change.

And Joel—standing there on your pretty porch, fingers twitching at his sides, jaw locked and eyes anywhere but your mouth—hadn’t figured out how to say no.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

Joel stood stiffly in your bedroom, hands twitching uselessly at his sides, his body held like a man trying not to breathe too deeply in someone else's space—already half turned toward the door, as if he could will an exit into existence before you returned.

His eyes moved over the room like he was trying not to look at anything too closely, but there was no hiding the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched every few seconds like he was already regretting stepping foot inside.

The room wasn’t what he’d expected—and not just because it was your bedroom, though that alone had made his pulse stutter. That part could’ve been explained away, justified somehow—people did all kinds of things out of their homes in Jackson. But it was the way the space was set up that made his throat feel dry.

The bed, wide and inviting, draped in soft cream linens that looked freshly smoothed, was positioned at the center of everything, with candles flickering gently along the dresser, casting long golden shadows across the floor. There were no towels. No oils lined up neatly on a cart. No clinical sterility to hide behind. Just plush throw pillows, lace-trimmed curtains, a faint trace of perfume lingering in the air, and the undeniable hum of something not quite professional.

And you—Jesus Christ, you—had offered him coffee or water, your voice light and easy like it wasn’t a loaded question, and he, too dazed to think, had said yes. You’d disappeared into the kitchen, and he’d barely exhaled since. He wasn’t sure if he was sweating or just uncomfortable in his own damn skin, but every part of him was screaming that he didn’t belong here—that you were too pretty, too soft, too young to be touching a man like him.

You, meanwhile, were grateful for the excuse to step away, your heels silent as you moved through the house, trying to get your own heart rate under control.

You knew it wouldn’t take Joel long to figure it out—that you weren’t really a masseuse, that this wasn’t some wholesome back-cracking session with a side of eucalyptus oil. That lingerie didn’t belong under robes worn for healing. And yet here you were, wearing it anyway, lace brushing against your skin with every step, wondering how long it would take before he got up and left.

When you stepped back into the room, he was still standing—just as rigid, just as uncertain. “Sit,” you said gently, offering a small, practiced smile, your tone breezy enough to keep the moment from collapsing under its own weight. “Please.”

Joel nodded once, tight-lipped, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like it might burn him. His knees were wide, his elbows stiff, his eyes trained directly ahead—on nothing at all—like he was trying very hard not to see any part of you.

You approached slowly, extending the glass of water toward him, the condensation already beginning to bead along the side.

He took it with a quiet murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—just a flicker, but enough for you to feel the heat of him, the way he flinched ever so slightly like he wasn’t used to being touched without intention.

“So, uh…” Joel began, voice low and hesitant, the sound rough like it had scraped its way out of his throat. He rubbed a hand along the side of his neck, eyes flicking briefly up to yours before landing somewhere over your shoulder, already looking like he regretted speaking at all. “How long you been doin’ all this?”

The words hung awkwardly in the air between you, heavy with implication but wrapped in a poor attempt at small talk—something Joel Miller was not known for. You could tell it took effort for him to say anything at all, that his instinct was to sit in silence and let the tension pass like a storm front, but some part of him—some flicker of politeness or nerves—had nudged him into conversation.

Your eyes widened just a little, caught off guard by the question, and then you blinked, like you needed a moment to remember who you were supposed to be in this room. “Oh—yeah,” you said, stumbling just slightly over the words. “Since I got to Jackson, really. Started pretty soon after I arrived.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. You had been doing this since you arrived—though massage had never been the core of it.

Joel nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with thought, and you could see him working through the gaps, filling in the blanks with whatever image he had in his mind. “So you, uh… didn’t have any proper trainin’? From before?”

You shook your head, lips parting as your answer tripped a little over your breath. “No. I—uh. No, it’s all… self-taught.”

His eyes lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, then shifted away again, landing on the corner of the bed, then the curtain, then the floor—anywhere but you. “Right,” he said finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say, like maybe he’d already asked too much.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold, but it was thick with uncertainty—his, mostly. His knee bounced once. His fingers tapped the glass in his hand. You could feel the weight of his restraint like smoke in the room, curling into the corners of the furniture, slipping under your robe.

You took a small step forward, smoothing your hands down the front of your robe out of instinct rather than necessity, and offered him a gentle smile—nothing suggestive, just a flicker of softness to meet his discomfort.

“Okay,” you said, voice quieter now, almost tender. “It might be easier if you take your shirt off.”

Joel’s eyes snapped back to yours—not wide, not shocked, just hesitant. Cautious in a way that wasn’t rooted in modesty but something deeper, older, worn thin over time like denim at the knees.

Still, he nodded, slow and uncertain, and reached for the buttons of his flannel, hands broad and calloused, fingers stiff with age and overuse. They moved with that steady, familiar rhythm of a man who'd spent most of his life taking off shirts for work, not for anyone watching. The ache in his knuckles—probably arthritis—tugged at him with every movement, but he didn’t stop.

He just tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had seen him like this—shirtless, stripped down, exposed in a way that wasn’t about survival. He tried not to wonder whether his body, changed by time and burden, would make you flinch. Whether the soft at his waist, the scars, the salt-and-pepper spread of hair across his chest would make you look away.

You turned away—not out of modesty, not to create distance, but to offer him something rare in this kind of space. The grace of privacy. The freedom to choose, or not choose.

Behind you, there was a quiet rustle—cloth shifting, boots scuffing gently against the floor, the faintest creak of the bed frame as his weight shifted.

“I’m ready,” Joel said at last, his voice low and gruff, the words shaped more like a sigh than a decision, like he was forcing them through clenched teeth.

You turned around slowly, hands folded softly in front of you, gaze lifting to meet him—and stilled for just a moment at the sight.

He was broader than Tommy. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, his body weathered with age and labor in a way that wasn’t unkind, just honest. The kind of build earned from years of carrying things—wood, gear, grief. His torso was lined with muscle that didn’t try to impress, but spoke of endurance, strength without vanity. Sparse hair dusted across his chest, silver threaded through dark, and a thin scar trailed down from his left shoulder toward his ribs, pale and healed and unspoken.

You cleared your throat gently, “You can lay on your tummy,” you murmured, voice soft, quiet.

He nodded once, eyes flicking away from yours, and with a heavy breath he lowered himself down, letting out a grunt as he adjusted his limbs, clearly not used to surrendering his body to anything but pain or sleep.

You dipped onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you knelt beside his frame, your knees brushing the sheets. He was tense—every muscle held taut, like even now, he didn’t know how to truly let go.

You reached out carefully, hands warm and deliberate, and let your palms press gently against the slope of his shoulders. The moment your skin touched his, he flinched—not sharply, not out of fear, but with the quiet recoil of a man unused to kindness. Of someone who hadn’t been touched gently in years—not without urgency, not without purpose.

“That hurt?” you asked softly, letting your fingers still against his back, giving him space to answer.

“No,” he murmured, voice muffled against the pillow, gruff and strangely quiet. “It’s just—”

You waited. He didn’t finish.

So you started to move again, slow and careful, letting your hands glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the rigid line of his spine, easing into the hard knots along his lower back. His skin was warm, rough in places, scarred in others, but beneath your fingers you felt something deeper—a kind of held breath, a body that had been bracing for too long.

And then—just there—just below his ribs, your thumbs pressed into a tight knot of muscle and he let out a sound. Low. Unintentional. Somewhere between a grunt and a breathless sigh, like the smallest piece of him had slipped loose without his permission.

You paused.

Not because he told you to, but because something in the room shifted—just slightly, but enough. The silence grew thicker, not with discomfort, but with heat. A different kind of tension settled beneath your palms, no longer just physical but charged.

You leaned forward, just barely—close enough that your breath warmed the curve of his neck. “That okay?” you asked, your voice low, velvet-soft.

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

So you let your hands drift lower. Slower. Testing. Exploring. And when your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, you felt him tense again—but not the same way. Not from pain. Not from unease.

From want.

A breath caught in his chest. His fingers curled in the sheets.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

You let your hands linger at the small of his back, then slowly, deliberately, splayed your palms across the wide stretch of his hips, fingertips grazing just beneath the worn hem of his jeans. The heat coming off him was no longer the warmth of skin—it was heavier now.

“Turn over,” you murmured, your voice barely more than breath, a suggestion wrapped in silk.

Joel hesitated—but only for a beat—before he shifted beneath your touch, his breath hitching slightly as he rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension, each breath like he was trying to steady something inside of him that had already tipped. His hair was mussed from the pillow, his ears flushed red, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze—his eyes somewhere near your shoulder, like he couldn’t decide if this was the moment he should speak or simply stay.

You looked at him—really looked—and it hit you with a kind of quiet intensity you hadn’t expected. Rugged. Shy. Ruined with restraint. For one suspended second, you felt your breath catch—your body going still with the weight of what you were about to admit.

“I’m not really a massage therapist,” you murmured, the truth threading from your lips like smoke, soft and unembellished.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise ghosting across his features—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t yell, didn’t get up and storm out the way you thought he might. He didn’t raise his voice or accuse you or spit something cruel. He just sat there—this man you’d heard whispered about around town, the one with the sharp jaw and the sharp aim, the one who’d killed infected like it was nothing, like breathing—and he blushed. His ears pinked. His throat bobbed. And for a man who was supposed to be all grit and gravel and gunpowder, he suddenly looked so soft.

Your gaze dropped.

And there it was—undeniable, obscene even—his cock straining thick and swollen against the front of his jeans, the fabric doing a poor job of hiding just how wrecked he already was. You could see the wet spot where he’d already leaked through, dark and damp and desperate, the denim pulled tight across the aching outline of him like his body couldn’t help betraying how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted you.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice low and cracked, almost pained, one hand dragging down his face like he could scrub the arousal off with enough pressure. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

The apology hit your chest like a bruise—small and self-conscious and entirely Joel. Like he couldn’t imagine that his desire was allowed, like he thought being this turned on was somehow shameful. Like he wasn’t sure if wanting made him pathetic.

It was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never apologized for being hard. He wore it like a joke, a badge, always ready with some cocky little line—“That one’s your fault, sweetheart”—as he adjusted himself without blinking. He got hard, you both laughed, he’d kiss your shoulder or slap your ass and go right back to whatever he was doing, comfortable in his skin, in his want, in the way he took up space.

You reached for him before that shame could bloom any further, your hand wrapping gently around his wrist—steadying him, grounding him—and you leaned in close, voice soft and sure and edged in something deeper.

“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your fingers slide slowly up his forearm. “Don’t apologize.”

Your gaze dropped again, drinking in the sight of him—his flushed neck, the way his thighs had tensed, how his cock twitched hard under your stare like it hurt to be untouched.

And then—without breaking eye contact—you sank slowly to your knees between his thighs, the sheets rustling beneath you as your robe slipped open just enough to reveal the tops of your breasts, the soft glow of your skin catching the light. Joel’s breath hitched sharply in his chest, and he didn’t move—didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—he just watched, wide-eyed and stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he was afraid that moving might wake him up.

“That’s why I’m here,” you murmured, your voice low, velvet-smooth as your fingers glided up the inside of his thigh. You could feel the heat radiating off him now—thick, pulsing heat—and you swore his legs trembled just slightly under your touch, like his body had been starving for this, aching longer than he’d ever dared admit. “To take care of you.”

You reached for his belt then, undoing the worn leather with slow, reverent hands, letting the soft clink of the buckle echo in the stillness. He sucked in a breath at the sound alone, as though it unraveled something inside him.

Before you even freed him, you pressed your palm gently over the bulge in his jeans—and fuck, he twitched beneath your touch, cock rock-hard and leaking, the wet spot soaking through the denim where he’d already been dripping for you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word trembling out of him like he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to say it. “This—this ain’t right.”

You looked up at him from between his legs, your position deliberate, your eyes steady and warm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shy away. You just smiled softly, your voice velvet-wrapped and laced in heat. “Why not?”

Joel’s gaze dropped—first to your mouth, then to your hand still palmed over the thick, pulsing bulge in his jeans. His chest rose in quick, shallow breaths, like he was trying to breathe through wanting. “You’re—fuck—you’re a hooker?”

His voice cracked on the word, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. Like it made him feel ashamed to be this turned on by someone he wasn’t supposed to deserve.

But you didn’t pull back.

You didn’t offer shame or explanations. You kept your hand right where it was—pressing gently against the thick, leaking shape of his cock—and leaned in, close enough that your breath warmed the sensitive skin of his thigh through the fabric.

���I’m here,” you whispered, slow and steady, “to make you feel good.”

Joel opened his mouth, ready to argue, to throw up some sad scrap of pride or guilt—but you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

Right on the inside of his clothed knee, a soft, filthy little kiss that made him twitch beneath your palm. So gentle. So patient. So goddamn unfair to a man who hadn’t been touched like this in years.

“Stop thinking so much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against him again. “Let me take care of you.”

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel it pulse between you—hesitation, thick and tight, the kind that came from deep inside a man who hadn’t let himself need in a long time. The want was there, throbbing—pressed up against years of restraint, of pride, of silence. But then Joel looked down at you—eyes wide, pupils blown, a little wild with it—and he nodded. Once. Sharp. Like the motion hurt.

“Okay,” he said. Then, barely audible—“Please.”

God, his voice on that word—so wrecked, so raw—you could’ve come from the sound alone.

You smiled, slow and warm, something curling in your chest, deep and satisfied. “Good boy.”

The words slipped out before you even thought them through—instinctive, soft, teasing. But the moment they left your mouth, you saw it hit him. His jaw clenched, his chest stilled, his breath catching like you’d yanked the air right out of him.

His eyes flicked away immediately, like he wasn’t sure what just happened or why it made his cock twitch so hard it strained visibly against his jeans. But it did. And he felt it.

He was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never waited. Never asked. He’d grip your thighs, mutter something cocky like “Bet you’re already wet for me,” and be halfway inside before you could catch your breath. He took control like it was his birthright—rough palms, fast kisses, always in command.

“Let’s get these off, huh?” you said gently, already reaching for the button on his jeans, your fingers working with slow precision, deliberate and unhurried, like you were unwrapping something rare.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, chest bare, arms braced behind him, watching you with a look that was part surrender, part disbelief.

You pulled the denim down, inch by inch, and then his boxers—already damp with arousal—until both were gathered around his thighs.

And then his cock sprang free.

Fuck.

It slapped up toward his stomach with weight, flushed and hard and glistening at the tip, fat drops of pre-come already trailing down the shaft. Not as long as Tommy, no—but thicker, meatier, with veins you could trace with your tongue and a curve that made your cunt clench just looking at it. The kind of cock that filled you. That stretched you.

Your mouth watered.

And below it—God. His pubes were wild, a thick thatch of dark hair streaked with silver, coarse and completely untouched, like he hadn’t even thought to groom because he never imagined someone might want to see him like this. And that happy trail? Not neat. Not delicate. Just a messy line of hair leading down from his soft stomach to the base of his cock—feral, raw, real, like the rest of him. This wasn’t a man who prepped for pleasure. This was a man who had been surviving.

And still—he was so fucking hard for you.

Visibly twitching with every breath you took.

Your hand found his thigh first, the heat of him pulsing beneath your palm, solid and thick beneath your touch. You let your fingers trace the curve of his muscle, the hair there soft and coarse at once, and you felt the faintest tremble as you leaned in closer, your breath warming the head of his cock just enough to make him twitch.

“You’re so big, Joel,” you murmured, your voice slow, low, reverent, like you were saying it just for him and no one else. “You’re already dripping for me, baby,” you added with a little smile, dragging your thumb across the head—slow, teasing, making his hips jerk like he hadn’t even meant to move.

His breath caught, chest rising like he’d been hit, eyes locked on you in disbelief. “Christ,” he rasped, the word escaping him like it physically hurt to hold it in. His hand twitched where it braced against the bed, knuckles white, jaw tense, his eyes dragging over you like he was afraid to blink and miss anything.

Then, softly, sweetly—you tilted your head, lips just brushing the inside of his thigh.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” you asked, the question falling from your lips like silk, delicate but charged, heavy with intention.

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed hard.

“I—” he stammered, and then exhaled like it cost him something. “Shit… can I… can I see you first?”

The request was so gentle, so earnest, it cracked something inside you. There was no demand in it. No entitlement. Just the soft ache of a man who hadn’t been given softness in a long time, if ever. He wanted to see you. Not just touch, not just take—see. He wanted you to be real to him, wanted to remember how you looked in this moment, flushed and glowing and his, if only for now.

You couldn’t help but smile. “See me?” you echoed softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He nodded—barely—a small, shaky dip of his chin like anything more might shatter the moment. And when he spoke, his voice was rough, low, wrecked, caught between awe and the kind of ache that sat low in a man’s belly. “Yeah… if that’s okay,” he said. “I just—fuck. I wanna remember it.”

You straightened slowly, your breath soft and even, fingers slipping to the sash of your robe. The silk felt cool against your skin, a faint whisper as it slid beneath your touch. You untied it with quiet grace, letting the knot fall loose, the fabric parting to reveal the delicate lace beneath—your lingerie soft and sheer, clinging to you like second skin.

Joel’s eyes were on you now—truly on you—and the way he looked made your stomach flip. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just wide-eyed and reverent, like you were something holy he didn’t know how to touch without ruining.

You stepped closer.

His hands rose slowly, hesitantly, the way a starving man might reach for fruit he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His fingers brushed your hips with the barest pressure—calloused and trembling, like even that much contact might be too much. His thumbs ghosted along your skin, just beneath the lace, pressing in gently like he needed proof that you were real and not some fevered hallucination his mind had conjured from loneliness and want.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough but quiet, like it hurt to say aloud—like he was asking permission just to want you. His eyes lifted to yours, and they were so fucking open, something vulnerable flickering there, raw and unguarded, as if a single word from you might send him crumbling.

You nodded, slowly, letting your smile bloom soft and slow—something deeper than heat, something that said yes, I want this too.

Your fingers threaded into his hair—thick and unruly, streaked with silver at the temples—and the second your nails grazed his scalp, he broke. Not loudly. Not all at once. But in the way his breath hitched, in the way his knees seemed to go soft beneath him, in the way his entire body leaned into your touch like it was the first good thing he’d felt in years.

His shoulders dropped like a weight had slid off of them, like your hands alone were holding him upright. He didn’t move his own—just kept them resting on your hips, loose and trembling, like he was scared if he held tighter, you might pull away.

And when you tugged gently at the strands, he let out the softest, smallest sound—a whimper, barely there, but so raw it made your chest ache.

He tilted his head into your palm like he couldn’t help it. Like your touch was oxygen. Like he needed it more than he needed to come.

Like he’d been waiting for this—not just your body, but your hands, your care, your permission to be held—for far, far too long.

“You can take this off,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers toyed with the straps of your lingerie. “If you want.”

He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, his eyes flicking up to yours again—wide, hesitant, a little stunned.

“You sure?” he asked, and God—his voice when he said it, thick with that gravelly drawl and threaded with something so soft it made your chest ache. His eyes were almost pleading—puppy-dog eyes, sweet and unsure, hidden under all that gruff exterior. The kind of look that said he wanted it so badly he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding as your teeth grazed your lower lip, voice as open and bare as the skin he hadn’t touched yet. “I want you to see me.”

His eyes stayed locked to yours, dark and wide and uncertain, but he nodded—just once, soft and small—his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Okay.”

You moved slowly, carefully, like the moment might break if you shifted too fast. Your knees sank into the bed, and you straddled him gently, your body folding around his like a promise, like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop wanting. His cock—hard and flushed and waiting—pressed up against the thin fabric between your thighs, heat meeting heat, and you felt him twitch slightly, breath catching in that way that made you ache for him.

He was still so nervous, so unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to want this, if you truly meant what you’d said—so you leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, your mouth brushing against his like you were giving him time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

Joel kissed you back with a kind of desperation that nearly undid you—like he was starving for it, like every nerve in his body remembered what his mind had forced itself to forget. His lips were rough, a little clumsy, but so eager, so full of want it made your knees weak. His hands gripped your hips first—tight, tentative—but then one of them slid slowly up your back, the movement stiff and unpracticed.

You felt his fingers fumble at the clasp of your bra.

Slow. Awkward.

A clink. A pause.

Then another tug that clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

You smiled into the kiss, unable to help the way your lips curved gently against his. The affection in your chest bloomed too big to contain.

“Need a hand, baby?” you murmured, teasing soft and warm.

Joel froze.

Literally froze, like you’d just caught him red-handed doing something far more scandalous than trying to get your bra off.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw, brows furrowed in mortified concentration. His hand was still awkwardly stuck on the clasp like it might bite him.

“Shit—God, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse, the shame already rising like a tide in his chest. “It’s just… I haven’t—fuck, it’s been a while. A long while.”

Your heart swelled. Not with pity—but with something softer. Deeper.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you whispered, your voice like balm, soft and steady. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

He huffed quietly, almost laughed—but it didn’t carry humor, just something strained and bruised, something that lived in the hollow of his chest. He shook his head, gaze dropping as he muttered, “I’m sure the other men you’re with…”

“Joel,” you said firmly, cutting him off before the sentence could reach its end, your voice soft but full of weight. You leaned in a little, pressing your forehead gently to his, forcing him to look at you, to feel how present you were. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now but you. Okay?”

His breath shuddered out of him in response, his eyes closing like he was holding that truth against his ribs, trying to believe it. After a moment, he nodded, the smallest, quietest movement—just enough to say he heard you. Just enough to say okay.

You smiled at him then, slow and warm, and leaned back just slightly. “Now,” you murmured, fingers slipping behind your back with practiced ease, “let’s get this off.”

Your hands worked quickly, but not rushed—there was no shame in the movement, no hesitation, no apology. Just the quiet, practiced confidence of a woman who knew exactly how powerful she was. The clasp of your bra came undone with a soft snap, the straps sliding down your arms with sinful grace before the lace slipped away completely, falling to the floor like it had never deserved to touch your skin in the first place.

And then—you were bare.

Joel’s breath caught so violently in his chest he almost choked on it.

Your tits were fucking perfect. Full and high, soft but heavy, flushed with heat, nipples tight and begging to be sucked. Lit by the golden light filtering through the room, they looked practically edible—glistening, mouth-watering, obscene in how pretty they were. They swayed gently with every breath you took, right at his eye level as you sat astride him, so close he could’ve buried his face between them and died happy.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Wide-eyed, jaw slack, pupils blown so dark they nearly swallowed the color. Like he wasn’t sure whether to worship or drop to his knees. Like it was his first time seeing a naked woman and you were every fantasy he’d ever had—all of it—wrapped in silk, sweat, and sin.

And fuck, the way he looked at you?

It made you wet. Soaking. Aching.

Because his gaze wasn’t greedy. It was wrecked. Full of awe. Full of reverence, like you were something holy and he was already praying.

His tongue flicked out, instinctive, desperate—wetting his lips like he could taste you just from looking.

And finally—hoarse, broken, like it physically hurt to say it—he murmured, “You’re… beautiful.”

You smiled at him then, your hands still resting gently at the back of his head, your fingers idly curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re handsome,” you said, and meant it—because even flustered, even blushing, even sitting there with guilt in his eyes and wonder on his face, Joel was beautiful. In a way he didn’t know how to carry. In a way you ached to show him.

He shook his head a little at that, bashful, like the compliment didn’t belong to him, like he didn’t know where to put it.

You leaned in slightly, shifting your weight just enough to press your chest a little closer to him, your breasts soft and warm in the space between you, your skin nearly touching his. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice low, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your breath shivered across it. “I like when people use their mouth.”

Your fingers slipped deeper into his hair, gently tugging at the roots, anchoring him in the moment, steadying him against the flood rising between you.

“Whatever you wanna do,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

His breath shuddered in response—just a single exhale—but it sounded wrecked, like you’d just undone something in him that had been locked tight for years.

His hands rose slowly, big and broad and calloused, shaking just slightly as he brought them to your chest. And when he finally cupped your tits—gently, reverently, like they might melt in his palms—you swore you saw his lips part in pure awe.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples—light, tentative—and his gaze flicked up to meet yours, wrecked and open and begging for approval.

You nodded.

And he leaned in.

Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair as his mouth closed around your nipple, warm and wet and so gentle at first, like he was still afraid he might do it wrong. But the moment he sucked—just a little, just enough to pull a quiet gasp from your lips—you whimpered, the sound leaving you before you could stop it, breathy and broken and so full of want it made his cock twitch against the inside of your thigh.

He froze for just a heartbeat, pulling back only slightly to glance up at you, lips still parted, a little swollen now, his eyes dark with something soft and searching.

“Am I…” he paused, his voice rough and low, so unsure, like the words tasted foreign in his mouth. “Am I doing good?”

God. God.

Your chest rose with the breath you sucked in, your eyes already glossed with it, your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded—hard, fast, desperate for him to understand just how much he was ruining you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hips already rocking forward, chasing friction. “Fuck, Joel… you’re making me feel so good.”

His eyes widened slightly at the praise, his breath catching in his throat, like he didn’t know how to carry those words—but needed to.

You cupped his face then, pulled him back to your chest, your thighs squeezing tighter around him as his hands cradled your hips and his mouth returned to your breast with more purpose now, more hunger.

He moaned against your skin, low and desperate, sucking softly, his tongue flicking over your nipple just to hear the way your breath stuttered.

“Shit,” you breathed, voice barely holding together, your body already flushed and trembling from the way he touched you like you were something precious, something sacred he didn’t know how to handle but wanted to try.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your thumb brushing gently over his flushed cheek, your chest still rising fast from the weight of his mouth. “Lie down,” you murmured, the command soft but firm, wrapped in something far more tender than dominance. “Get comfortable.”

Joel obeyed without a word, shifting beneath you with a quiet grunt as his back met the sheets, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left you. They dragged down your body like a prayer, following the way your hands slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, baring yourself to him inch by inch until there was nothing left between you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw you, the heat of your pussy glistening in the low light, your thighs already slick with want, your confidence quiet but undeniable.

You crawled back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, your knees parting as you straddled his thighs again, his cock thick and flushed and waiting, twitching slightly where it rested against his stomach. Your breasts—red and swollen and slick from his mouth—bounced gently with each movement, catching the light like they’d been made for him.

And then—just as you were about to reach for him again—Joel sat up.

“Wait,” he said, voice low and rough, and a little breathless.

You stilled, your hands settling on his chest, your brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the curve of his shoulder.

He looked at you—so shy, so unsure, like a man who didn’t know if he was allowed to ask. His cheeks were flushed, his lashes low, his voice softer now than you’d ever heard it.

“Can I…” he hesitated, swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll last long if you—if you use your mouth. Can I just—can I be inside you?”

You smiled, “Of course you can,” you whispered against his mouth, your lips brushing his with a sweetness that made him sigh into you, the sound barely audible but heavy with relief, like the permission alone had eased something he’d been holding for far too long. “I want you to.”

But before he could move—before he could even think—you reached down, your hand slipping between your bodies, finding his and lacing your fingers together. Gently, deliberately, you guided his hand downward, slower than necessary, not for hesitation but for effect—for connection—until his fingers rested at the slick heat of your entrance.

“Here,” you said, voice breathy, your eyes locked to his. “Feel.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and glassy, full of disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to give him this, too. His throat worked around a hard swallow, the tips of his fingers twitching against the soaked warmth of your cunt, already glistening for him.

“For me?” he asked, the words almost reverent.

You nodded, biting your lip, your breath hitching as his fingertip brushed just barely against your entrance. “For you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with heat. “I’m so wet, Joel. For you.”

He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part plea—and you could feel how badly he wanted this, how hard he was fighting to hold on to whatever control he still had.

“I—” he started, and then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Shit. My back’s bad. And my knees—”

You smiled, warm and teasing, as you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice turning playful as you reached for his cock and lined him up against your soaked entrance. “Gonna make me do all the work, huh?” you teased, your hips already rolling slightly, letting the thick head of him slip just barely into your folds.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, flustered, completely undone now, blinking up at you like you’d just caught him stealing something precious.

“I’m joking, Joel,” you said with a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into his hair, your lips brushing his as you began to sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the most perfect way. “Relax. Let me bounce on your cock.”

Joel exhaled like he’d been punched in the chest, his hands gripping your hips instinctively, not to control—but to anchor. His eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and filled with something that looked dangerously close to awe.

And then you sank down—fully—his cock stretching you wide, thick and throbbing and buried so deep it felt like you couldn’t possibly take more.

Your cunt clenched tight around him, soaked and fluttering with every inch he filled, your thighs trembling from the fullness. You held still, just for a moment—breathing with him, grounding yourself—as your body adjusted to the sweet, overwhelming ache of having all of him inside you.

And Joel?

He fucking unraveled.

His head tipped back against the pillow, jaw slack, throat arched, eyes squeezed shut as he let out the most broken, shaky moan you'd ever heard tear from his chest.

“F-fuck—oh my God,” he gasped, the words tumbling out of him like they weren’t meant to be said out loud. “Fuck—sweetheart—I—I can’t—”

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them—torn between holding you down and worshipping you. His whole body trembled beneath you, his thighs tight, chest rising in frantic, ragged bursts like he was trying not to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed again, voice high and wrecked, cracking under the weight of it all—awe, hunger, helpless fucking need. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight—so warm—I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—”

He looked up at you like you were about to ruin him—eyes wide and glossy, mouth open, chest rising fast.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice shaking so badly you felt it in your cunt. “Don’t—don’t move yet. I—I need a second.”

You nodded gently, cradling his face, letting him breathe through it—letting his cock throb deep inside you as your walls fluttered around him, gripping like a fucking vice.

But when he finally exhaled, when the tension in his shoulders dropped just enough—you moved.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips. One long, drawn-out rock that pressed your clit right against the base of his cock, dragging every inch of him against the softest, tightest parts of you.

Joel gasped.

His eyes slammed shut, his fingers digging into your hips like he didn’t know whether to pull you down or beg you to stop.

“You okay, baby?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek.

He nodded—too fast, too desperate—his head barely bobbing before he choked out, “Yeah, just—fuck, slow down—please. I ain’t gonna last long if you—”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, anchoring him in the heat between your bodies, and whispered against his lips, “That’s okay. You don’t have to last long, Joel.”

Another grind. Wetter this time.

His breath hitched violently.

“Just let me make you feel good.”

And then you rolled your hips again—slower this time, deeper—and his hands shook on your skin, his whole body going tight beneath you as he gasped and swore again, his voice barely holding together.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, one hand slipping up to your waist, fingers trembling, the other rising to your chest like he couldn’t help it. You guided him, curling his hand around your breast, moaning as his thumb grazed your nipple.

“Touch me, Joel,” you whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

And he was—his cock throbbing inside you, his mouth open, eyes wide and overwhelmed, his voice breaking as he tried to keep himself from losing it. But your pussy was gripping him so tight, soaking and pulsing and grinding down with every slow, filthy roll of your hips—and he was ruined.

“Shit—darlin, please—I can’t—” Joel gasped beneath you, voice catching as his fingers dug into your hips, trying desperately to still you, to slow you down, to regain any control over the way your body was grinding down onto his, slick and hot and perfect around him. His head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut like he was holding on by a thread.

But you didn’t stop.

You moved faster now, hips rolling deep and steady, your thighs trembling from the pace, your cunt clenching around him with every thrust. Joel’s hands flew to your waist, gripping you hard, like he could physically slow you down—but even as his fingers dug into your skin, his hips bucked up to meet you, chasing your rhythm like his body had stopped listening to him.

“Darlin’,” he gasped, voice fraying, wrecked, “you gotta stop—I’m serious—fuck, you gotta slow down or I’m gonna—”

But you didn’t stop.

You moved harder.

And Joel’s breath hitched, eyes wide, mouth open like he was trying to warn you and couldn’t remember how.

“Shit—shit,—stop movin’—I can’t—I’m not gonna hold it—fuck, I’m gonna come—you’re gonna make me come.”

His voice cracked on the last word, his grip trembling as he tried to slow you, tried to guide you off him—but his cock twitched violently inside you, and his hips snapped up in betrayal, chasing that edge like he couldn’t help it.

And then he broke.

With a sharp, shuddering gasp, his whole body arched beneath you, thighs shaking, eyes squeezing shut as he came hard, release spilling into you in thick, pulsing waves. His hands clamped down on your hips, not to stop you anymore—but to hold on, to anchor himself as the pleasure tore through him, brutal and sudden.

His jaw clenched, breath catching in his throat as he moaned low and hoarse, like he was in pain from how good it was.

You gasped softly at the warmth spreading inside you, the way his cock twitched with every pulse of it, the way he moaned your name—broken, wrecked—like a prayer against your collarbone, his breath shuddering as it spilled from him.

And then—he pulled you in.

His arms wrapped tight around your waist, dragging you down against his chest, like he needed you closer, needed to be grounded in the heat of your skin. His face buried in your neck, breath ragged, hot and frantic, his whole body still trembling with the aftershocks. He held onto you like he thought he might float away if he didn’t—fingers digging into your back, too tight, too desperate.

You didn’t move.

You just stroked your fingers slowly through his hair, soft and patient, cradling the back of his head like he was something fragile, like you were holding a man coming undone quietly in your arms.

And Joel? He didn’t even lift his head.

He couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven waves, his cock still buried inside you, twitching with sensitivity, every part of him too much—too raw, too fast, too gone. He pressed his face deeper into the curve of your neck, like maybe if he hid long enough, you wouldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

“Fuck,” he rasped finally, voice hoarse, choked, mortified. “I—shit. I’m so sorry.”

The words were slurred, mumbled into your skin, thick with shame, like they physically hurt to say.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I didn’t think I’d—”

He cut himself off, groaning in frustration, still unable to look at you. Like he was bracing for disappointment. Like you were gonna laugh. Like he’d failed some unspoken test.

“I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he whispered. “That’s… not how I wanted to do this.”

“Shh,” you whispered softly, stroking his hair a little slower now, your touch more comfort than seduction. “You don’t have to be sorry, Joel.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, your gaze tender, reverent. “You did so good for me,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth, your voice a hush of affection. “Made me feel so good. So warm.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure, and when he looked at you—really looked—he almost broke again.

“Look at me,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek. “Please.”

And when he did, you kissed him—slow, deep, soft enough to make him sigh against your lips. His mouth opened to you like instinct, and he almost whimpered into it, the sound desperate and sweet, like his heart was leaking out through the press of your mouths. He held onto you tighter then, arms curling around your waist, pulling you down against him like he didn’t want any space left between your bodies.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

He just breathed.

Held.

Tried to remember what it felt like to be this close to another person without losing something.

And then—so quietly you almost missed it—he whispered, “I don’t wanna go.”

The words cracked something in you. Not lust. Not even longing. Just something bare and soft and aching.

You kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and whispered back, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

He stayed.

Wrapped around you, still trembling, still catching his breath, holding you like you were the only safe place left in the world.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

TY FOR READIN - LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS IN THE COMMENTS !!!!

[mssalo]

ma'am

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sub!Joel, dom!f!reader, oral (male and female receiving), nipple play (SUCKING JOEL’S NIPPLES like he deserves), premature ejaculation, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, desperation kink, Joel whimpering, explicit sexual content, mutual devotion, protective partnership, reader is emotionally supportive but firm, Joel finds comfort in being cared for (he’s babygirl) and Joel being so far gone it’s frankly adorable.

11k. enjoy.

part two: after hours

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller had always been the guy people turned to when things needed fixing—whether it was a busted fence, a tough decision, or clearing out a horde of infected, he was the dependable one. The solid one. The man who got things done without flinching.

But with you, it was different.

You weren’t like anyone else in Jackson. You’d arrived last winter, stepping into the town’s bustling life like you’d always belonged, and somehow, you’d made it your own. 

People respected you—trusted you—not because you demanded it, but because you commanded it. You were sharp, resourceful, and unshakably confident. 

Joel couldn’t decide if you reminded him of a soldier or a queen, but either way, it made his chest tighten every time you spoke.

It started innocently enough.

“Joel, we need these supplies moved to the north gate before sundown,” you said one day, standing by the depot, that calm, no-nonsense tone that made Joel’s stomach flip.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied without thinking, the words slipping out as easily as breathing.

You’d looked up, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘yes ma’am’ type,” you teased lightly, your lips curving into that small, knowing smile.

Joel had flushed, shifting on his feet like a boy caught stealing. “Guess it’s just… habit.”

You didn’t push, just nodded and turned back, but Joel couldn’t get the moment out of his head.

Something about the way you spoke to him—firm but never condescending, confident but never overbearing—lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years. 

Respect, maybe. Or something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.

The more months you worked together, the worse it got for him.

“Joel, grab the shotgun and cover me,” you ordered one day, crouched behind a rusted-out truck as infected skittered through the woods ahead. Your voice was steady, even in the heat of the moment, and Joel’s chest swelled as he followed your lead without question.

Another time, while patrolling the perimeter, you had said, “Check the west side at dusk. Let me know if anything’s out of place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel had answered automatically, his voice softer, almost reverent.

You didn’t always notice how easily he fell into step with you, how much he craved the way you trusted him to follow through. 

But Joel noticed. Every damn time. 

And it wasn’t just respect—though that was there too—it was something raw and magnetic. Something that made his chest tighten and his cock stir in ways that left him fumbling for composure.

It wasn’t just the way you spoke. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you moved through the world with confidence that was effortless, never forced. 

You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone—you just were. You called the shots when they needed calling, and people listened, not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Joel wanted to. And more than that, he liked it.

One night, it all came to a head.

Jackson was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns strung between buildings. Joel was walking back from the stables when he spotted you on the porch of the town hall, a map spread across the railing in front of you. 

The way the light hit your face, catching on your jawline and softening your features, made his chest ache.

“Joel,” you called, your voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.

He froze for half a second before making his way over, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. 

His pulse quickened as he got closer, his eyes darting over you—your loose hair falling over one shoulder, the curve of your wrist as you held the edge of the map, the faint furrow in your brow that he desperately wanted to smooth away.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glanced up, your eyes meeting his. “Come take a look at this,” you said, motioning him closer.

Joel stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he looked at the map.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, and Joel had to force himself to focus on what you were pointing at—a marked spot near the riverbank.

“Been seeing signs of movement out here the past couple nights,” you explained. “Could be nothing, but I want to clear it tomorrow. Need someone to back me up. You in?”

“Always,” Joel said immediately, his voice quieter than he intended but no less firm. His fingers brushed yours as he took the map, and he swore he felt a spark.

You smiled then—just a small curve of your lips—but it sent heat rushing through Joel’s chest. “Good. Be ready at dawn.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel murmured before he could stop himself.

Your brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks warming. “Can’t help it,” he muttered, his gaze sliding to the ground. “Suits you.”

Your smile widened just enough to make his heart stumble. “If you say so.”

With that, you folded the map, tucked it under your arm, and disappeared into the town hall, leaving Joel standing there like a damn fool, his chest tight and his jeans uncomfortably snug. 

He swore under his breath, adjusting his stance in a futile attempt to ease the ache building low in his belly.

It wasn’t fair. 

The way you got under his skin without even trying. The way you made him feel… lighter and heavier all at once. 

Joel had spent his whole life being the one people leaned on, the one who carried the weight, and for once, he didn’t mind letting someone else take the reins. 

Hell, he wanted to. 

He wanted to follow you, to listen to you, to give you every ounce of control you asked for.

Joel stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door of the town hall long after you’d gone inside. 

His pulse pounded in his ears, the ache in his jeans growing unbearable as his mind replayed the last few moments—the way your voice curled around his name, the subtle command in your tone when you told him to be ready, the approving smile that lingered on your lips when he’d answered.

It was ridiculous, he thought bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, and yet here he was, rock-hard in the middle of Jackson like some lovesick idiot. 

His cock throbbed against the tight denim of his jeans, a constant, humiliating reminder of how badly he wanted you—how badly he needed you.

Joel swallowed hard, adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage, though the motion sent a shiver of frustration through him. 

This was nothing new. 

Every time he was around you, it was like his body betrayed him, reacting to the sound of your voice, the sway of your hips, the smallest flick of your wrist as you gestured for him to follow.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you.

The way you carried yourself, confident and composed, made his chest tighten in ways that were equal parts admiration and raw, aching need.

You were everything Joel wasn’t. Steady. Collected. In control. And fuck if he didn’t crave that about you.

More than anything, he craved the way you made him feel. Like he could just… let go.

The thought sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock, and Joel bit back a groan, his hand clenching at his side. 

He’d spent years—decades—being the man people turned to, the one who handled the tough shit without complaint.

But with you? He didn’t want to be the guy in charge. 

He wanted to be the one following orders, wanted to be the one looking up at you, waiting for your approval. 

He wanted to make you proud. 

To hear you say his name the way you had earlier, with that faint hint of amusement, like you saw something in him that no one else ever had.

Goddamn it, he was pathetic.

Joel shook his head, muttering a low curse under his breath as he turned away from the town hall. 

The walk back to his house felt like a blur, his thoughts too tangled to focus on anything but you. 

Every step sent a dull throb through his cock, and by the time he reached his front door, his hands were trembling, his jaw tight with restraint.

Inside, Joel leaned heavily against the door, the cool wood pressing into his back as he exhaled shakily. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, the pounding of his heart loud in the stillness of the house. 

The faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots reminded him he wasn’t dreaming, though he almost wished he were—wished the memory of you wasn’t so vivid it set his whole body on fire.

His jacket slid from his shoulders and hung limply on the hook by the door, but the ritual did little to calm him. 

His hand lingered against the fabric, fingers gripping tightly for a moment as though holding on to it might anchor him. But there was no escape—not from the way you lingered in his thoughts, the way your voice echoed in his ears like a melody he couldn’t shake.

C’mere, Joel. I need you to check this.

C’mere, Joel….

The words played on repeat, the confidence in your tone, the subtle curve of authority behind every syllable. 

The way you’d glanced at him tonight, your eyes catching his for just a second longer than necessary—it was enough to drive him insane. 

Joel groaned softly, the sound rough and guttural as he pressed the heel of his palm against the stiff, aching bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that might clear it. But it didn’t. It never did. He’d thought about you like this too many times to count. 

Late at night, alone in the dark, his fist slick and tight around his cock, imagining you leaning over him, your voice a breathy, commanding whisper.

“Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

It was the praise that undid him every time, the approval he ached for, that soft edge of control in your voice that made his chest tighten and his hips buck into his hand. 

Joel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he pushed off the door, his steps hurried and uneven as he made his way toward the bedroom. 

His body was hot, his skin flushed as he kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his breath coming fast and shallow.

He didn’t bother with the lights. There was no point when the image of you burned so brightly in his mind.

His hands fumbled with his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp hiss before he shoved his jeans down his thighs, kicking them aside. 

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Joel wrapped his calloused fingers around himself, his rough palm dragging slowly along the length as his head tipped back against the door. 

A soft, broken groan escaped his lips, and he tightened his grip, savoring the sharp sensation.

“Yes,” Joel whispered hoarsely, his hips jerking into his hand as the thought took hold.

The image was so vivid it made his knees weak.

“On your knees, Joel. Let me see how much you want it.”

He imagined you standing over him, your hands on your hips, your lips curved into that wicked, knowing smile.

You’d look down at him like you owned him, and Joel would crumble beneath that gaze, his body desperate to obey.

His hand moved faster, his strokes rougher as his chest heaved. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick and broken. “I’d do it. Anything you want, darlin’. Just… just fuckin’ tell me.”

And then, there was the fantasy he couldn’t shake. You’d guide him down—your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss as you tilted his face up toward yours.

“You want to make me feel good, baby? Show me.” You’d press his face between your thighs, your warmth surrounding him, and Joel would lose himself.

He could almost feel it—the softness of your skin, the slick heat of your cunt against his lips. His tongue would trace slow, deliberate circles around your clit, savoring the way your body trembled beneath his mouth. 

You’d moan his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it would be the only thing he cared about.

Joel groaned loudly, his hips jerking off the door as his hand tightened, the slick sound filling the room. “Please,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “Please, darlin’. Let me be good for you. Let me—”

He imagined you grinding against his face, your thighs clenching around his head as you guided him, demanding more. “That’s it, Joel. Just like that. Don’t stop until I come, baby.”

The thought of your approval, of hearing you call him a good boy as he worked tirelessly to please you, made his cock throb painfully in his hand. “I’d do it,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’d fuckin’ worship you, darlin’. Just say the word.”

The tension snapped, his body locking up as his release hit. Hot, thick spurts spilled over his hand, his voice breaking into a low, guttural groan as his hips jerked helplessly. 

Your name fell from his lips, raw and reverent, as the pleasure coursed through him, leaving him trembling and spent.

For a long moment, Joel stood there, his chest heaving, his hand still wrapped loosely around his softening cock. 

The air was thick with the scent of his arousal, the evidence of his need dripping onto the floor, and yet all he could think about was you. Your voice, your smile, the way you made him feel like he could let go of everything and just… be.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he finally pushed off the door and reached for a towel. 

He cleaned himself up quickly, his thoughts still tangled, his body still thrumming with the remnants of his release. But even as the tension faded, the ache lingered—the desperate, aching need for you.

For your voice. For your touch. For your approval.

And Joel knew he’d never stop wanting it. Never stop wanting you.

Because this wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Not until he had you.

Not until he could hear you say his name the way he’d always dreamed, soft and breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders as you told him exactly what to do.

· · ───

The sun was barely cresting the horizon as you and Joel set out toward the riverbank, the chilly morning air biting at your cheeks. Joel kept a steady pace beside you, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dense treeline with practiced precision.

Despite the tension that always came with patrols, there was a comfort in your presence—a grounding force that he couldn’t quite put into words.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, familiar and steady, and Joel found himself stealing glances at you more than he should.

You walked with such assuredness, each step purposeful, and the soft sway of your hips had him swallowing harder than necessary.

He tried to focus, but your commanding presence made it impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and grounded.

“See this?” you murmured, crouching near a patch of disturbed dirt. Your voice was low, clipped, yet patient as you gestured for him to come closer. “Looks like someone’s been through here recently. More than one.”

Joel crouched beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he examined the ground.

The way your hair caught the morning light, the subtle curve of your neck—it was too much. His chest tightened as he forced his gaze to the dirt and away from the way your lips parted slightly in concentration.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than intended. “Could be raiders.”

“Could be,” you agreed, straightening and adjusting the strap of your pack. “Let’s keep moving. Stay sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel said before he could stop himself, the words slipping out instinctively.

You glanced at him, one brow arching, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

You turned without a word, leading the way through the uneven terrain. Joel followed close behind, his pulse quickening with every step. 

You always had this effect on him, like you were a magnet and he couldn’t help but be pulled in.

The ambush came fast. 

Raiders poured from the treeline, their weapons raised, shouts breaking the morning quiet. 

Joel moved on instinct, diving behind a fallen log and returning fire, but it was you who commanded the chaos with sharp, decisive orders.

“Joel! Left flank! Cover me!”

He obeyed without question, his rifle steady as he took down one of the raiders attempting to circle around. 

Even in the heat of the moment, his eyes kept darting to you—how you moved like a ghost through the underbrush, your aim deadly, your composure unshaken.

But when one of them charged at your blind spot, Joel didn’t think. He moved.

The gunshot echoed like thunder as he dropped the man with a single shot. 

You spun to face him, your eyes wide—not with fear but with something else. Relief? Gratitude? Whatever it was, it made his chest swell.

“Thanks,” you said, your tone steady despite the chaos. “But I told you—stay back.”

Joel gritted his teeth but nodded, ducking back behind cover as you finished off the last of the raiders. 

When the dust settled, you stood amidst the wreckage, your rifle slung over your shoulder, your expression calm but sharp. 

You scanned the area one last time before nodding.

“We’re clear,” you said, turning toward him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, though his arm burned where a bullet had grazed him. 

He shifted, trying to hide the blood seeping through his sleeve.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re hit.”

“It’s nothin’,” he muttered, brushing it off.

“It’s not nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer. Your hand grabbed his arm, firm but not harsh. “We’re done here. You’re going back to Jackson. Now.”

Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I can keep goin’. I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips pulling into a wry, almost dangerous smile. 

“Joel,” you said, your voice low but laced with authority that sent a shiver down his spine. “Do I look like I’m asking?”

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time, almost reverent.

“Good.” Your fingers lingered on his arm for just a second longer than necessary, the heat of your touch branding him, before you turned toward the horses. “Let’s move.”

At the clinic, Joel sat on the cot, his shirt discarded, the gash on his arm raw and angry. He winced as the doctor worked, stitching the wound with quick precision. 

But his eyes weren’t on the needle or the thread—they were on you, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

“You’ll need to rest for at least a couple days,” the doctor said, tying off the final stitch. “No patrols, no heavy lifting.”

Joel opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp glance silenced him immediately.

“Got it,” you said curtly, nodding at the doctor. “Thank you.”

When the doctor left, you turned to Joel, your arms dropping to your sides as you stepped closer. “Let’s get you home.”

Back at his house, you guided him inside, your hand on his arm, your touch firm and steady. 

Joel sank onto the couch with a groan, his body heavier than he wanted to admit. You moved with purpose, disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with a damp cloth and a glass of water.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a look that had him snapping his mouth shut.

“Let me,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

You knelt beside him, pressing the cloth gently to his arm. Joel swallowed hard, his breath catching at the sight of you so close, your fingers brushing against his skin.

The faint scent of you—clean and sharp, with a hint of something sweet—filled his senses, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out.

When you finished, you sat back on your heels, your eyes meeting his. “Joel,” you said softly, “why do you push yourself so hard?”

Joel looked away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t wanna feel useless,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna… be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” you said firmly, leaning closer, your voice carrying a weight that made Joel’s chest ache. “You’re the furthest thing from it.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his breath catching at the intensity in your gaze. “I just…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I just wanna be good for you. Wanna make you proud.”

You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips.

“You already are, Joel,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his face. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, and Joel leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Joel’s breath was uneven, his good hand curling into a fist on his thigh as he struggled to find the words.

You sat beside him on the couch, quiet and steady, your eyes on his face, your expression calm yet unreadable. It only made him more frantic.

“I—I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” Joel stammered, his voice rough and breaking. 

He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm trembling slightly as if he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“I need… I need you close. I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, but I—I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak. You just nodded slowly, your gaze unwavering, and it made him feel both exposed and comforted all at once. The tension in his chest was unbearable.

“I—dammit,” he muttered, his voice thick, his gaze darting everywhere but your face.

“I’m tryin’ to say it right, but I don’t—I can’t—I need you, alright? I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you—how you’re always so damn steady, and you—”

He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes finally locking on yours. They were glassy now, his vulnerability laid bare. “You make it easier, y’know? Just bein’ around you… I feel like I can breathe. Like maybe I ain’t so—so broken after all. And I… I need that. I need you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t pitying. It was understanding, warm, and Joel swore it made his chest ache even more.

“Baby,” you murmured softly, the endearment sending a shiver down his spine. “You like me…romantically?”

Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching as your words settled over him. His lips parted, but all he could do was nod, the movement small and jerky, like he was afraid to admit it outright.

“Want to be good for me?” you asked, your voice a low, soothing hum.

Joel’s nod came faster this time, his breathing growing heavier as he leaned into you, desperate for something he couldn’t quite name.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw. 

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut as you pressed your lips to his, soft and lingering, and the low, guttural sound he made against your mouth was filled with need. 

His hand reached out, gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you, and his lips parted under yours, seeking more.

But just as he leaned into the kiss, you pulled back, your face still close enough that your breath mingled with his.

“Get better for me first, yeah?” you murmured, your thumb trailing along his jaw.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “No, please,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate. 

“Please, I can’t—I’ve been waitin’ for so long. Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

You shushed him softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, and Joel practically melted under your touch, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

“You’ll wait,” you said firmly, though your tone was still warm. “Because you’re mine, and I’m not about to let you go. But first, I need you strong, Joel. Need you rested. Yeah?”

Joel let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he nodded, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Alright. But just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Well…you know me, baby,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the crown of his head.

Joel’s breath hitched again, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as if to prove to himself that you were real. And as the weight of the moment settled between you, he felt something he hadn’t in years—peace.

· · ───

Joel had never been good at resting, but being sidelined for days was pure torture.

His arm still kinda ached where the stitches pulled at the edges of the wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety that came from not seeing you. 

Three days felt like a lifetime, and every hour that passed without you made his chest feel tighter.

You’d been on patrol since the crack of dawn, and Joel had spent most of the day pacing around his house, every creak of the floorboards setting his nerves on edge. 

He hadn’t wanted to push his luck with the doctor or you, so he’d stayed home, but the absence of your presence was like a physical ache.

He’d heard the patrol schedule—you were checking the area near the riverbank, where the raiders had been sighted. 

The thought of you out there, alone or with someone who wasn’t him, made his stomach churn.

Joel knew you could handle yourself—he’d seen it firsthand—but the idea of you in danger without him there to back you up was unbearable.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Joel couldn’t take it anymore. 

His boots thudded against the wooden floors as he grabbed his jacket and rifle, the pain in his arm be damned.

If he didn’t see you soon, he was going to lose his mind.

The gates of Jackson were quiet, the air cool and crisp as Joel made his way toward the watchtower. A few guards gave him curious glances, but no one stopped him. He wasn’t exactly known for staying out of trouble, injured or not.

“Have you seen her?” Joel asked one of the guards at the gate, his voice gruff.

“Think she’s still out near the west ridge,” the man replied, tilting his hat back. “They were due back an hour ago, though.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. An hour ago. His grip on his rifle tightened as he set off toward the west ridge, his boots crunching against the gravel.

The relief was like a flood when he spotted you in the distance, your silhouette unmistakable against the fading light.

You were walking back toward the gates, your pack slung over your shoulder, your rifle in hand. Joel’s breath hitched at the sight of you, his steps quickening as he closed the distance between you.

“Where the hell have you been?” Joel barked, his voice harsher than he intended as he reached you.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his tone. “Patrol. Where I said I’d be.”

“You were late,” Joel muttered, his gaze sweeping over you, searching for any sign of injury. “Anything happen out there?”

“Couple of runners,” you replied, brushing past him toward the gate. “Nothing bad.”

Joel followed you, his chest tight as he struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve sent word. Let someone know you were runnin’ behind.”

You turned to face him then, your eyes sharp. “Joel, I’m fine. I’m more worried about why you’re out here when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I was worried about you,” Joel admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Didn’t like not knowin’ if you were okay.”

Your expression softened, and you let out a quiet sigh. “Joel, I told you I’d be back.”

“And what if somethin’ had happened?” Joel pressed, his voice growing rough. “What if—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

You stepped closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. “Hey,” you said softly, your tone soothing. “I’m here. I’m okay. And you need to trust that I can take care of myself.”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the steadiness in your gaze. “I know you can,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry.”

You smiled faintly, squeezing his arm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Joel huffed a laugh, the sound low and rough. “Ain’t what I meant, but… yeah, take it how you want.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging him toward the gate. “Let’s get you home. You’re not supposed to be out here.”

Joel wanted to argue, but the warmth in your voice and the steady grip on his arm made it impossible.

He let you guide him back toward his house, the tension in his chest slowly unwinding with every step.

The walk back to Joel’s house was quiet at first, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm. But as you neared the porch, Joel’s tongue loosened, and the floodgates opened.

“What was it like out there today? Was it quiet before the runners? Were they close? You eat somethin’? Drink enough water?”

You chuckled softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Joel, I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps faltering slightly as you led him inside. “Just… can’t stop thinkin’ about it. About you. Out there without me.”

His voice was rough, his words tumbling out so quickly he barely had time to filter them. “I mean, I know you’re capable—hell, more than capable—but I wasn’t there, and… I hate not bein’ there.”

You stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face him. Joel’s eyes darted over you, like he was trying to memorize every detail, his breathing uneven, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare.

“You’re rambling, Joel,” you said softly, your voice calm and steady as you reached up to cup his cheek.

Joel froze, his breath hitching at your touch, his wide eyes locking onto yours. “I just…” he began, his voice faltering. “I just—”

“Hush,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I’m here. I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere for another 4 days.”

Joel exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch like a man starved. “I know,” he rasped. “I know, but I can’t stop—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips soft and warm against his, and Joel melted beneath it, his whole body going taut before he relaxed into the moment. 

His hands found your hips, tentative at first, then firm, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you pulled back, his lips chased yours for a heartbeat before he caught himself, his eyes fluttering open. He looked dazed, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you.

You smiled softly, the sound of his uneven breathing filling the space between you.

Joel’s lips parted as if to speak, but before he could, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. His groan was low and deep, the kind that seemed to come from the very center of him, vibrating through your chest.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, his need unmistakable.

When your lips parted and your tongue brushed against his, Joel whimpered—a sound so desperate, so raw, it sent a rush of heat straight through you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly into the kiss, and Joel’s grip faltered for a second, his lips pulling into a shaky smile against yours.

“Why’re you laughin’?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’re eager,” you teased, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. “It’s sweet.”

Joel groaned again, his cheeks flushing as his hands smoothed up your sides. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “You’re drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Been thinkin’ about this for too long.”

His gaze dropped, and his eyes darkened as they settled on the curve of your breasts, visible through the gap in your blouse.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare without permission. “You’re perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you ran your fingers along his jaw. “Joel,” you said, your tone firmer now, and he immediately snapped his gaze back up to meet yours, his breath hitching. “What are you lookin’ at?”

His cheeks went even redder, but he didn’t look away.

Your lips quirked into a sly smile, and you reached up to unbutton the top of your blouse slowly, deliberately. Joel’s eyes tracked every movement, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his cock straining visibly against his jeans.

“You’ve healed up, huh?” you asked, your tone playful, and Joel nodded quickly, his hands shaking slightly.

“Barely feel it,” he murmured, his voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, darlin’. Please let me—”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you pushed the blouse from your shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“Go ahead, Joel,” you said, your voice steady but laced with heat. “If you think you can handle it.”

Joel groaned, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashed into yours.

His kisses were messy, desperate, his lips sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed your body, shaky but reverent, sliding up your ribs and hovering just below your chest.

“Eager little thing,” you murmured against his mouth, and Joel whimpered at the words, his hips pressing against yours as his arousal became undeniable.

“Can’t help it,” he breathed, his voice shaky and desperate. “Been wantin’ to get my mouth on you for so long. Wanna lick every inch of you. Fuck, those pretty nipples—been dyin’ to suck on ‘em, darlin’. Let me taste you, please.”

The way his voice cracked, the way he clung to you—it was enough to make your resolve waver. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easily. Not yet.

“Bed,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to guide him toward the bedroom. Joel followed without hesitation, his hands still on you, his body trembling with barely-contained need.

“Sit down, baby,” you murmured, your voice firm but teasing as you pushed him gently onto the mattress.

Joel sat immediately, lips wet and swollen from your kisses, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you like you were a goddess he was desperate to worship.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking to your chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You stepped between his legs, running your hands up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch.

“Is this what you’ve been dreamin’ about, Joel?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in close. “Me, standin’ over you like this, lettin’ you look your fill?”

Joel groaned, his head tipping back as his hips jerked involuntarily. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Every night, darlin’. I—fuck—I think about you all the time. Can’t stop.”

You smirked, running your hands higher until your fingers brushed against the hard, throbbing bulge straining beneath his jeans. Joel’s breath hitched, his hips lifting slightly as if to chase your touch.

“Bet you’ve been strokin’ that cock to the thought of me, haven’t you?” you purred, your nails scraping lightly along his thighs.

“Thinking about my tits, my mouth, wonderin’ what it’d feel like to have me all over you?”

Joel let out a broken whimper, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as he nodded. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Fuck, yes. I think about you all the time—Drives me crazy.”

You laughed softly, Joel’s eyes focused, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you, his gaze zeroing in on your breasts, the way your nipples pebbled in the cool air.

You reached up, cupping your breasts and squeezing them lightly, your thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Wanna taste them, baby? Wanna feel my tits in your mouth?”

Joel groaned loudly, his hands clenching into fists as his cock strained painfully against his jeans. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, let me—fuck, let me taste them."

You smirked, stepping closer and guiding his hands to your hips. “Go on then, baby,” you murmured, leaning in until your chest was level with his face. “Show me how much you want it.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples with a desperate groan. 

His lips were hot and eager, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. “Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

Joel whimpered against your skin, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently as he switched to your other nipple. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, his lips tugging and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Finally” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less desperate.

You chuckled softly, grinding your hips against his lap, feeling the hard line of his cock pressing against your thigh. “You’re so needy,” you teased, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself, can you?”

Joel shook his head, his mouth still attached to your nipple as he let out a low, guttural moan. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he rocked against you, his cock throbbing beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

“Can’t help it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “You’re all I think about. All I want.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Then be a good boy for me, Joel,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “Keep sucking.”

Joel groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved back to your breast, sucking and licking with renewed fervor. His hips bucked against yours, his need spilling out in every touch, every sound.

“You like these, baby?” you murmured, cupping your breast and brushing your thumb over your wet, glistening nipples. “My sweet boy likes them, hm?”

Joel froze for a moment, his pupils dilating as the meaning of your words sank in. His hips bucked sharply, and he let out a strangled moan, his whole body trembling beneath you.

“Fuck, I-,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his head fell back against the headboard. “Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry—I can’t… I’m—fuck!”

You felt the unmistakable heat and dampness spreading as Joel’s hips jerked one last time, his moans spilling into the quiet room. His face flushed a deep red, his chest heaving as he realized what had just happened.

“Shit,” he muttered again, his voice thick with embarrassment as he covered his face with one hand. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I’m so sorry. This is so stupid—”

“Joel,” you interrupted, your voice firm but soothing as you brushed his hand away from his face. “Look at me.”

He did, his eyes wide and vulnerable, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. The sight of him—flushed, desperate, and utterly wrecked—only made you want him more.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m flattered, baby. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to come in your pants for me.”

Joel let out a choked sound, his hips twitching involuntarily beneath you.

“I… fuck, darlin’, you make me crazy,” he admitted hoarsely. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. I need you. Please… let me make it up to you.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Still wanna keep going, baby?” you whispered, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “After you’ve already made such a mess?”

Joel nodded frantically, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I don’t think I ever wanna stop, ma’am. Please… let me taste you. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head as you studied him, your expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, you smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Undress me,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm.

Joel flushed, his hands moving to your waist again. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your pants, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for permission. 

You nodded, leaning back onto the bed as you let him guide the fabric down your legs, his touch careful but firm.

By the time your pants were off, you were sprawled out on the bed, your back resting against the pillows. 

Joel knelt between your legs, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes drinking in every detail like he was trying to commit it to memory.

"You're beautiful," he said again, his voice breaking slightly as his fingers slid along the waistband of your panties. 

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands clumsy but desperate as he unbuttoned your pants and slid them down your legs.

He paused when he saw your panties, a visible wet spot already soaking through the fabric. His breath hitched, and he let out a shaky, “Fuck… look at that. So wet for me, darlin’. Goddamn.”

His hands trembled as he paused, glancing up at you for reassurance.

You smirked, one eyebrow arching as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

"Go on, baby," you murmured, your voice soft and encouraging. "You've got me all to yourself. Do what you've been dreaming about."

Joel’s hands hovered over your hips for a moment before he finally let them settle there, his thumbs brushing against the edge of your panties.

Joel settled between your legs like he was kneeling before an altar, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling as he slid along the waistband of your panties.

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and wide with need, and you gave him the softest smile, threading your fingers into his hair as you gently tugged him closer.

“yeah, baby” you murmured, your voice dripping with encouragement.

His breath hitched, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He kissed you there, slow and reverent, his beard grazing your flesh and sending shivers through you. Each kiss was accompanied by a low, throaty groan, his lips moving steadily closer to the source of your heat.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he reached the edge of your panties. His nose pressed against the damp fabric, and he inhaled sharply, the sound guttural and desperate.

“Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’. Like heaven—sweet, wet heaven.”

His hands trembled as they gripped your thighs, holding you open as he buried his face against you, nuzzling and inhaling like he couldn’t get enough.

The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your calves, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his breath and the wet heat of his mouth against your panties.

“Been dreamin’ about this—about your sweet cunt for so fuckin’ long. Want it so bad, baby. Wanna taste you—wanna lick you, suck that pretty clit between my lips and drink you down till there’s nothin’ left.”

You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging gently, encouraging him.

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice low and breathless. “You wanna eat me out, baby? Wanna show me how good that mouth of yours is? Then take them off.”

Joel knelt between your thighs, trembling as he slid your soaked panties down your legs.

He didn’t even try to hide the way his breath hitched when your cunt was fully exposed to him, glistening and perfect.

His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths as he just stared for a moment, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“You just gonna look, Joel?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently. “Or are you gonna be a good boy and show me what you can do?”

That broke him. His head dipped instantly, his breath ghosting hot over your slick folds as he whispered, “Yes… yes, ma’am.” His voice was low, reverent, almost a prayer.

The first touch of his tongue was hesitant but deliberate, a slow drag from your entrance to your clit, as if he wanted to savor you.

He groaned into you, the sound muffled but deep, and then he leaned in further, pressing his mouth to your cunt like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice soft but thick with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so eager for it. Just like that.”

Joel didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.

He was too focused, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he worked his tongue through every inch of your folds.

His breath hitched as he tasted you, his lips sealing over your clit for a moment to suck softly before his tongue returned to explore your entrance.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, your hips arching slightly into his mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that. Look at you, so hungry for me. You love this, don’t you? Love worshipping my pussy.”

His only response was a desperate, muffled groan and moaning as he shifted his grip, spreading your thighs wider. 

His nose pressed against your clit, and he rubbed it there as his tongue delved inside you, slow and deliberate, tasting you from the inside out. 

His breathing was ragged now, warm puffs of air against your heat between each swipe of his tongue.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered hoarsely against you, his voice barely audible over the sound of his mouth working your cunt. “Fuck… taste so good. Yes. Yes, ma’am…”

You tugged his hair lightly, guiding him just where you wanted, and he followed without hesitation, his moans vibrating through your core. 

His nose nudged your clit again, his tongue lapping at your entrance with long, languid strokes, and your moans filled the room, soft and breathy.

“That’s it,” you encouraged, your voice breaking slightly as he found just the right rhythm. “Such a good boy. Keep going, baby. Make me come.”

Joel groaned deeply, the sound muffled as he pressed his face impossibly closer to your core, his lips locking around your clit. 

Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of you.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, anchoring himself to you as his nose pressed against your folds, adding pressure in all the right places.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you combed your fingers through his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed him. “Keep going, baby. Suck my clit just like that.”

Joel whimpered against you, the sound low and wrecked, and he obeyed without hesitation, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub between pulls. 

He groaned again, his hips shifting slightly as if he couldn’t help but grind against the mattress, completely undone by the act of pleasuring you.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as the tension in your core tightened to an unbearable degree.

“Fuck, Joel—don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He moaned louder at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he doubled down, his lips creating just the right amount of pressure while his tongue worked you mercilessly. 

His nose nudged against your clit in rhythm with his sucking, the sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” he murmured against you between strokes, his voice trembling with need. “Wanna make you come, ma’am. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, waves of pleasure crashing through you so hard you couldn’t even form words. 

Joel groaned against you, his tongue and lips relentless as he rode out your release, his moans vibrating through every sensitive nerve ending.

When you finally came down, your thighs trembling and your breath shaky, Joel slowly pulled back, his lips glistening and swollen, his face flushed and eyes glazed with pure adoration.

He looked like a man on his knees at the altar of a goddess.

“perfect,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, his gaze fixed on your blissed-out expression.

“Did I do good?” he asked quietly, his voice raw and hoarse.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Better than good, baby,” you murmured. “Fuck.”

Joel’s eyes darted to yours, wide and full of something raw and pleading. 

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke, his voice trembling with need. “Please… can I keep goin’? Just a little more. I don’t wanna stop. Wanna taste you again, ma’am.”

His mouth found your clit in a featherlight kiss, his tongue flicking out experimentally, careful and reverent as though seeking permission. 

His hands slid up your thighs, holding them open like you might change your mind.

“Joel,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hand threading into his hair and tugging just enough to stop him. “No, baby. I wanna feel you now.”

Joel froze, his breath hitching, and he whined softly against your skin, the sound almost pitiful. “But—” he started, his lips pressing to your clit again in a desperate, fleeting kiss. “I can make you come again. Please, I—”

“Joel.” Your voice was sharper this time, not cruel but commanding. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips glistening and his pupils blown wide. “You’ve been so good, baby, but I want you now. Don’t make me ask twice.”

The words sent a visible shudder through him. He hesitated for half a second before pulling back reluctantly, his lips parted as if to protest but no words came out. His hands lingered on your thighs, squeezing gently as he swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally said, his voice low and hoarse, the respect and submission in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

He sat back on his heels, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your next command.

You leaned up slightly, cupping his cheek with one hand, your thumb brushing over his flushed skin. His lips were parted, breathless, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. 

“You’ve done so well, baby,” you murmured softly, letting your other hand trail down his chest. “But I need to see all of you. Let’s get this off.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his wide eyes locking onto yours as you reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Yes,” he whispered, the words shaky and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this moment.

One by one, you undid the buttons, the fabric parting to reveal the broad expanse of his chest.

You slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed as you sat back to admire him.

Your gaze swept over the planes of his body—the strong curve of his shoulders, the scars that marred his skin, the soft dusting of hair on his chest.

“Fuck, Joel,” you murmured, your voice full of heat and awe. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

His cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Don’t know about that,” he mumbled, his voice low and unsure.

You leaned forward, your hands sliding over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his scars.

“Oh, I do,” you purred, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re fucking perfect, Joel. Every inch of you.”

Your fingers grazed his nipples, and Joel froze, his breath catching audibly. The faintest shiver ran through his body, and he let out a soft, shaky, “Ma’am…”

You smirked, leaning in closer. “Sensitive, huh?” you murmured, circling the hardened peaks with your thumbs.

Joel let out a broken gasp, his hips jerking into the air as his hands gripped the sheets beneath him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and desperate. “Didn’t… didn’t know I -.”

“You didn’t?” you teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to one nipple before flicking your tongue over it. Joel’s reaction was instant—a guttural moan that sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Sweetheart I-” he gasped again, his hands trembling as they hovered near your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I—fuck, I—”

“Hush, baby,” you whispered, shifting to his other nipple and sucking it into your mouth. 

Joel cried out, his head falling back against the pillows as his chest arched into your touch.

His hips bucked again, and you could feel how hard he was, straining against the confines of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know… didn’t know I could feel this good. Please, don’t stop.”

You hummed against his skin, your tongue teasing over the sensitive bud before you nipped at it gently. Joel’s whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you murmured, sitting back to admire the way his chest heaved, his eyes wide and glassy. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.”

Joel shook his head frantically, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No,” he breathed. “Never. Fuck, it’s—ma’am, it’s so good.”

You let your hands drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his ribs and the soft curve of his stomach. Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a shaky moan as your fingers teased the waistband of his jeans.

“You want more, baby?” you asked softly, your voice teasing and full of promise.

Joel nodded frantically, his voice barely above a whisper as he rasped, “Please… please, ma’am. Anything you want.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, slowly pulling them down along with his underwear, your eyes drinking in the sight of him as he was finally exposed.

Joel’s cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the head an angry, swollen red and glistening with his earlier release.

Pearly streaks of cum had smeared down his shaft, pooling at the base and even dripping onto his balls. You let out a low hum of approval, your lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Such a mess,” you tutted, your voice thick with teasing affection. “You’ve really made quite the mess, baby.”

Joel’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he avoided your gaze, his embarrassment clear. But his hips jerked slightly, almost involuntarily, at the heat in your voice.

“Aw, don’t get shy on me now,” you teased, your fingers curling gently around his cock, feeling the slickness of him against your palm.

“This is nothing to be embarrassed about. It just shows how much you need me.”

Joel whimpered, his voice breaking as he finally met your eyes. “I… I can’t help it,” he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling. “You make me—fuck—you make me crazy.”

Your thumb stroked up the length of his shaft, smearing the sticky remnants of his cum before circling the sensitive head.

“I know, baby,” you cooed, your voice softening just a touch. “And I love how desperate you get for me. Let me clean you up first, okay? Can’t leave my good boy all messy like this.”

Joel nodded frantically, his lips parting as a shaky moan escaped him. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice thick with submission.

You leaned down, your tongue darting out to trace along the underside of his cock, starting at the base where his cum had pooled and slowly working your way up.

The taste of him was intoxicating, salty and musky, and you let out a quiet, pleased hum as you licked him clean. Joel’s entire body trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he struggled to stay still.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ma’am… oh, fuck…”

You didn’t stop, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, collecting every drop of his release before moving lower.

Your lips closed around one of his balls, sucking gently as your hand continued to stroke him, coaxing soft whimpers and gasps from his lips.

His thighs trembled, his breath hitching as you moved to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.

“You taste so good, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry as you pulled back slightly to admire your work. “Such a pretty cock, too. Look at you, all clean and perfect for me now.”

Joel moaned loudly, his head tipping back as his hands clenched the sheets even tighter. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I don’t deserve this.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing along the length of his cock, your touch light and teasing.

“You deserve every bit of this,” you said firmly, your voice dipping into a commanding tone. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you? Letting me take care of you like this.”

Joel’s hips jerked against your hand, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he nodded frantically.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Yes, ma’am. Please… please don’t stop.”

You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive slit.

“You want more, baby?” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction. “Want me to make you feel even better?”

Joel’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto yours as he nodded, his desperation palpable. “Please,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. Just… please let me feel you.”

You smiled, soft and knowing, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Anything, huh?” you teased, your voice low and dripping with promise. “Then show me, Joel. Show me how much you want this.”

Joel’s hands trembled as he gripped your hips, helping you straddle him. His cock pressed against your slick heat, and he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through both of you.

His eyes flicked between your face and where your bodies were about to join, his chest heaving with anticipation.

“Don’t make me wait,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, ma’am. Let me feel you.”

You reached down, guiding him to your entrance, your breath hitching as you slowly sank down onto him.

The stretch was delicious, the thickness of him filling you completely, and you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing on his chest. “You feel so good, baby. So big—.”

Joel’s head fell back against the pillows, his lips parted as a choked moan escaped him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect. Feels like heaven, darlin’. I—fuck—I can’t believe this.”

You rocked your hips slowly, letting yourself adjust to the feel of him before setting a steady rhythm.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he bucked up to meet you, his movements desperate and hungry.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you leaned over him, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s it, Joel. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”

Joel whimpered beneath you, his hips stuttering as he clung to you.

“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “The way you—fuck—the way you handle everything. The way you handle me.”

You tilted your head, studying him with soft affection as your hips moved steadily against his.

“Finally can let go, hm?” you murmured, your tone soothing yet commanding. “Yeah? Let me take care of you, Joel. You don’t have to worry so much.”

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as his hands slid up to cup your waist, holding you like you were his lifeline.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his hips bucking harder into you. “I—I worry about you, darlin’. But… but it’s an honor to. Always an honor.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply, swallowing the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.

His thrusts grew erratic beneath you, his chest heaving as he neared the edge.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid to let go.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his hips moved with a frantic rhythm beneath you, desperate and unrelenting. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

“You’re so fucking good, Joel,” you murmured against his lips, your voice heavy with affection and desire. “So perfect, baby. Keep going—don’t stop.”

His head tipped back, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat, a choked moan escaping his lips.

“I—I can’t—fuck, darlin’,” he gasped, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You feel so goddamn good. Can’t… can’t hold on much longer.”

You cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek.

“You don’t have to hold on,” you whispered, your voice a soothing command. “Let go for me, Joel. Let me feel you.”

Joel’s eyes widened, his pupils blown, and his hips snapped up into you with desperate force.

“You’re—God, you’re everything,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hands slid up your sides, trembling as they roamed over your body. “Everything, darlin'. Don’t wanna stop… don’t wanna lose this.”

“You’re not gonna lose anything,” you reassured him, your own voice breathy and uneven as you rocked against him harder, the friction pushing you closer to your own edge. “I’m here, Joel. Always. Now, give it to me, baby.”

Joel’s body tensed, his back arching off the bed as a guttural moan tore from his throat.

“Fuck!” he cried, his hands gripping your hips as his release hit him, his cock pulsing inside you with a heat that sent you spiraling.

The intensity of his climax triggered your own, your body tightening around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Your cries mingled with his, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, raw and unrestrained.

Joel’s hips stuttered beneath you, his movements slowing as he rode out the last shuddering waves of his orgasm. His hands loosened their grip on your hips, sliding up to cradle your back as he pulled you down against his chest, holding you close.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds in the room your labored breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. Joel’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re… you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with awe. “I don’t deserve you, darlin’. Don’t deserve any of this.”

You lifted your head, brushing your lips against his with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. “You deserve it all, Joel,” you murmured, your voice steady but warm. “Every damn bit. You’re good to me—you’re good for me.”

Joel’s eyes searched yours, shining with an emotion he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to hide. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your forehead in a lingering, reverent kiss.

"Now rest up. We’ve got work to do.”

· · ───

From then on, you and Joel became Jackson’s most formidable pair. Whether it was managing patrols, handling disputes, or protecting the town, people knew better than to question the two of you. Joel was your rock, steadfast and loyal, while you were the sharp, commanding presence that kept everything moving forward.

He was at your side for every decision, every challenge, always watching your back—and stealing those quiet moments when it was just the two of you. Joel wore his pride in you like a badge, unspoken but deeply felt, in the way his gaze lingered and his touch steadied you.

And every night, as the world outside grew dark, you both found solace in each other—a partnership built on trust, strength, and the kind of love that didn’t need words to be understood.

Joel always said it best in his own way: “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’. Always.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I am not beta reading all of that so if y'all find any errors tell me or ignore them like I did the past 22 years. Hope this was fun for you - please comment your opinions (plsplspls). I kinda feel like this is too long idk-

love youuuuuu