a/n: this story contains some very mild elements of dub-con due to rut/heat dynamics and instinct-driven behavior. all actions are ultimately consensual.
there are many interpretations of joel miller across fandom, and this is simply my own. this work is not intended to be a canon-accurate portrayal, but rather a version of the character that serves the story being told.
huge thank you to @joelsgoodgirl for giving this a first read and for telling me to stop being lazy.
Jackson is quiet, like it’s holding its breath. You hear the rumors first, whispers spreading like wildfire as people go about their day.
“Hasn’t been an unmated alpha in rut for years.”
“John heard that Ellie has to stay with Tommy & Maria ‘til it passes.”
“Barred the door and everything.”
You have to roll your eyes because of course Joel would be the one to send the town into a tizzy over something as basic as his rut. Big bad Joel Miller – so dangerous that everyone’s acting like he’s got a bomb strapped to chest.
Still, you don’t ask questions. You don’t feel the need to. It’s not your business, and Joel sure as hell isn’t your friend. On the contrary, you can’t stand Joel Miller. You even reserve the right to hate him sometimes and you’re sure he feels similarly.
He came waltzing into Jackson almost a year ago now, then disappeared for two months before returning worse for wear. Everyone walked on tiptoes around him, not only because he was Tommy’s brother, but because he was an alpha. A stupidly handsome, unmated alpha that you couldn’t stand.
It wasn’t just because he sneered anytime you spoke at a town meeting or because he corrected the patrol log like he was your handler rather than your partner. But, because of the way his eyes lingered sometimes – dark and unreadable, making it practically impossible to know what he’s thinking. You’ve not shared more than a handful of words with him outside of expressing your distaste for aloof alphas like him who act like they know better than those with other designations.
You didn’t think it would affect you, but you know that smell. You know exactly who it’s from and what it means and it clings to your olfactory nerves like smoke from a fire. You do what you can to avoid it, but as you’re heading back from the stables it hits you, wafting up under the bandana that’s wrapped around your face in an attempt to block his scent from further short-circuiting your brain. Burnt pine. Whiskey. Heat. Him.
It makes your knees buckle mid-step. You feel anger bubble up within you, causing you to clench your hands into fists by your side. You’re not in heat. You’ve never shown any signs of submission towards Joel. You don’t want Joel. Still, your body unconsciously tracks it, and you find yourself lingering just a little too long as you pass his street to get home.
That night, you can’t sleep for longer than a few hours. His scent is everywhere now, carried by the wind and seeping into the very fiber of your being. You wake up with your underwear soaked and are immediately disgusted with yourself.
When the sun comes up, you ready yourself for patrol, gathering your pack, boots, and gun. You’re halfway out the door when a new wave of Joel’s scent fills the air and you can’t help but inhale. Through gritted teeth, you finish locking up and start the trek into town, thankful for a chance to escape from the assault his stench was having on your senses. You’re joined by Maria who instantly notices the flush creeping up your neck, staining your cheeks pink.
“Hopefully just a few more days.” You notice how Maria gauges the way your lips pull into a frown and you feel yourself snap.
“Where the fuck is Tommy?”, you grunt, tossing your rifle over your shoulder. “Or is nobody doing anything about this?”
Maria stops in her tracks and stares at you for a moment. “He’s over at the North gate.” She seems hesitant to continue and you catch a flash of pity streaking her face. “He’s been checking on him every hour but–” She’s interrupted by the quick turn of your heel as you change directions towards the North gate, stomping away like you weren’t just in the middle of a conversation.
You find Tommy behind the old mill, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pacing and running a hand through his hair. He looks up from the ground when he hears your footsteps and lets out a long exhale when he sees you coming, like this moment was inevitable. “You here to yell at me too?”, he asks.
“Thinking about it,” you bite. “What the fuck happened?”
Tommy shifts on his feet, his hands settling on his hips in annoyance. “I don’t know. He didn’t catch it ‘til it was too late. You know I woulda sent him out to the old mine to ride it out, like we would anyone else.” He rubs a hand over his face, thick with stubble. “He’s not dangerous but…”, he trails off.
“But?”, you press, your mouth going dry.
“He’s not answering me anymore. I can hear him pacing and throwing things from across the street.”
You swallow hard, narrowing your eyes. “Why’re you telling me?”
Tommy sighs, and he looks at you like you already know the answer. “Same reason why you came to see me.”
There’s a moment of quiet as you silently acknowledge what’s being unsaid. Whether you want to admit it or not, your body is reacting to Joel’s scent in a way you can’t ignore. You’re not here entirely out of annoyance or civic duty. You’re here because the thought of Joel pacing and throwing things in that house, restless and uncontained, makes your chest feel tight.
“I know you don’t owe him shit. I wouldn’t ask if there was another way.”
“You’re not asking,” you mutter. “You were waiting.”
Tommy averts his eyes towards the ground and nods.
You don’t respond. You can’t. You turn and walk away with the intention to go back to the safety of your house, but find yourself turning onto Joel’s street.
You hate that you ended up here. You hate that no one tried to stop you. You hate that no one could have.
It gets worse the closer you get. Joel’s house looks abandoned, apart from the brand new paint job and impeccably maintained lawn. The front door and windows are boarded up and there’s no sign of lights on inside. His scent hits you in your lungs and settles deep in your stomach, making your instincts flare in a way that you don’t want to admit to.
You take a slow inhale through your nose as you stand at the bottom of the porch, your skin buzzing. “Go ahead and open it, Tommy”, you relent, knowing that the other man had followed you, curious to see what you would do.
You look back, shooting daggers at Tommy, your eyebrows pulling together in frustration and your jaw tightening. “Now. Before I change my mind.”
Tommy doesn’t argue, he just moves past you, up the stairs. His hands are shaking as he pries the wooden plank from the entrance, tossing the plank to the side. He finally looks to you, and for a second, something solemn passes over his face and he nods. “I’m sorry.” It’s quiet, honest, and full of guilt. Like he knows he’s asking too much of you. Like he knows that you’re the only one Joel would accept to walk through that door.
The hinges groan as you step inside and you’re immediately hit with the scent of Joel – so thick that it nearly drops you to your knees. You hear movement from upstairs, Joel’s steady pacing coming to a gradual standstill as he senses a change in the house. As he senses you.
You don’t have time to process before he appears at the top of the steps in a blur of motion. Shirtless, sweating, and towering over you from above. His hair is a mess, sticking every which way, and there are red marks down his chest and across his abdomen that are his own doing. His pupils are blown wide, fixed only on you.
He doesn’t move. He just looks, chest heaving as he stares you down. “No,” he growls.
Before you can protest, he’s barreling down the stairs, grabbing you by the front of your shirt. He drags you inside, slamming the door shut behind you with one hand and shoves you back against it. The wood digs into your spine and a soft scared gasp escapes from your lips. His palm lies flat against your chest, feeling the quickening pace of your heartbeat and holding you there like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“What the fuck’re you doin’ here,” he hisses, voice ragged.
You open your mouth to speak, and his hand slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat and holding you still. His nose drags along your jaw, breathing you in like you’re oxygen. “Not in heat,” he mutters. “Not even in heat and you’re fuckin’ here.”
You make a weak attempt to pull out of his grasp. “Get off me—”
“Why?” he snarls, slotting himself between your thighs, pressing himself against you. He’s hard – so hard it must be painful, and you can feel it strain through his sweatpants.
“You claim to hate me so much,” he murmurs. “So what the fuck are you doin’ here, omega?” He says the last word like it’s an insult – like it’s all you are.
You don’t answer because your body’s already answering for you, hips unconsciously jerk forward, reacting before your brain can remind you that you’re supposed to hate him.
“That’s what I thought,” he growls. “Just a filthy little bitch in denial.”
You flinch, not because of what he’s saying, but because it’s a little too close to the truth and he knows it. He can feel the way your throat bobs when you swallow. He can smell the humiliating scent of slick as it drips down your thighs. He can see the way your fingers twitch at your side, like part of you wants to shove him away and the other part wants to grab him by the hair and kiss him.
Joel leans in, his face just inches from yours, breath ghosting over your lips. “You gonna hit me?” he mutters. “Gonna spit in my face? Or are you finally gonna stop fuckin’ lying to the both of us?” He pauses. “You came here on your own, omega.” Then he takes one step back, looks you up and down and smirks. “Ain’t no going back now.”
He picks you up like you weigh nothing, your legs instinctually wrapping around his hips as your back hits the door again with a thud. You feel the heat of his cock through both of your clothes and it makes you squirm both in frustration and in want.
“You’re gonna beg for it,” he pants. “Gonna cry for my knot after runnin’ that mouth for months.”
He grinds against you, making you gasp as your hands scramble for purchase until they’re tangled around him. “Say it,” he rasps against your ear. “Say you came here for it.”
Your lip curls into a sneer and you thread your fingers into his hair. “Go fuck yourself.”
Joel laughs, like it turns him on that you’re still pretending that you don’t want this. That you don’t want him. “Don’t need to. Gonna fuck you.”
He shifts his grip, hiking you up his body with one arm under your ass and the other pressed to the small of your back. He walks you further into the house, his mouth hot against the column of your neck, like he can’t decide whether he wants to taste you or bite you.
As you move into the living room, you note that the couch cushions are tossed recklessly to the floor and that a throw pillow has been shredded to nothing but feathers. Joel doesn’t make any mention of it and drops to his knees, bringing you down with him onto the old rug.
He strips your shirt over your head, not caring where it lands, and the cool air hits your skin for half a second before he’s on you again. He doesn’t bother with your bra, instead his hands fall to the waistband of your jeans where he starts to fumble with the button. He growls in impatience and rips the denim apart, popping the button clean off, shoving the fabric past your knees before tossing them into the darkness.
You try to sit up – to glare or chide him for ruining your favorite pair of pants, but he catches your wrists and slams you back down to the floor, pinning you with one hand while his other moves between your thighs. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he pants. “Had dreams ‘bout you fightin’ me like this. Sayin’ one thing but your cunt already beggin’.”
Your hips buck involuntarily and you let out a breathy moan, keening into his touch. Joel groans and grinds the heel of his hand further into you, brushing your clit and making your eyes flutter shut. “You hate me so much, but your pussy’s soaked.”
Joel sits back on his knees and you blink your eyes open at the loss of contact. You lift yourself onto your elbows and watch as he drags your underwear down your legs and brings them up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “You’re sick.”, you spit.
He lets out a small laugh, and starts to palm himself over his sweatpants, his eyes flicking between your face and your cunt. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”
Joel smirks, moving his hand from his bulge to your face, running his thumb over your lips. “Open.” Your jaw opens automatically – instinctually. “Good girl.”
There’s a rush of blood to your ears and you can’t help but preen at his praise, as he presses his thumb into your mouth. Then in one smooth motion, he replaces it, stuffing your panties between your lips and covering your mouth with his hand.
You flail your arms, trying to fight him off, but he does the same move as before, pinning you to the floor. This time though, he’s over top of you and just inches from your face. He can see how you’re seething. Not only at how easily you followed his command but at where it got you. “Keep your pretty mouth shut.”
He lifts his hand from your mouth and yanks down his sweatpants, his cock springing free. You knew he would be big, you could tell by the way he carried himself, but the sight of him has your eyes growing wide. “What?” he mocks. “Not so brave now, huh?”
His cock is thick, the kind that stretches you even before he’s fully in. There’s a slight upward curve to it and a prominent vein that leads all the way to the base of him where you can see the beginnings of his knot threatening to swell. His pubic hair’s trimmed down, rough and streaked with grey like the rest of him. The tip is flushed dark and already leaking, smearing precome across your inner thigh as he lines himself up.
“Feel that?” he growls, dragging the blunt head through your slick folds where it catches on your entrance causing you to jolt upwards. You spread your legs wider, and let out a shameless whine muffled by your underwear, and he takes that as a sign.
He’s not gentle by any means. He buries himself inside you with a grunt and the stretch is brutal. You’re stretched to the point of pain, your walls spasming helplessly around him, but Joel’s not giving you time to adjust. “There she is,” he breathes.
You try to twist to get some kind of leverage and he just grinds his hips in an effort to get deeper. “You talk so much shit, omega”, he huffs. “All that fuckin’ attitude. And now look at you. Tight little thing. Whinin’ on my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”
He sets a harsh rhythm as he starts to fuck you. You try to speak, tears forming in your eyes, and he chokes out a laugh. “What’s that now?” He removes the soaked fabric from your mouth and you spit in his face. “I hate you”, you hiss through your teeth.
Joel wipes your spit from his face and grins. When he speaks, he slams into you harder, each sentence staccatoed by an accompanied thrust.
“Fight me.”
“Hate me.”
“Just don’t stop fuckin’ takin’ it.”
He fucks you with deep, punishing strokes that leave no room to breathe. Just him, the sound of your slick and the burn in your thighs. You try to pull away and the grip on your hands tighten. You twist your hips away and he presses in deeper.
You hate him for how good it feels. You fucking love it.
You feel your orgasm building, curling low in your belly, but every time his cock grinds deep against that spot inside you, it coils tighter.
And of course he fucking feels it. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls, hips pounding harder now, driving your body into the floor. “You come on my cock, I’ll never let you forget it.”
Your eyes squeeze shut like that might stop it but the pressure is quick and impossible to fight. He doesn’t slow down though. He doesn’t even give you a second to breathe before you’re choking on a sob, trying to keep quiet. He watches as your orgasm overtakes you, your pussy clenching around him. He fucks you through it, mean and unrelenting, his breath ragged against your skin. “Fuckin’ pathetic. Didn’t even need my knot to make you fall apart”, he says, his voice dripping venom.
Joel frees your wrists and starts to manhandle you into a better angle, dragging your hips higher so you’re split wider for him. Your hands fall limp as he shifts, rutting forward like he’s trying to knock the air from your lungs.
A low growl slips from his lips as his pace turns sloppier. Every thrust hits deeper – harder, until your legs are trembling around his waist and you can’t tell whether it’s from pain or need. “Pussy still squeezin’ me. Fuck.”
Your fingers grasp onto his biceps, clutching without meaning to, holding on like your body knows what’s coming even if your pride still wants to fight it.
“Gonna, fuck – gonna fuckin’ come”, he grits out. His hips stutter and he presses in deep, groaning low in his chest, the sound ripped from somewhere feral. He pumps his hips twice and then stills, buried to the hilt as thick ropes of his come paint your insides.
Joel slumps over you, chest heaving, both arms braced on either side of your head. The world around you is quiet, save only for your heartbeat. He stares down at you and you notice his eyes are clearer. Not soft but focused. He brushes his nose against yours, breath hot. “You alright?”
You glare at him. “Go to hell.”
His mouth curves into a pleased grin. “Already there, darlin’. You just brought me company.”
Finally he moves, slowly pulling out, the drag making your whole body shiver. You breathe, shifting slightly as he settles next to you on his side. His cock is still hard, twitching against his thigh. “You didn’t knot me.”
Something flickers behind his eyes – frustration or maybe something darker. His jaw flexes and can see him grinding his teeth. “Yeah, well I wasn't expecting you to come so quick either.”
You scoff. “Right. Because you’re so considerate.” You pause for a second. “You’re not gonna make it through your rut like this.”
That makes him finally look up and meet your eyes. His restraint is visible and he looks like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you again. “Don’t.”
“Joel.” You say, voice barely above a whisper, like you hate admitting to it.
You try to sit up and Joel stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay down.”
You blink up at him, almost fearful that he’s ready to go a second round so soon. “Excuse me?”
Joel reaches behind him, grabbing a shirt that had been discarded the day before when all of this started, and starts cleaning you up. You shift uncomfortably when the fabric drags down your thighs and over your pussy. “Don’t get all embarrassed now,” he mutters.
When he’s done, Joel stands up, his knees cracking as he stretches. He disappears into the kitchen, leaving you absolutely wrecked on the floor. You hear the fridge open and close, then a drawer slide and then the sound of returning footsteps. He comes back with a jar of peanut butter and two metal spoons, offering one out to you as he sits on the edge of the cushionless sofa. He unscrews the lid of the jar and scoops out a spoonful of peanut butter, holding it out for you to take. “Eat,” he urges. “You look like you’re gonna fuckin’ faint.”
You don’t move.
“Suit yourself.” He takes a bite of the peanut butter himself. “Not lettin’ you leave till I’m done.”
“With the food?”
Joel looks at you, dead in the eyes. “With you.”
You swallow hard, sitting up and reaching out for the jar with shaky hands. You take a spoonful and when the peanut butter hits your tongue, you realize how empty you feel.
Joel watches you, tracking every motion of your mouth. After the second bite, you notice that he’s standing up again and after the third you realize that he’s started pacing. One of his hands drags through his hair, the other flexes at his side as he circles the room like a caged animal, trying not to lose control.
You don’t say anything as you watch, realizing that another wave of his rut is crashing over him. He’s fighting himself – fighting instinct, but not for you. Not for your comfort or dignity. He’s fighting it because he knows if he starts again, he might not stop. After a long silence, he stops and turns towards you, his eyes gone dark.
He takes in a deep inhale and groans, “You’re still wet.”
Your mouth falls open in offense. “What?”
Joel steps closer – two slow strides until he’s towering over you again. “Didn’t even touch you. Just sittin’ there, smellin’ like you want more.”
You shake your head, “You’re—”
“You came to me, omega”, he says, kneeling on the ground next to you again.
You stiffen briefly and Joel catches the way your body locks up. “What? Didn’t tell your little beta boyfriend you’d be here? Cryin’ for this big ol’ alpha knot?”
You make an attempt to push Joel off of you, knocking him back slightly, enough so that you could sit up. “I don’t have a boyfriend, asshole.” You feel your face start to flush. “I’ve never even —”.
Joel moves towards you again, his cock already gaining interest where it lays heavy against his thigh. “S’that right?,” he asks, a smug smile spreading over his face. “Y’mean to tell me that tight little pussy’s only been filled by me?”
You swallow, nodding your head.
“N’ now, what?” He huffs, eyes dragging down your body. “You show up knowin’ I’m in rut. Knowin’ exactly what I’d do to you. And now you wanna act shy?”
You open your mouth like you’re going to say something back but close it again. Joel smirks. “Don’t pretend this wasn’t on purpose.” His hand hovers over your hip, ghosting down your side. “You couldn’t stand me last week. Could barely look at me without tearin’ my head off. But, you come knockin’ on my door with your pussy slick and mouth runnin’, actin’ like you’re doin’ me some kinda favor.”
Joel reaches for one of the couch cushions and positions it under you, lifting your hips. “Fucking virgin, my ass.” His hand wraps around the base of him and he guides himself between your legs for a second time. “So now, you’re gonna be real good for me.”
You barely manage a breath before you feel the head of his cock breach your entrance, making your entire body go tight. Your pussy clenches around him, desperate to pull him deeper.
Joel groans. “Fuck. Pussy so goddamn tight.” He sinks in slow, his cock spreading you open again like your body was waiting for it.
Your back arches. “It’s too much–”
“S’perfect,” he growls, bottoming out, the swollen base of his knot just starting to catch. His head falls and his breath gets heavier as he gives you a minute to adjust to the size of him.
“Joel–”, you gasp.
The sound of your voice makes him lose it and he presses one of his hands into your shoulder, holding you down as he starts to fuck into you. The slick, relentless squelch of his cock crashing into your soaked pussy fills the room. “Jesus—,” he grunts
Already, you can feel your body rushing toward the edge.
“You gonna come for me already?” he groans. “After a few fucking strokes?”
You try to hold it back. You bite your lip, dig your nails into the floor, and try to breathe through it but your body’s already fluttering around him like it wants to give in.
“Yeah, you are. Fucking squeezin’ me like that.”
Your orgasm hits hard, tearing through you and making your whole body tense up. Your thighs tremble and back arches as a cry rips from your throat. You clamp down around him, slick gushing around his cock.
Joel growls, low and violent, hips stuttering from the way you pulse around him. “Fuck. Look at you,” he grunts. “Cunt’s fuckin’ chokin’ me—"
You don’t hear your name, but you feel the frantic way he snarls against your skin. He starts losing rhythm, getting sloppy, deeper and deeper with each thrust until his whole body goes taut.
“Shit—fuck—gonna knot—”
You barely have time to register the words before his hips slam forward, grinding himself as deep as he can as the base of his cock starts to swell. You cry out, hands flying to his shoulders, not to push him away but to hold onto something, anything, as your body tries to relax.
Joel pants against your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin, as he tries to keep from ripping you in half. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he grits out. “Don’t—fuck—just take it.”
The pressure builds, a slow, dragging bloom of pain and fullness. You whimper, clawing at his back, nails catching skin. Your body keeps clenching around the immense stretch. Joel groans, hips giving one last desperate push as the thickest part of him swells past the ring of your entrance.
Your mouth falls open, gasping from the feeling of it being too much. Too deep. Too full.
Joel loses it and slams forward with one final thrust. His lips graze against your shoulder, and he groans as he starts to come, flooding your pussy with his spend.
His grip tightens on your ass, hauling you forward as he rocks his hips upward, just enough to shift the knot inside you, and your mouth falls open with a moan so loud it echoes in the room. His cock is still pulsing inside you, knot so tight it aches. “That’s it,” he groans. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy stuck on my knot.”
Joel shudders with the last flickers of his orgasm and it feels like you could cry if he exhaled too deep. Your body is still shaking when he finally stops moving. Not from fear or pain, but from overuse.
Neither of you speak for what seems like hours. Joel’s knot keeps your hips lifted, your legs spread, and your pussy plugged. You feel his come leaking out anyway, sticky and slow, trailing down the backs of your thighs where it has nowhere else to go.
He leans over you on one elbow, chest heaving against yours as he breathes. You think maybe he’s done, but then he jostles you, just enough to make your whole body flinch. “Twitchy little thing now,” he mutters.
You grit your teeth. “Get off me.”
He huffs, not moving. “Not happenin’.”
You try to push at his chest but he grabs your wrist. “You wanna tear yourself up tryin’ to get off this knot, go ahead. Otherwise shut up and stay still.”
You glare at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“You say that like it’s news.”
You want to hit him. You also want to come again. You hate yourself for both.
After another twenty minutes, Joel wipes a hand down his face and finally pulls out, the thick drag of his knot slipping free with a wet pop that makes your whole body arch. Joel watches as your come dribbles out, down your ass and over the rug. “You’re a mess, omega”
Joel palms himself – still half hard, still sensitive, but his knot still not fully deflated. He licks his lips and his eyes flicker with something dangerous. “You don’t even know what you look like right now,” he growls. “So fuckin’ used.”
Your hips betray you as you keen upwards under his gaze and Joel grins. “You want it again?”
You nod before you can even think about it, already missing the thick stretch of him.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
His hand cups your face, fingers splayed across your cheek, your jaw, your lips. You hate how your body reacts. You hate how your lips part for him like it's a reflex. Joel pushes two fingers into your mouth and you moan around them.
“Fuckin’ knew it wouldn’t take much to make a little knothead outta you,” he says, voice lower now. “All that fuckin’ noise. All that fightin’ back. And now look at you. Can’t even speak.”
You should say something. You should fight back. But your brain is drifting off under the weight of it all. His scent, his voice, the ache between your legs that never went away.
Joel pulls his fingers out of your mouth and drags them down your chin, down your chest, to between your thighs and presses into the slick mess he left behind. “Gonna break my fuckin’ knot on this pussy”, he groans.
All you can do is whimper as Joel’s fingers stroke through your folds, staring down at you like he’s starved. “One more,” he says, almost to himself. “Gonna take one more for me.”
With a grunt, Joel lines himself up and eases into you again. Your mouth falls open with a sound that barely qualifies as a moan. There’s no fight in you anymore. Just the stretch, the sting, and the sweet yet impossible feeling of being filled again.
His hands pin your thighs open, spreading you wide so he can watch your hole struggle around him. “Fuck me… look at you.” Joel groans above you, his voice strained.
Joel thrusts in deep, slow at first and grinding with each stroke. You whimper beneath him, fingers clawing at the rug, hips rolling up helplessly to meet each thrust.
“That brain’s gone, huh? So cockdrunk you don’t even care anymore, do you?”
He leans over you, holding you there while he watches you fall apart. You open your mouth to speak and all that comes out is a pathetic moan.
Joel’s grin is filthy. “Look’it. So desperate for this fat fuckin’ knot to stretch that greedy little cunt open.”
He fucks into you harder now, the pace punishing. You sob, legs falling open, pussy clenching around him. “That’s it. You’ll take it as many fuckin’ times as I give it to you.”
You feel his knot start to swell inside you again, spreading you open. Your orgasm rips through you like fire, arching your back off the floor, eyes rolling, and jaw falling slack.
Joel takes that moment as an opportunity to quicken his already grueling pace, chasing his own release. You’re too far gone to stop him. Too wrecked to care. His knot pushes past resistance with an audible pop, swelling fully as he bottoms out.
He groans, grinding into you as deep as your body will let him before he stills, cock throbbing violently. You feel the first hot pulse of him spill inside you, so much it leaks out around the seal of his knot.
You’re boneless. Wrecked. Drenched in sweat and slick and come. “Gonna keep you like this,” he pants, rocking into you. “Pretty little knotsleeve. You love my come drippin’ into that dumb little hole.”
Your head lolls back against the floor, eyes half-closed. Every breath you take feels slow and syrupy, your mind floating somewhere warm and heavy. You’re distantly aware of Joel still moving inside you, but everything is muted.
Hours pass. Joel doesn’t sleep but you do. At some point, Joel rolled you over until you were passed out across his body, skin tacky with sweat, cheeks flushed, and your mouth parted taking in shaky little breaths. You’ve got one leg draped across his thigh and your head is leaning on his chest. His cock lies half-hard against your knee, his knot long since deflated. His hand slowly strokes your side as he stares down at you, like he’s already thinking about waking you up for another round.
You make a soft sound in your sleep and you burrow even further into Joel’s chest. Joel’s body stiffens, his hand stops its movement at your side and he searches your face to see if you’re awake or still dreaming.
He exhales through his nose, letting his hand drift again, slow and idle, dragging his rough fingertips from your hip to the dip of your waist.
Joel glances down at the mess between your legs, where slick and come have long since smeared across your thighs and the floor beneath you. His cock jerks once against your knee, jumping back to life. “Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he whispers, like it’s your fault.
He shifts beneath you but your leg tightens across his, your body reacting to him even in sleep. He grits his teeth and just keeps touching you, his fingers wandering further down until they’re between your thighs. The heat there is immediate, slick with the mess he’s left inside you.
Your whole body shudders. A faint, broken noise slips from your throat, your hips giving a small, involuntary roll into his hand. You’re still out cold, but your cunt flutters weakly around nothing, like it’s remembering the stretch.
Joel’s breath comes heavier now. His fingers trace lazily along your swollen folds, spreading the wetness there, dragging it up until it catches on your clit. You twitch again, a soft mewl slipping from your lips.
He watches your face, waiting for you to wake up, but you don’t. And God help him, that only makes it worse.
His fingertips circle your clit in slow, unhurried passes, barely enough pressure to do more than make your hips tilt towards him.
You murmur something incoherent into his chest, your brows drawing faintly together like you’re trying to chase something in your dreams. Joel’s other hand presses to the small of your back, keeping you tucked close while his fingers slide lower, dipping again between your folds.
The heat between your thighs makes him groan under his breath. You’re still swollen from the knot, still slick and open, his spend thick inside you.
He slides two fingers in easy, your walls spasming faintly around the intrusion, a sleepy little squeeze that makes his cock jump where it’s trapped against your leg. He works in shallow, deliberate strokes, pushing his come back up into your cunt like it belongs there.
You give another faint whimper, hips rocking into his thigh, still unconscious but reacting to him in every way that matters. “Shhh,” he mumbles. “Just makin’ sure it doesn’t go to waste.”
Your breathing changes, faster now as Joel curls his fingers just enough to drag over that spot inside you. Your hips roll against his hand, chasing the friction without even realizing it. Joel’s mouth ticks up in the corner. “There she is”
The sound you make is breathless, hips canting again when his fingers press just right. Your thighs tense, the rest of you melting into his touch, head tipping back as the coil inside you tightens. Joel watches every movement, his thumb still circling lazy and slow as if to keep you right on that edge. “Up.” Joel directs, fingers slipping out of you, patting your hip.
You blink at him, still a little hazy, but you let him guide you forward until you’re straddling his lap, facing away from him . His cock is flush against your ass, already hardening fully. He drags you closer, lining himself up with you before you can think about it. The blunt head pushes against your entrance, and your cunt gives a needy clench.
Joel groans low. “Fuck — knew you’d want it again.”
Your hips move on instinct. One slow, dragging grind over his cock after another. Joel’s head thumps against the wall. “Oh fuck — ride it. Ride it, baby.”
You don’t catch the term of endearment, too lost in how good he feels underneath you. You brace one hand on his thigh, the other on your own knee as you start to grind your slick-swollen cunt down onto the thick knot still buried deep. It’s obscene.
“Look at you,” he grits out. “Riding my knot like it’s the only thing that’ll make you come. So cockdrunk you can’t stop.
You whimper. “Don’t want to.”
Joel’s palms slide up your back, one flattening between your shoulder blades as the other grips your hip, dragging you back onto him harder. “Gonna ride my knot? Let me fill this pretty little hole?”
“Yes, fuck, please—”
He groans behind you, his grip on your hips tightening until it’s almost bruising, pulling you down to meet every thrust. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it. Take it. Take my knot, baby. Good little omega — fuckin’ perfect little pussy made for it.”
Joel groans and wraps one hand around your stomach, tugging you closer, the other splayed across your throat. He thrusts up, his knot nudging inside you causing you to cry out, nails digging into his thigh as your orgasm slams through you.
He doesn’t still, lazily pumping his hips as much as the knot will allow. He burrows his face into your neck, and you feel his teeth graze against your throat, your whole body seizing. “Joel—”, you whimper.
Joel groans your name possessively, his teeth now scraping against the skin of your throat, making your head dip back.
Your omega intuition – quiet all your life, tucked under suppressants and self-control, screams to mate. “Don’t—” you whisper.
Joel growls, the alpha inside aching to make you his. He thinks about sinking his teeth into you right now – breaking the skin, claiming you. He wants to. Fuck, he wants to.
“Joel—don’t—”, you plead. Because if he says your name again – if he presses his lips to your throat one more time – you’ll beg for it.
You’re soaked, spent, and split open on his cock. You can feel your pulse in your throat right under Joel’s mouth, where he’s hovering like he’s waiting for permission, his whole body shaking with restraint.
His hips rock up once, grinding his knot into you further, making your vision blur. You unconsciously tilt your head to the side.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you? Barin’ your throat for me. Fuck—”.
Your pussy clenches desperately around him. The air between you turns fever-hot, as if the sight of your bared throat and the squeeze of your body has stripped away whatever restraint he had left.
His teeth sink into your throat and your back arches violently as you orgasm for the second time. Joel’s scent crashes over you as his knot jerks one last time, flooding you with his come. His hold on your hips is unyielding, like he’s staking his claim in more ways than one.
Finally, Joel lifts his mouth from the bite, blood beading from where he marked you. You slump back against him and he lets his hands slide to your waist. Still knotted, he shifts until you’re both lying down on your side, him spooning you
After what feels like hours, Joel grits his teeth, concentrating on the imprint of his teeth in your flesh. “Didn’t mean to bite you,” he mumbles. It’s not an apology, just a fact. “You probably hate me for this.”
There’s a pang in your chest and you make an attempt to turn and look at him, forgetting for just a brief moment that he’s still inside you. “Don’t move yet”, he grumbles against your ear.
The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, until you finally speak. “I don’t hate you, Joel.”
Joel’s grip flexes against your side, just once, but he doesn’t say anything. You feel the faint brush of his nose against your hair and the way his chest rises and falls against you. His thumb starts tracing slow, absent lines over your skin, and after a while you’re not sure if it’s meant to soothe you or himself.
It’s quiet again, except for the sound of your breathing syncing with his.
“You should,” he says finally, against your ear.
The words hang heavy between you, but he doesn’t move. Not to pull out. Not to push closer. His breath stays warm on your skin, his hand splayed over your stomach like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
You stare into the dark, unsure if he means them as a warning or a confession. When he speaks again, it’s quieter. “Ain’t the kind of man you should want around.”
The words scrape low from his throat, but there’s no space between you for them to land. Not with his chest solid against your back, not with his cock still buried deep, the steady pulse of his knot a constant reminder.
You don’t care if he thinks you shouldn’t want to be around him because for all your dislike, for all the things you’ve told yourself about him, your omega is quiet here. Quelled. Content. Every sharp, restless edge in you is gone, replaced by a bone-deep stillness you can’t fight.
You swallow, eyes fixed on the dark. “What I want is you.”
Joel exhales through his nose, slow and sharp. His thumb stills against your skin, then presses in just a little harder, holding there for a long moment before resuming the same absent tracing.
The quiet stretches until it’s hard to tell if you’re still awake or drifting. But Joel stays alert—breathing steady, gaze fixed on the bite mark at your shoulder like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at.
His knot has softened enough now that you can feel the slow, heavy slide of him starting to ease from your body. The absence makes your chest tighten, a strange ache blooming where that deep, sated calm had been.
Without thinking, you press your hips back against him, chasing that fullness. Joel’s grip on your waist tightens, his breath rough against your ear. “What’re you doing, omega?”
There’s something different in the way he says it now — not sharp, not mocking. Softer. Like the word itself has shifted, no longer just a label but something he’s testing for the first time. It winds through you, settling low in your belly, pulling the answer from your lips before you even think.
You turn to look back at him over your shoulder. “Please, alpha.”
Joel stops breathing, his jaw flexing and his eyes open fully now, locked on yours.
“What did you just say?”
You swallow.
“Please, alpha. Need you to fill me”
The sound that comes from him is raw, a growl ripping from his chest without warning. In the next breath he’s shifting you onto your back, looming over you, eyes gone dark with something between hunger and disbelief.
But instead of pushing back into you, Joel slides down your body, settling between your thighs. His palms spread over them, holding you open. You can feel the heat of his breath before his mouth even touches you, and when it does, it’s not the bruising, desperate pace you expect.
His tongue traces a slow path through your slick folds, lingering at your clit just long enough to make you gasp. He takes in how sore, swollen and used you look and he steadies himself, like he’s determined to take the ache away. Every stroke is deliberate, each press of his tongue meant to soothe as much as it is to wind you back up.
You bite your lip, fighting the urge to rock against him, but he notices. His hands slip under your thighs and push them higher, tilting your hips so he can get to you easier. His mouth seals over your clit and the gentle pull of his tongue makes your back arch off the bed.
The tension builds fast, and when he finally closes his lips around your clit, you break. Your thighs clamp against his head, hips jerking up into his mouth as you cry out his name. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop, holding you there and riding it out with you until the aftershocks leave you slack and panting.
You’re still shaking when he pulls back, lips slick, looking up at you from between your legs. There’s a softness in the way he strokes his thumb over the inside of your thigh before he crawls over top of you, slotting himself between your legs.
Your voice is hoarse when it comes out, barely a whisper against his jaw. “Please… need you, alpha. I cant —”
Joel stills, eyes locked on yours like he’s trying to decide if he actually heard you say it. A low rumble rolls through his chest. “You can,” he mutters, rough but quieter than before.
He shifts his weight, bracing one forearm beside your head while the other hand guides his cock down, the blunt head nudging at your entrance. He doesn’t force it this time, just slowly eases in until you’re stretching around him again.
His hips settle flush against yours and for a long moment he just stays there, letting you feel every thick inch inside you.
When he moves, it’s in long, dragging strokes that make your body arch into his.Your nails catch on his shoulder as his cock drags out slow and pushes back in even slower. He doesn’t slam into you, doesn’t rut you into the mattress like before. His hands stay firm, holding you in place without pinning you. His thrusts are steady and uhurried, the slick slide of him filling the room along with your uneven breaths.
Joel’s head dips, his mouth brushing your jaw. “Feels different when I’m not tryin’ to tear you in half, huh?” His tone’s still teasing, but softer at the edges.
You don’t answer. You can’t when the next thrust makes your thighs tremble and your breath stutter. He stays right there, moving in that same steady rhythm, filling you again and again until your body starts to pulse around him without your permission.
That’s when you feel a shift. His hips start to roll just a little harder, each drag of his cock a fraction rougher than the last. His grip on your hip tightens, and you can feel the insistent swell of his knot pressing at your entrance.
Joel grunts against your skin, his pace picking up by degrees, like he’s trying to hold himself back and failing. “Fuck, omega,” he rasps, voice cracking under the strain.
The steady rhythm becomes something hungrier, the pressure of his knot growing with every thrust until you’re whining into his shoulder, clutching at him like your body already knows what’s coming.
The stretch steals your breath, forcing a cry from your throat that’s muffled against his neck. Joel’s whole body shudders as his knot swells to its full size, sealing you around him.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, holding you flush against him, his cock twitching deep inside. “Take it. Let me breed that perfect cunt”
Joel doesn’t stop moving in shallow thrusts as the first rush of his release floods you.
You’re gone in seconds, your second orgasm hitting hard, tearing through you until you’re shaking against him. Joel rides it out with you, his mouth at your ear, filthy with praise you can barely process.
By the time the pleasure starts to ebb, you’re limp in his hold, still locked around the thick swell of him. Joel stays buried in you, chest pressed to your back, his breathing gradually slowing. One of his hands drags up your side, rough palm tracing over the curve of your ribs until it settles over your heart. The other stays low on your belly, holding you there like you might try to slip away.
Neither of you speaks at first. The air between you is thick and quiet, save for the faint sound of his breathing in your ear. You shift and his arm tightens around you. “Mine now,” he says, voice low. It’s not a question, not quite a claim, just fact.
You swallow, shaking your head once. “Yours.”
His jaw rests against your temple, the warmth of his breath fanning across your skin. Joel exhales through his nose, like the words knock something loose in him. His thumb sweeps slowly across your stomach, and for the first time since you stepped through his door, he seems almost content.
Until he raises his head with a groan, “What am I gonna tell Ellie?”
***GENERAL/LEGAL DISCLAIMER: You know how we love to binge watch TV? When it comes to drinking games, I suggest only one episode at a time (2 tops). As our beloved Andy Samberg said: “ALCOHOL IS *POISON* … MAN!” You should only binge-watch if you’re planning on drinking water (or a Shirley Temple if you’re feeling frisky). Speaking of water, drink it so you don’t die. Seriously, use your best/sober discretion here. Your liver has limits.***
~~~What you’ll need~~~
-Beer (or another malt liquor of your choice) for sips
-Tequila (or another liquor of your choice) for shots
>>>>>>>>
JAKE PERALTA – DRINK WHENEVER JAKE:
-High fives someone [Sip]
-Says “NOICE” or “NORSE” [Sip]
-Says “SMORT” [Shot]
-Impersonates Holt [Shot]
-Makes robot impression/references about Holt [Sip]
-Gives a title/reference to Amy’s sex tape [Sip]
-Invents a character for himself [Sip]
-Wears the dress uniform [Shot]
-Misquotes or misuses a word/saying [Sip]
-Says “stylez” [Shot]
-Is hugged [Shot]
-Is kissed [Shot]
RAY HOLT – DRINK WHENEVER HOLT:
-Says he’s happy (in whatever form) [Shot]
-Says “Dismissed” [Sip]
-Calls one of the detectives by their first name [Shot]
-Plays along with the squad’s antics/games [Shot]
-Has a “sass-off” with Madeline Wuntch [Sip]
TERRY JEFFORDS – DRINK WHENEVER TERRY:
-Picks up/lifts/carries someone [Shot]
-Refers to himself in the 3rd person [SIP – YOU WILL DIE]
-Eats yogurt (or his love of yogurt is otherwise referenced) [Sip]
CHARLES BOYLE – DRINK WHENEVER CHARLES:
-Gets physically hurt/injured [SIP – YOU WILL DIE]
-Compliments Jake [SIP – YOU WILL DIE]
-Ignores someone because of looking at her phone [Sip]
-Flirts with/hits on Terry [Sip]
-Mentions or performs with her dance troupe [Shot]
-Her growing up with Jake is mentioned [Shot]
-Talks about spirit animals [Shot]
-Talks about psychics [Shot]
-Says “bitches” [Sip]
AMY SANTIAGO – DRINK WHENEVER AMY:
-Is socially awkward/weird [Sip]
-References seminars [Shot]
-Wears her hair down [Sip]
GENERAL/MISC - DRINK WHENEVER:
-ANYONE dances [Shot]
-Hitchcock takes his shirt off [Shot]
-The term “the nine nine” is used [Shot]
>>>
I had a lot of fun making this. Hope you enjoy & drink responsibly.
October 5 – size kink, pain kink with Reed Richards
You want Reed to use his powers to cause you just the right amount of thrill and pain.
Wordcount: 2,190
Contains: smut, p in v, unprotexted sex, creampie, misuse of Reed's stretching powers, pain kink, description of pain, fingering, dirty talk, praise, cockwarming, soft dom!Reed Richards
Kinktober Masterlist
"Fuck. Fuck, Reed, please," you moaned, burying your hands in his dark locks.
You draped your legs around his waist, closing the distance between the two of you to grind against his crotch. He was hard beneath his pants, giving you the perfect opportunity to work up not only him, but also yourself.
"Shh… Not so loud, baby, we don't wanna let Herbie hear, do we?" he smirked, propping himself on his elbows next to your head.
"Reed," you whimpered, a little quieter now, heels digging into his back.
"Yes… Grind against me… Making me feel so goddamn good."
Not a piece of paper would have fit between the two of you, but still Reed somehow managed to travel with his hand between your bodies, effortlessly finding your heat. He pressed down on your lower belly, stopping you from rubbing your core against his boner and keeping you still.
"Gonna make you feel good, baby. You think she's all wet for me?"
A strand of hair titillated you on your temple as Reed lowered his head over you to kiss you. You inhaled, imbibed his scent, but it prohibited you from answering him. A single swipe across your pussy was enough to reveal the truth, though. Your slick wetness welcomed the pads of two of his fingers, and as a reaction, Reed let out a muffled growl that was entirely swallowed by your mouth suckling on his bottom lip.
"Reed," you uttered, not satisfied with how softly and gingerly he treated your cunt. You needed him raw, feel him with every muscle and tendon, combust into flames while he mercilessly pounded your cunt. You needed to feel pain.
Despite the distinct, loud desire, it took you nearly another three minutes to express your wishes. Reed toyed with your wet pussy, his thumb drawing circles around your clit while he slid two big digits inside you.
"Reed," you gasped, finally making him realize that you actually wanted to talk to him.
"Yes baby," he pressed, mouth agape as his lips travelled across the side of your face. His beard tingled deliciously on your skin, the little hairs scraping and scratching right where it itched… It was so tempting to get lost in the feeling of him caging you beneath him, but your hunger for more eventually took over.
"Please, can you – I want you to be rough with me. Wanna feel pain."
Reed paused for a moment, just enough time to catch a glimpse of the pleading sparkle in your eyes. Requests like this one out of your mouth weren't too seldom, yet he wanted to make sure you had full control and awareness over everything you were saying.
"Yeah?" he made, lips stalling along your jawline.
"Yes. Please. I need it."
He briefly removed his hand from your pussy only to slap you firmly, causing you to jerk and squeal. The slight sting was followed by more heat building up in your stomach and a primal, animalistic lust growing inside you. You needed more, more emotions like this one.
"What do you need, mhm? Tell me. 'Cause I'm coming up with a lot of things right now."
He rocked the base of his palm against your clit while roughly squeezing your left breast, almost a warning.
"Need you to – ah – fuck me. And – And make it hurt. S-Stretch inside me." You had muttered these words, a tiny part of you ashamed of your demand.
In the beginning of your relationship, Reed had strictly refused to use his powers on you and had even gotten angry many times when you had repeatedly asked. Over time, he had relaxed and eventually started slowly once he had realized that you genuinely wanted to try it out. Not for sensational reasons, but because of the thrill it brought you and your poor internal organs. By now, it was almost a routine. Sometimes you approached him in the middle of the day and asked him to stretch you. Other times, you called for it once his dick was already snug inside you.
"Oh babygirl… Such a dirty, little mind you have."
A sordid grin tugged at his lips as he tapped his index finger on your temple.
"You want me to split this pussy open? Isn't it gonna hurt her?"
You heard the mockery in his voice but just had to go along with it. You needed him to comply to your request the way you needed oxygen. If it meant begging him on your knees, reducing yourself to a pleading mess then so be it.
"I want it to hurt," you whispered as if he didn't know about your special preferences in the bedroom already.
"You want her to hurt? Are you sure about that? 'Cause you know it's hard for me to hold back once I'm inside you… I might tear her open too harshly… Make it ache right here…" His hand on your pussy had wandered up to your stomach, applying light pressure and squeezing your flesh.
"Y-Yes… Want that, Reed. Please. Please make it sting."
Glossy eyes glared up at him, your fingers trailing from his shoulders down to his wrists where you pinched his skin.
"Please. Please do it, you know I can take it."
Reed chuckled darkly and continued his journey with his lips, moving along your chin now.
"Oh I'm sure you can. Not so sure about her, though…"
He gave your pussy another spank, this time, right on your clit.
"She can, she can, Reed. Please."
He hummed in satisfaction, clearly smitten by your pleas but then decided to give in.
"Okay, baby. I'm gonna give you what you want. But you know the rules, right?"
The playful teasing was over now – he needed your honest confirmation that you knew under what circumstances he would stretch you. You rattled down the rules in a rush.
"I listen to you. I take what you give me. I communicate with you. I tell you when it's too much."
Reed laughed softly, the rasp, vibrating sound transferring over to your body.
"Good girl. Yes…"
He clamped a hand on your hips, slightly moving you on the bed to adjust you and get the right angle and then wrapped a hand around his dick.
"Okay, baby… You're gonna relax for me now… I know you like it to hurt but we're gonna take care of it once I'm inside you. Breathe now."
It was true, you liked to clench down on him while he entered you, not only to make yourself tighter for Reed, but also to feel the prickling sorrow spread in your lower belly more extensively. It was the rush that made it so interesting. The thrill, the faint strain, the agitation.
But in fear of messing up and ruining the upcoming sensation for yourself, you loosened your muscles around him although you were nearly combusting with anticipation.
"Good girl," Reed praised you, making you realize that his compliments were almost equally arousing. You just got off on satisfying him, being the reason for his approving smile and making his face glow with delight.
Then he entered you slowly. Your walls gave away to him perfectly, drawing your attention to the fact that he really could have gone faster. Perhaps he was just trying to make you suffer.
"Reed," you gasped once he had bottomed out, your cunt spasming around him. Even your core had understood what was going to happen and was just as eager as your racing mind.
"Please," you begged him and settled your hands on his shoulders.
"Jesus, baby… You're impatient. Not even allowing me to introduce myself properly to her," he chuckled as he slowly dragged himself out of you only to slam right back in. Now that was more to your taste… Your eyes popped open, the air leaving your system at once at the impact of his thrust.
"Yeah? Satisfied now?" Reed smirked cruelly and delivered more sharp snaps into you after you had given him a nod, still mesmerized by how good he was able to make you feel.
After a few more minutes Reed could be sure that you were not only well-lubricated but had also completely gotten used to his girth. Therefore, he decided that you were ready for more.
"Look at me sweetheart… You still want it?" he growled, taking your face into both hands to have a thorough look at you in order to judge whether you were present enough to demand such nasty things.
"Yes. I want it Reed, please. Stretch me. I need it bad."
"Okay, baby… Alright, I'm gonna give it to you. But don't you forget our rules…"
He panted heavily, the effects your pretty body had on him visible in his sharp features. He was holding back for the both of you, so that at least one of you could act reasonably and look out for the two of you.
Then, he took a deep breath before using his powers to increase the size of his dick just as he had done countless times before – merely for your enjoyment.
Reed especially focused on his shaft and distending in thickness not in length. He feared to cause you severe pain by going too deep and hurting your cervix. Of course he didn't tell you that – you surely would try to convince him to extend his cock as well, which definitely wouldn't end well. Reed could rarely deny you your wishes.
"Talk to me, babygirl…," Reed grunted after a while. He always went slowly and gradually while stretching to give you enough time to stop him in case you were in pain.
"I-It's good. So g-good, Reed."
You were startled, big doll eyes ghosting over his face and losing their focus from time to time. He could only guess what it must feel like for you, but he knew too well about your pain kink, so he assumed that he definitely was causing you some ache in that moment.
"More, Reed. Please more," you even cried out, your stretched cunt convulsing around him. Reed glanced at your flushed cheeks one last time but then decided to go a little further. He sighed, closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment while you squeaked and dug your claws into his forearms.
"Reed. Oh god – Yes. Yes, I – ohh shit."
Your body trembled and shook, sweat pooling on your brow as if you were going through the greatest kind of physical labor in that moment. He began moving inside you – slowly at first, but fast enough to add to the pain you were feeling.
Because what Reed didn't know what that a storm was rioting in your stomach. The best kind, though. Your insides turned and danced, the end of your nerves were ignited and your heart raged in your chest. You felt the ache of the stretch in every fibre of your body, just the way you had wanted it. It was hot and sharp, kept you on the edge of your seat and caused you to shake and jerk every time Reed rammed his large dick back inside you. And just like you wanted it, he was able to overstep that line separating pleasure and pain occasionally, keeping it brief and sweet, yet breathtakingly intense.
"More, Reed. Please, more," you whined, not even entirely aware of his thumb rubbing your clit.
"No, baby. That's it. Not gonna go any further than that," Reed denied you the wish, causing you to protest and tighten your grip around his wrists.
"Please. Please, Reed. Just a little more."
As a response, he grabbed both your hands, pinned them down on top of your stomach and went in faster, more generous circles around your bundle of nerves.
"No. You promised me you would do as I say. That's what you're gonna get today. You've had enough, baby."
Fortunately, you accepted the defeat soon after a few more groans and rather focused on the enjoyment he was causing you. A little while later, Reed and you collapsed nearly at the same time, his body crashing into yours while you rippled and quivered with overloading pleasure.
"Ohhh fuck," you yelped, his left hand cradling your head while his right rode your orgasm out.
"There you go, baby… yeah. Oh fuck, yes. You're so warm, so perfect. So wet and – and…" You would never learn what else he wanted to say about your pussy because he paused mid-sentence and dropped his chin to his chest.
"Jesus," he hissed next, rolling his hips to fuck his cum back inside you.
"You're so perfect. And I love you so fucking much," Reed whispered against your cheeks that were pink from excitement.
"I love you too. Can you… Can you stay inside me like this for a little longer?" you murmured, hiding your face into his broad chest.
Reed's lips curled before he flipped the two of you over, so you were lying on top of him with his dick still plunged inside you.
summary: you'd prayed for him, grieved him, begged over his grave for him to come back. what if he was actually listening all along?
|| smut MDNI 18+, canon joel death, joel is alive! kinda sorta?, husband!joel, wife!reader, mourning, grieving, religious symbolism & themes with heaven/hell/demons, mentions of witchcraft and alchemy, Joel is like scary turned sweet, pinv, f!receiving oral, prone bone, choking, bicep choking, dirty talk with praise kink, sweet turned rougher sex, ambiguous ending ||
a/n: inspired by supernatural s4 dean and s9 demon!dean
wc: 7k
You woke to blackness.
It was like this every night. Again and again and again—your sleep split open, wakefulness rushing in as if ice water had been poured through your veins. Your lungs seized before dragging in air, heaving and desperate.
You turned toward the little ticking clock on your bedside table, the sound loud in the stillness. Your gaze swept across the wide emptiness of the mattress, the covers pulled half open, untouched, cold.
3:00 AM.
Always right on the fucking dot, too. Every. Single. Night.
The witching hour, some called it. Others called it the hour when the veil thinned, when angels turned their faces away and creatures of the night prowled freely. You didn’t want to believe in any of that, but it was hard not to when you could feel it in your bones, in the silence so heavy it seemed to press into your chest, in the way shadows seemed to lean too far over the walls.
You sat up, the sheets whispering down your bare arms, and stared into the dark. Somewhere beyond the walls, a dog barked once in the dead of night. It was so silent otherwise, just the ticking of the clock, a light scrape of a branch that moved against your frosted window and the sound of your breath. And it hit you again, that strange prickle at the base of your neck…the feeling of being watched.
Letting your feet out of the covers and down to touch the wood floor, you padded across the room and out onto the landing, where the long narrow table was lined with frames turned face-down. You hadn’t been able to look at them since. With a pause, you struck a match and lit the chamberstick waiting there, the flame catching with a small hiss before settling into its soft, wavering glow.
The stairs creaked as you went down, each step cautious, careful. The house felt big and empty in a way it hadn’t before. Winter pressed at the walls, carrying its cold into the seams and corners until it settled inside the rooms themselves.
In the kitchen, you reached for the pitcher, poured a glass, and leaned against the counter. The water tasted faintly of metal, clean and cold, and you swallowed it slowly. The candlelight reached only so far, glinting off the rim of the glass, leaving the rest of the kitchen in shadow.
Your eyes found Joel’s coat where it still hung by the door. His boots still sat by the mat. Little things, untouched. It made your throat tight.
You sipped again, holding the cool weight in your mouth before letting it go. Tommy and Ellie were out there, carrying his vengeance into the snow. You were here, tethered, the choice already taken from you, the weeks stretching long and narrow. You understood why you couldn’t go, but it didn’t make it any easier.
There was a strange whistling, you realized suddenly, drifting in from the living room. Thin and hollow, it carried the cold with it. You moved, shivering a little, toward the sound and found a window by the armchair pushed open, snow dusting the bench beneath it, flakes catching on the worn arm of Joel’s recliner. You frowned, stepped around the chair, and shut the window with a thud, latching it tight.
When you turned, the chamberstick slipped from your hand with a clattering rush. The spill snuffed out the flame, plunging the room into darkness. Only the pale wash of moonlight remained on what had startled you—a pair of eyes staring back from across the room.
They weren’t his eyes. Not really. They glimmered black, bottomless, hollow as the grave.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Joel’s voice. Joel’s face. Joel’s body. But not Joel.
Joel was dead. You knew this. You’d put him in the ground yourself, shoved at the frozen earth until your hands bled, until Tommy dragged you back and left the rest to the other men. You buried him there, in the cemetery beneath the frost, your grief sealed into the soil with him.
And yet—here he was. Standing before you.
“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice raw from disuse, scraping its way out of your throat.
His mouth curled, just slightly, the kind of grin Joel used to give when he knew something you didn’t, all sweet and teasing. “C’mon now,” he drawled, low and warm. “That any way to greet your old man? Thought you’d be happy to see me.”
Your heart hammered, throat tight. “You’re not my husband.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, taking a step closer, hands open in supplication. “It’s me. Been a hell of a time without you. Missed you so bad I had to come back.” His voice caught the edges of tenderness, like he was savoring the words on his tongue. “Ain’t that what you wanted? For me to come home?”
The floor seemed to tilt under you. Every detail was right—his shoulders, his stance, the shape of his mouth. And yet those eyes, black as ink, pinned you where you stood.
“I buried you.” The words came out thin, almost a whisper.
“Then maybe you dug me up,” he said softly, almost playful, like it was a joke meant only for you. He took another step, slow and sure, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Don’t matter how it happened. I’m here. I’m yours. Always was, always will be.”
When he reached out a hand, you staggered back, chest seizing. The heat of him filled the space between you, wrong in a way your body recognized before your mind could.
“Don’t—” you gasped, the word breaking as your feet carried you fast toward the kitchen. The candle lay guttered on the floor behind you, and all you had to light your path was the cold spill of the moon as you ran.
You turned and bolted up the stairs, shoved your bedroom door shut, and stumbled into the bathroom just beyond it. The lock clicked home under your shaking fingers and you dropped hard to the tile, palms catching you, your body wracked with sobs. You felt the way your chest heaved, the tears spilling hot down your cheeks, but the adrenaline left no room for thought—only that god damn will to survive it never could let go of.
This had to be a dream. A terrible dream where your grief was manifesting into a nightmare to torment you with the only thing you had ever wanted—your husband back.
“Baby, would you please come out of there?” His voice, Joel’s voice, called through the door. You froze. God, he was already in the bedroom, the hinges groaning as the door eased open.
You clamped a hand over your mouth, forcing your eyes shut, trying to quiet the ragged noise of your breathing.
“Sweetheart, I ain’t here to hurt you,” he coaxed, tone warm and casual. “Just wanted to see you. Missed you so bad. Come on now—let’s talk.”
The bathroom knob rattled, metal scraping against metal, your pulse climbing so fast it hurt. Then, silence. The sound of boots retreating across the bedroom floor. Relief flooded in, shaky and shallow.
But if this thing truly wore Joel’s face, if it knew you at all—then it would know.
You scrambled to your feet, eyes darting across the small room for anything, anything you could use to fight. And then the footsteps returned, steady and certain. Metal slid into the lock—the little spare key you kept hidden at the top of the closet, tucked beneath his sweaters.
The knob turned. The door swung open.
And as his figure silhouetted against the pale moonlight through the bedroom, you lunged for the shelf above the sink. Your fingers closed around the cold steel of a straight razor, one of many of Joel’s things you hadn’t managed to pack away.
You snapped it open, the blade catching pale light, and held it out in front of you with shaking hands.
“Stay back,” you demanded.
Joel—no, not Joel—lifted his palms, slow, like he was calming a wild animal. “Easy now, darlin’,” he said, his voice almost fond. “Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”
“Don’t come closer.”
He didn’t listen. One step, then another, his eyes fixed on you with that awful calm, those terrifyingly onyx eyes.
With a cry you slashed toward him, desperate, the razor’s edge glinting. He caught your wrist mid swing, his grip iron, the sudden closeness of him suffocating.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, coaxing even as you struggled, “please, stop fightin’ me. I just want—”
You jerked, trying to wrench free, the razor dangerously near his throat. He twisted, forcing your arm back. In the scramble, his other hand shoved against your shoulder. It wasn’t hard, not meant to hurt, only to keep you away.
But it made your heel slip on the tile, your weight pitching backward. The edge of the counter caught you hard at the base of your skull.
With a burst of light behind your eyes, the razor clattered from your hand.
The last thing you felt was his grip steadying you as the darkness rushed in.
You woke to the sound of wood creaking beneath you. The air in the bedroom was still, heavy, carrying the faint smoke of a fire downstairs, the house slowly warming to it. Your head ached, a dull throb at the base of your skull.
When you tried to lift your hands, they wouldn’t move.
As you looked down, you saw your wrists were bound to the arms of a chair—Joel’s chair, dragged up from the dining room. The wood was old, one leg always unsteady, the same wobble to it that used to creak when you’d climbed onto his lap, when his hands would steady your hips. The sudden memory made your eyes burn.
He hadn’t used rope, not even cord. On one side, a thick sock knotted tight around your wrist. On the other, one of his sweaters twisted into a binding, sleeves stretched and digging into your skin. It didn’t cut off the blood, but it held you fast.
Panic surged, hot and wild. You yanked, kicked, twisted, the chair rattling against the floorboards. “Let me go!” you shouted, the sound cracking in your throat. “Let me the fuck go!”
From the bed, his voice came, steady as anything, “Easy now, sweetheart. You’ll tip yourself right over carryin’ on like that.”
You thrashed harder, chest heaving, the wood groaning beneath you. He stood and stepped forward then, the moonlight from the window catching on his face—Joel’s face—those black eyes shining like oil.
“Come on now,” he said softly, as if it were a kindness. “Only tied ya so you’d stay still, let me talk to ya.”
“Fuck you!” you spat, fighting the bonds until the chair lurched under you. His hand landed on the backrest, steadying it, steadying you, the warmth of his touch searing through the wood.
“Darlin’,” he murmured, “I ain’t here to hurt you. Never was. Just missed you, s’all.”
Something inside you cracked at the words, sharp and sudden. Your fight drained as sobs tore loose, raw and broken. Tears blurred your vision, spilling fast as you bent forward against the restraints, the sound of your crying filling the room.
He crouched before you, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “That’s it,” he whispered, almost tender. “Let it out. I got you now.”
His hands rose up to soothe your face, knuckles dragging to collect your tears. You flinched away in anger, looking at him.
“I prayed for you, you son of a bitch,” you spat, voice cracking, “I prayed for you, I mourned you. You can’t just—you can’t—”
“Aw, but baby,” he cooed, leaning in to kiss a fat tear as it rolled down your cheek. You jerked away, but he only smiled, unbothered. “You and I both know that’s not quite true.”
You sniffled, shaking your head, confusion twisting through you. Adrenaline still buzzed sharp in your blood, your mind dazed and swimming with the sight of him—this man you had buried with your own hands.
“Haven’t you wondered?” His voice dropped low, coaxing. “Why you wake every night, same time, same hour, same minute. Hell, the same second?”
“I-I—” The words stumbled out, useless.
“You wanted me back,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your nose, the press almost tender. You flinched again, though your body betrayed you by leaning forward. “And I heard you. Heard your little summons that night. They wouldn’t let me see you, but I heard. Laughed at me for it, mocked me—said my sweet little wife had turned to witchcraft.” His sigh was long. “Almost didn’t believe it myself, but I didn’t care. I made it my job to get back to you.”
“What—?” you gasped, the sound thin. “You…you heard me?”
“Yeah, honey,” he murmured, pushing the damp strands of hair from your eyes with surprising gentleness. “Worked harder than you can imagine, just to get here. Wanted to tell you I heard. That I love you. That I’m so sorry, for leavin’ that mornin’.”
“Joel—” The sob tore from your throat, ragged, broken.
“Shhh,” he hushed, pulling you into him. His arms were strong, crushing, the warmth of him too familiar. It was too hard to fight it, to make your brain catch up with your heart. The heart that wanted so desperately to believe this was real.
“S’okay, darlin’,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he let your confines loose, and your arms immediately found his waist, burying your face into his chest,. “S’okay. I’m here now.”
You clung to him, sobs wracking you until they dissolved into hiccups. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, finding your breath in fragments. He smelled like Joel, like your husband, like the only man you’d ever known or wanted. You pushed your face against him harder, inhaling the smell of earth and musk and barrel aged oak.
“Missed you more, baby. You got no idea.”
Your eyes lifted to his, shimmering wet. “Show me,” you breathed, sudden and pleading.
He smiled gently, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Show you?”
You nodded, “Show me how much you missed me.”
His hand tilted your chin, thumb and forefinger holding you steady. A shiver rippled down your arms, skin stippled with goosebumps as you stared into those black eyes, though they weren’t like eyes at all but pits of ink, void of white or color. They should have been terrifying. But now, as he bent closer, they seemed less like an abyss and more like a deep, endless pool of dark water you could sink into, let close over your head, let carry you down to where he waited.
The crinkles by his eyes deepened, and you studied his face all over again, desperate to catalog each line, each shadow, burning it into memory before anything else could be taken from you. But thought bled away the moment his lips touched yours again.
How could you have forgotten?
The press of his mouth was still soft and sure, still Joel, warm despite the cold, lips cracked but plush as they moved against yours. His kiss molded to you, coaxing, fitting like lock to key, the tickle of his mustache prickling your skin. Your body remembered him even if your mind wanted to resist, leaning into the heat, into him.
His hands framed your jaw, then slid down your shoulders, over the trembling cage of your ribs. He shifted, still crouched before the chair, until his palms gripped your thighs. He hauled you forward until you perched at the edge of the seat, your thighs wrapping around him. His breath was hot against your mouth when he whispered a gentle and throaty “C’mere.”
The kiss deepened, hungrier, his teeth catching your lower lip as he stood in one fluid movement. You clung to him, arms tight around his neck as he lifted you easily, his hands stretching over the swell of your ass.
The chair scraped back across the floorboards, abandoned, as he carried you across the room. His mouth never left yours until he lowered you onto the bed, pressing you down into the mattress, his body covering yours with a weight you remembered in your bones.
He laid you back on the mattress, the sheets cool against your skin, his body a furnace above you. His hands didn’t rush; they roamed, slow and remembering, as if memory weren’t enough, he needed to memorize every inch all over again—the slope of your shoulders, the dip of your waist, the trembling rise of your ribs. Each pass of his palms left heat in its wake, as though he couldn’t stand to forget you again.
“God, baby,” he whispered, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Missed you so damn much.”
Emotion burned hot in your chest, choking you. Your eyes stung, and before you could stop yourself, tears spilled over. This time, when his mouth found them, you didn’t flinch. He kissed them away tenderly, catching the salt on his lips, then pressing them back against your mouth. You pulled him down harder, lips parting, tongues sliding in a desperate clash of breath and want—not soft or careful, but giving, claiming, a gift you forced into each other’s mouths because words weren’t enough.
Clothes came away in clumsy handfuls, the scrape of fabric tugged down arms, pushed past hips. The cold air licked your bare skin, but he covered it at once with his hands, his chest, his mouth. His lips trailed down your throat, reverent, worshipping, before the press of teeth nipped hard enough to make you gasp. He soothed it with a kiss, then bit again, hungrier.
He kissed down your body like a man making pilgrimage, lips finding the hollow of your throat, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your navel. Gentle kisses followed by sharp bites, soft reverence broken by hunger. You threaded your hands through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him, needing to give him back everything you’d kept locked inside since the moment you lost him.
Joel’s mouth lingered lower, hot and wet, each kiss a brand, each scrape of teeth a reminder. He worshipped you and consumed you in the same breath, and you let him, arching into his touch, trembling under his weight, the ache in your chest spilling into the ache between your thighs.
When his tongue slipped between your parted thighs, your body yielded before your mind could catch up. Muscle memory, instinct—you opened for him without thought, as if some part of you had never forgotten how to let Joel in. He looked up at you then, and your breath caught.
His eyes…those black, depthless pits, they fixed on yours as he lowered his mouth to your center. They gleamed in the pale light, empty of all the color you remembered. But the moment his tongue pressed against you, spreading heat through your body, the fear tangled with need. Your skin prickled with gooseflesh, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
He licked you slowly at first, reverent, savoring, as if each taste was years overdue and not weeks. His tongue traced measured patterns, every stroke sending sparks up your spine. You whimpered, clutching at the sheets, thighs quivering, but his hands held you steady, finding yours, interlacing them together, his thumb stroking the side of your palm with gentleness.
Then he hummed against you, the vibration sinking deep, and your cunt clenched hard around nothing. “That’s it,” he murmured against your flesh, voice muffled but thick with hunger. “Been dreamin’ of this, baby girl. One’a the things that kept me goin’ was rememberin’ how sweet this pussy was for me.”
He buried his mouth deeper, tongue pushing into you, lips dragging over your folds. He lapped at you like he’d never get enough, a man possessed, every flick and swirl both worship and devouring. His teeth grazed your swollen clit and you gasped, hips jerking, but he soothed it instantly with his tongue, tender and coaxing, before sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.
Your hands clenched his, nails digging in, grounding yourself as his black eyes never left yours. Watching you come undone, his gaze was a void pulling you under. Your back arched off the bed in a sudden burst of ecstasy, your eyes flashing white with stars as you crested through your release.
“Fuck—oh fuck—Joel, JoelJoelJoel,”
He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, a low, guttural noise that vibrated against you. He let your hands go only to wrap around the tops of your thighs, pulling you closer, and you immediately fisted them into his hair, dragging him in, grinding yourself desperately against his face. He flattened his tongue and gave you the breadth of it, letting you ride the heat of his mouth, the slick of his tongue, until the last shudders worked through you.
When you slumped back against the mattress, trembling and gasping, Joel didn’t stop, but he gentled, pressing soft kisses against your slick, swollen folds, the insides of your thighs, the curve of your hip. Worship and hunger, hunger and worship. He trailed back up your body slowly, savoring you, laying kisses like prayer along your stomach, your ribs, the valley of your chest.
You hummed softly, a dazed little sound, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw his beard—soaked with you, gleaming with it. You cupped his face in your hands, licking the pearls of arousal from his beard, kissing the evidence from his mouth as well.
His lips met yours when you pressed against them, and the kiss was filthy and claiming. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and he seemed to revel in it, groaning as he pushed inside your mouth with more urgency, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck to hold you there, to drink you in.
“Fuck me,” you whispered against his lips, your words broken and raw. “Please. Don’t make me wait any longer. I need you.”
Joel pressed his forehead to yours, the breath between you hot, ragged. His thumb stroked your jaw as he looked down at you with those black, bottomless eyes, dark as sin and twice as hungry.
“Know you do, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough with desire, “could never deny my best girl.”
You felt the heavy press of him against your thigh as he shifted, lining himself up, his body so warm, so solid over you that you shook with anticipation. He dragged the head of his cock slowly through your slick, coating himself in you, savoring the way you whimpered, hips rising to chase him.
He pushed in slow, steady, until your body stretched wide around him. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails sinking into hot skin. He filled you so completely it made your head spin, the stretch bordering on unbearable, the relief instant once he bottomed out.
Joel’s jaw locked, breath hissing through his teeth. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading where your skin touched, “Always take me so well, baby,”
He pulled back, then drove in again, gentle, hissing through his teeth, eyes shutting closed. You writhed against the mattress, a whimper caught in your throat. His hand slid to your thigh, pushing it higher, opening you wider for him. The angle dragged him deeper, grinding against that tender spot inside that made your toes curl.
“Yeah,” he grunted when your walls fluttered around him. “That’s it, take it, my good girl, yeah, that’s it. Always know what you need.”
You clung to him, sobbing with the sheer feel of sensation. He moved slowly at first, each thrust controlled, like he wanted to remember the way you squeezed him. His mouth found yours, sealing together as you both moaned, his cock sawing in and out in tender gentleness at first. He was being so sweet, like he was savoring every moment your bodies intertwined.
“Joel,” you murmured, reaching your hands up to pull at the graying strands.
“Yeah, baby? What is it?” He cooed, his mouth moving to your jaw, your neck, nipping and suckling your salty skin.
“Look at me,” you said, returning the kiss to his neck before he pulled back.
His black eyes looked down at you now, a shiver running over you at your moonlit reflection in them.
“You’re being so sweet,” you whispered, your mouth brushing his between words, “so good… so gentle. I love it, but…but I want—”
He tilted his head, thumb tracing your jaw. “What is it, honey? Tell me. Give you anything you want.”
“Want more,” you whispered, dragging your fingers through his hair. A low, bullish groan rumbled out of him, his eyes fluttering closed as your nails scraped along his scalp, "Show me how much you missed me."
Something dark flickered across his face, sweetness drawing back into shadow. When his eyes opened again, his breath had gone heavier. He shifted, dragging his palm around your throat until his hand rested beneath your jaw.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded, eyes heavy, voice small as you tipped your jaw back when he squeezed only the slightest bit with his thumb and forefinger beneath your ears. “Please.”
He kissed you once more, hard, his mouth sealed over yours until your lungs ached. When he exhaled, the growl that followed seemed to vibrate through both of you. And then he was turning you beneath him in one fluid motion, your bodies still joined with his cock still buried deep, and his weight folding over your back.
He was slick with sweat, his chest hair tickling your shoulder blades, his belly flush against your lower back. His cock reached new depths like this, pulsing, twitching inside of you. You could feel the involuntary squeeze of your walls around him, feeling so close, so taken and claimed by the man.
You gasped as he settled fully, sweaty and warm, with chest to your spine, one arm slipping around your front to keep his hand at your throat, the other anchoring you to the bed. His voice brushed your ear, low and breathless.
“Like this? Hm?”
You think you might’ve made some sort of noise that sounded like a yes.
“What a sweet girl I have,” he murmured, though there was nothing sweet left in his tone—only something darker, edged with possession. You shivered beneath him, his heat overwhelming, "Always askin' so nice for it,"
He pulled his hips back, long and slow, deliberately taking his time so you could feel every ridge until you were clenching around the emptiness he left behind. You whimpered, greedy for more, but your breath caught as he slammed back into you—deep, hard, the impact sending a cry tearing from your throat.
“Oh!” you yelped, the sound dissolving into a moan.
“Yeah,” Joel growled, breath hot against your ear. “Yeah, just like that, huh?”
You were a sudden mess beneath him, a babble of broken sounds as his hips pistoned into you. His hand stayed at your throat, guiding your every breath, every gasp. You couldn’t stop the way you arched, pressing back against him, offering yourself up.
He was all heat and hunger, biting and licking at your neck, animal in his rhythm. Then his hand moved, sliding across your front until his arm hooked beneath your chin, forearm pressing against your throat.
Oh, fuck.
He held you there, bicep flexed against your cheek, elbow choking you perfectly. The other hand clamped at your hip, holding you still as he fucked into you, unrelenting, every thrust driving to the very end of you, every one hitting home.
But as he moved, it was with a hunger that felt almost mournful, every breath dragging against your skin like a prayer he’d been holding for too long. His rhythm grew rougher, not cruel but hungry, desperate, needy—a man trying to remind himself that you were real, that you were home. Each deep push of his hips carried something wordless, a plea pressed into every inch of you, as if he could chase away all the empty nights you'd spent without him by sheer will alone.
“God, I missed you,” he breathed, voice breaking low against your neck. His hand trembled where it held your shoulder, breath catching with every push into you. “Was losin’ my goddamn mind without you, baby.” His lips brushed your ear, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.
“Joel—” you mewled, words slurred and wet, brain gone hazy.
“Yeah, baby?” you could feel the bastard smiling against your skin.
“Got no plans on stoppin’, baby,” he chuckled, low and rough. “That’s it. Atta girl. Can feel how bad she wants it, how much she missed me. Did she miss me, baby? Tell me. Tell me how much.”
You couldn’t help it, the way your body was trembling, your mind dissolving under it all, tears began to fall down your face once again. “Missed you—missed you so bad—missed your cock, the way you—fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m coming, pleasepleaseplease—”
“Give it to me,” he growled. The sound barely was human, thick with hunger and something darker. You could picture those black, endless eyes now, grateful you couldn’t see them yourself—how they must’ve been watching you, “Now.”
The sound that tore from you was something primal, foreign—an animal cry you hardly recognized as your own. Your eyes rolled, your mouth parted in a soft, trembling ‘o’ as your back arched and his arm tightened around your throat. It was galaxies and implosions, stars bursting in your belly, your thighs quivering as you felt him push into you one last time. Your velvet keep clutched him so tight he had no other choice but to feel the waves of your pleasure pulsing around him. It was too much, too much and also perfect, everything you wanted and needed, everything only Joel could give you. It lasted longer than you could bear, your body rolling through wave after wave until you were left boneless, face damp against the pillow, tears and saliva cooling on your skin. His arm was slick where it held you, trembling faintly as the quiet settled around you.
When you came to, he was kissing your neck sweetly, breathing deeply, open mouthed against you, his slick forehead pressing to your pillow beside you.
“Holy shit,” you managed, your voice rasped and unsteady, laughter curling faintly at the edges.
You opened one eye to find him watching you. For a fleeting heartbeat, his eyes looked hazel as he chuckled, the warm pool of colors you knew too well, before he blinked and they darkened again, back to that endless, ink-black depth.
He kissed you once more before pulling away, slipping from inside you with a quiet groan. His hands were careful, gentle, as he moved off you and collapsed beside you.
The sheets clung damp to your skin, twisted low around your hips where Joel had pulled you under them, close to him. He tucked you against his chest, still slick with cooling sweat, his breath heavy and warm as the both of you settled into the quiet. The room smelled of salt and musk, of the faint smoke from the fireplace downstairs that had crept up the hall. Your body hummed, the ache between your thighs softening into something sweet and bone deep, while his hand rested idly at your waist, thumb stroking lazy circles against your stomach.
You pressed your cheek to his chest. His skin was warm, damp, a stillness to his chest. For a moment, you let yourself forget everything else—the fear, the doubt, the way those black eyes had unsettled you. Here, in the circle of his arms, it was Joel. It felt like Joel.
“Can you stay?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet. “With me?”
“Not for much longer, baby,” he murmured, thumb sweeping up to graze the side of your breast. “But I can come back tomorrow night.”
“You can?”
He nodded, though the look on his face made your stomach twist. There was something stricken in it, a sadness that even his smile couldn’t disguise.
“What is it?” you asked, your hand flattening against his chest.
Joel’s gaze lowered, his fingers stalling where they’d been grazing your ribs. “It’s just…”
“Tell me,” you whispered, worry prickling your mind.
He sighed, a little sad smile pulling at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes, though they were tender as they watched you, “Well, for you, it’ll only be a day. One day here, earthside. But down there—” His voice caught, breaking on the word. He shut his eyes as if the truth itself was a wound. “Down there, time is… different.”
A chill spread through you, stealing the warmth of his body pressed against yours. “You’re in Hell?” you choked.
He nodded, the lines in his face deepening. “Just for a while. Doin’ my time before I can go up to the big guy. Gotta pay my dues.” His thumb rubbed absently at your skin, like he couldn’t stop touching you even as he spoke of damnation. “You know about my past.”
Tears welled hot in your eyes. “Joel…”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his hand moving to cup your cheek, catching the spill of one tear with his thumb. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” you said, though your voice broke. “But tell me—what did you mean? About time.”
He sighed, the sound ragged, and pulled you closer until your face pressed into his collarbone. “Time don’t run the same down there. These weeks you’ve had without me…they were five years for me. Five years in the pit.”
“Five years?” The words hitched in your throat. You tipped your face up to him, stricken.
He nodded, mouth tight, brow furrowed with an ache he didn’t bother to hide.
“Oh, Joel.” You clutched him tighter, burying your sobs into his neck, your arms wrapping desperately around his solid frame.
“S’okay, honey. S’okay,” he murmured, stroking your hair, the sound of his voice steady even while you cried for him.
“I’m so sorry,” you wept. “You’re a good man. You’re kind, loyal—you don’t deserve—”
“But I do.” He pulled your face back to kiss the tears from your lips, silencing you with the taste of salt. “I do. I’m payin’ for what I did to survive. Gotta do my time, same as any sinner.”
“So…until then? How long?”
“Don’t matter, baby.” He smiled again, sad and soft, his hand brushing down the curve of your arm as though anchoring himself in your warmth. “As long as I can, I’ll keep comin’ back. I’ll be with you every chance I get—if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll always let you. I always want you.” The words spilled out, desperate and true. And suddenly, a clarity broke over you like light. “Oh, Joel,” you whispered, your palm pressing over your belly. “I have to tell you, before you go—”
The clock on the nightstand screamed its alarm.
5:00AM.
And Joel was gone.
Before
Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange.
“Come back,” you said into the dark, the words torn from your chest like a curse.
The cemetery was a black under the cloak of a moonless sky. Only the wet hiss of disturbed snow rented your eardrums as you drew your coat tighter. The pages of the book Claire had given you shifted faintly beside your kneeled position, damp at the edges. Your palm left a smear of blood across the center of the transmutation circle you’d drawn in the white frost, your hand stinging, skin already numb.
“Come back, you son of a bitch,” you bit out, voice fraying into the wind. You planted your palm harder into the snow at the center of the circle and pressed, teeth grinding to dust down your throat.
“You don’t get to leave me here. You hear me? You don’t get to just—” Your voice cracked, splintering through your teeth. “You promised me, Joel.” You stared at your hands, at the blood bright against the white, and waited.
Nothing.
“Please,” you whispered, throat thicker, straining against the words. Your hand stung when you pushed harder, the snow was slowly turning crimson.
They’d all left that morning. Ellie and Dina gone, Tommy the day before, Maria swallowed by community duties. Folks dropped casseroles on your porch, laid bouquets on the ground like flags you didn’t ask for. You didn’t want their pity. You wanted Joel.
You’d been scavenging all day: thirty-five liters of water in rusted jugs, twenty kilos of carbon in the form of charcoal and burned bones, eight hundred grams of phosphorus tucked into a cracked thermos. The constructional formula was scribbled in Claire’s book—Claire, who’d come by with a thermos of soup and a soft smile, old book in hand. You wondered if she’d ever tried this herself, if she’d ever stood on frozen dirt with a hand that bled and thought she could bargain with the world when Eugene died. You pushed your palm harder into the snow until the cold bit up through your veins.
Tears slipped down your face; you felt ridiculous and feral crying over a marker in a town that had already moved on. You shoveled the grief down into yourself, concentrated it into the circle, until your lungs hurt and the book rustled beside you.
“Aw, aren’t you just precious.”
You jolted so hard it felt like your spine had leapt out of your skin. You turned towards the voice that was close enough to make the hairs on your arms stand up.
It was a woman with short, shoulder length brown hair under a green bandana, a maroon shirt chewed at the sleeves. Freckles dusted her nose, incongruous against those eyes: black as coal, utterly without whites, reflecting none of the cemetery’s poor light. You felt the color drain from your face.
“Thought you could bring him back, huh?” she said, Detroit or Ohio or somewhere flat on the tongue—Midwest, if you had to guess.
“Who’re you?” you managed, voice thin.
She took a slow step forward, boots whispering on the crusted snow. “Why don’t you get you and your little book off the ground and we’ll talk.”
You slowly hauled yourself up, knees complaining, lifting the book close to your chest. Your heart thudded in your ears like a warning drum.
“Don’t you know the first rule of summoning?” she prompted. “Huh?”
“Summoning?” The word sounded foreign in your mouth, though you’d memorized every cursed line in Claire’s book.
“Yeah, summoning. Bringing someone back to life.” She cocked her head. “You can’t take if you got nothin’ to give.”
“Take my life,” you said before you could stop yourself. Your spine straightened.
If you had to pay, they could take you. Take the rest of it. Take whatever was left.
“That easy, huh?” The woman’s smile was all teeth.
You nodded. The cold ate through your boots, but your hands were steady.
“Take my life and give him his,” you said, voice flat with something like resolve.
She laughed, short and bright. “No can do.”
“Why the hell not!?” you barked, breath fogging hard.
She stepped closer, inspecting you like a collector would a coin. “Yeah, you’re definitely his type.” Her grin softened, but not at the eyes. Those eyes. Dark and beady as they watched you, nothing but onyx, sparkling where the snow reflected.
“What the hell are you talking about? How do you know my husband?”
“Husband, huh? Didn’t expect Texas to have it in ’em.” She shook her head, amused, and paused before going on.
“Name’s Tess. I’m here to make you a deal.”
“A deal?” you parroted.
“That’s right. Deal with the devil, so they say.” She shrugged as if the phrase were a joke you weren’t in on. The black of her eyes gleamed. “If you give me somethin’, I can let this slide. Big guy won’t know a thing. Joel’ll stay with us and…” She let the rest hang, a bargain half-offered, shrugging.
“I want him back.” The words scraped. “I did this to bring him—”
“He’s busy.” The answer was a flat stone.
“Busy?” Your throat closed. “What in sam hell does that even—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, girl. I’m here to do business. Or I can just—” Her hand made a small dismissive motion like flicking ash from a cigarette.
“Okay. Fine. Fine.” You were all bark and brittle bones. It was as if you’d never known true desperation until this night.
“You give me a life, I give you Joel.”
“I said you could have mine. Take it. Bring him home. You can take me.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in a way that made your skin prickle. “Don’t want you.”
Your jaw tightened. “You gonna tell me why?”
“You’re too…well…” She smiled that slow, reptilian grin that reached everything but her eyes. “You already got a seat upstairs.”
“A seat?” You blinked, and a rumor of cold ran through you.
“You don’t belong to Lucifer, girl. I can’t take you unless I got permission.” She tapped the side of her nose, conspiratorial. “But I can take…” She nodded down your body.
You looked around—at the iron gate, at the empty benches, at the footprints fading into white—and your mind turned to fog.
“Oh, don’t tell me I’m the one breakin’ the news to you?” Tess said, flat amusement on her lips.
You waited, blinking.
She paused, holding onto the moment, and her black eyes, bottomless as they were, lit up as her mouth opened in laughter, “Oh, come on, haven’t you figured it out yet? Smart girl like you.”
Your stomach turned. “Figured what out?”
She nodded at you, at the trembling set of your hands where you clutched the book, at the way your bloodied palm pressed instinctively against your middle. “You’re carryin’ somethin’. Little secret you didn’t even know yet. Joel’s left us a piece of ‘em here.”
The words sank like stones into your chest. For a moment the night went silent, even the wind seemed to still.
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, that’s not—”
“Don’t play dumb,” Tess said lightly, tilting her head, eyes gleaming black. “You feel it, don’t you? The sickness in the mornings, the way your body’s been restless. Ain’t grief, honey. It’s life.”
You staggered back a step, knees weak. A hot rush of tears blurred the gravestone, the circle, the blood smeared snow. Your palm slid instinctively down to your belly, pressing hard as if you could smother the truth.
“No,” you repeated, but the denial rang hollow.
“Funny thing,” Tess mused, crouching to drag a finger through the snow at Joel’s grave, “you came out here beggin’ to trade your life for his. But looks like you already got somethin’ of his inside you. Flesh of his flesh. Ain’t that poetic?”
“Stop it.”
“Now here’s the fun part,” she went on, standing again with a smirk. “You get to choose. Joel, or the baby. Can’t have both, girl. Equivalent exchange.” She spread her hands wide, as if to frame the deal in the frozen air. “Bring him back, and poof—” she snapped her fingers, sharp as a bone breaking, “no more little Miller growin’ in there. Keep the baby, and Joel stays where he is.”
The night pressed in, black and endless. Your throat burned raw.
“I…” Your voice broke in your chest. “Don’t make me choose. Please. Please don’t.”
Tess only watched you, eyes bottomless, smile fixed.
Your hand went to your belly of its own accord, thumb resting on skin you hadn’t known you were protecting until now. The wind shifted, carrying your breath in a pale cloud as your lips parted with an answer.
“Okay.”
author's note for those who were confused: claire is the name of eugene's wife in the game
Summary: Working as a personal assistant for the most eligible bachelor in New York City has its perks: above average pay, expensive goody bags from parties, traveling to exotic locations, dining at exclusive restaurants. It's a dream job that practically fell into your lap. The downside? You've been hopelessly in love with him for years and he has no clue. Even if he did, he isn't willing to give up his playboy lifestyle for a steady relationship. That is, until he meets Lucy, and everything changes.
Warnings: slow burn, power imbalance (boss/employee), language, food and alcohol consumption, some minor physical trauma, hurt/comfort, mention of SA (the part from the movie), eventual smut (18+ MDNI), angst, minor infidelity, so much fucking pining and yearning, more warnings to be stated each chapter
Status: in progress
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Chapters:
please notice
there is a light that never goes out - posting Oct 4
thin line - posting Oct 11
there's no way - posting Oct 18
potential - posting Oct 25
bruises - posting Nov 1
head over feet - posting Nov 8
-> if you wish to be notified of chapter updates, please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications
summary — joel has always prided himself for being a man in control. but slowly you are taking his world apart piece by piece, dismantling who he thought himself to be. so when he comes head to head with your boyfriend, things come crashing down in a bloody climax.
word count — 5.7k
tags — joel miller x reader, dad's best friend, no outbreak/no cordyceps, age gap, slow burn
content warnings — hefty age gap (reader late 20s/joel early 50s), violence.
author’s note — another joel pov yay!!!!!! he's so fun to write for, as a character i have loved deeply for years, it's a fun challenge to try and capture him. this chapter is payoff for how dark and depressing chapter 7 was, and guys i promise it pays off. this chapter is honestly self indulgent because i just love angry + protective joel <3 as always please like if you read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, and thank you all so much for the support on this fic ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
tag list — @vanillaxbambi @juliebb1 @froggyloora @starryd147 @rottedbeneath @lanagriffinxxx @jackiecarter @javiermillerrrr @angelgmf26 @swagdaddy2004 @pinkcabinet @billionairecowgirl • if you want to be tagged on the future chapters, comment on the masterlist!
I know who I am when I’m alone, I’m something else when I see you / You don’t understand, you should never know / How easy you are to need.
It’s in the stillness, the moments just before wake or sleep. The air shifts, stagnating around him, thick on his skin. It’s the same heavy feeling you get when you can still feel someone who's gone, their presence lingering. Or the weight perched under the tongue of someone who has words they don’t dare speak.
Lying in bed, covered in the same old quilt, he can feel you there. Those ghosts of touches — a finger, a hand, a breath, a kiss. No matter what Joel does, he can’t escape you. It’s driving him mad, sleepless nights spent staring at the lines on the ceiling as they slowly morph into your face. He tries desperately to forget them, to allow them to pass through him like breaths of air.
But things have only gotten worse since that night. The look on your face when Andrew came through the door. The nearly imperceptible flinch at his touch; the overwhelming sadness that permeated the air around you like smoke. Joel wanted to rip you away from him that moment, but he didn’t.
Those are things your Dad should’ve picked up on; something he should’ve done.
You’re not his kid. Not his.
It’s not his place, but god he hated it. His skin crawls just thinking about that boy, his hands aching with the need to wipe that smug grin right off his face. He might hide it well, but that boy is a wolf parading in the skin of a sheep. When you and he went up the stairs, Joel was quick to ask your Dad if he could crash on the couch, which of course Daniel was more than fine with.
He doesn’t know why he stayed exactly, it’s not like he necessarily thought anything would happen — Daniel was right there. But either way, it didn’t sit right with him leaving you there. So he’d laid his head on the couch, and right when his mind had quieted just enough to almost fall asleep, the kitchen light had cut on, and the sound of familiar footsteps roused him.
When he saw you — hair damp, barefoot, large band tee hanging down over the tops of your thighs — his heart had lurched; bashing itself bloody against his ribcage. His feelings towards you were only getting more and more complicated. The jealousy he’d felt watching that cowboy’s hands on you, or all the people around leering at your jean clad ass, he could have cracked his jaw with how hard he was clenching his teeth. He’s losing objectivity when it comes to you, and it’s driving him crazy. Joel prides himself on his ability to always be in control of his actions, his words, his emotions, his thoughts, everything. Yet here you came, with your long legs and big eyes and suddenly everything inside of Joel is fracturing.
Joel flinches when he feels something hit him pulling him from his reverie, “What the fuck?” He turns to look at where it came from, seeing his younger brother snapping and waving dramatically in his direction, “Earth to Joel?”
Joel blinks a few times, twisting his brow in annoyance, “Whadya say?”
“I said can you pass me the damn level. You goin’ deaf on me old man?”
Tommy dodges just as Joel throws the level at his head, letting out a bark of a laugh. “Alright, alright I’m just messin’, shit. What’s up with you anyway?”
Joel stops what he’s doing turning to face his brother, face inscrutable, “Whadya mean?”
Tommy looks at him, brows raised, then lets out a sigh, getting back to work, “You’ve just been out of it lately. Spacey. Which ain’t like you, so what is it? What’s got you so preoccupied?” Joel leans his head back, letting out a sigh, the sunlight turning his eyelids red.
He rubs his beard, then wipes some sweat off his forehead, “It’s nothin’, don’t worry about it.” When he looks over at his brother, Tommy has a distinctly ‘bullshit’ expression, but he knows his brother well enough to know the more he pry’s the more closed up he’ll get.
“‘Lright, I’ll stop pesterin’ you, but if this damn deck comes out uneven or somethin’ I’m blamin’ you”. Joel huffs a laugh, then gets back to work, placing the next plank and hammering it in place.
The late June sun beats down on them unrelentingly but they’re used to it — years of outdoor work will do that. Beads of sweat drip down Joel’s back, his hair plastered to his forehead and neck. He sits up straight again, pulling his glove off with his teeth so he can push his hair back. Hands resting on his jean clad thighs, he stares out at their work. They started building this deck at the beginning of the month, and they’re just now about to finish; both of them work busy schedules and on their weekends the last thing they want to do is more building.
However, after the events of Friday night, Joel’s been restless, and this was the perfect excuse for him to keep busy. So he’d called Tommy, offered to come over so they could finally finish it.
Another hour passes by, and finally the brothers are done; Joel hammering the final plank in place before standing up with a groan, “My knees and back are killin’ me, I ain’t cut out for bending over like this all damn day.”
Tommy laughs, taking his signature bun out and running his fingers through his black hair, “Hey, you goin’ to Daniel’s tonight for that uh, barbeque?” Joel turns around, a look of confusion on his face, “Barbeque? I hadn’t heard anythin’ about that”.
“How the hell I’d hear about it and not you? Well yeah, he called earlier invitin’ me. Said something about his daughter’s boyfriend in town, wantin’ to welcome him and stuff. I figured we can head there after this if you were wantin’ to go.”
Joel visibly tenses at the mention of you and that boy. Tommy unfortunately picks up on it, giving his brother a raised eyebrow, “You and Daniel alright…” Joel looks up, grateful that his brother obviously assumes his tension is directed where it should be. “Yeah, no we’re fine. I probably got a call. You know me, no good at checking the damn thing”. Tommy brushes it off with a laugh, but his expression isn’t entirely convinced.
“I’m gonna head home and shower first, I’ll meet you over there. Sound good?” Tommy nods, and Joel puts the last of his tools in his toolbag before heading for his truck. He sets the bag in his passenger seat with probably a bit more force than he should. He opens his glove box with a clang, fumbling around inside until his hand lands on what he was looking for, a sigh escaping his lips at the feel of the crumpled Marlboro box.
He starts the engine as he pulls one from the box, placing it between his lips. He lights the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs until the burn is too much, then exhaling, smoke filling the cabin. Joel rolls the window down, ashing the cigarette before taking another drag, left arm draped on the windowsill. The taste of the smoke on his tongue reminds him of you, and he curses under his breath.
Everything brings him back to you, and if he was a smarter man he’d distance himself, not go to that barbeque tonight. Get this under control — avoid you, ‘til it stops feeling like his skin’s on fire whenever he’s in your presence.
But Joel’s never claimed to be a smart man.
When Joel pulls up outside of your house, the driveway is already filled up with cars. Pulling up under the big live oak, he puts his truck in park, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Taking a few breaths, he does his best to release the tension that’s been building in his body the whole drive over. He can be good, he can be distant, he can be uninvolved.
Just gonna go in, have some beers and good food, talk with the guys, and not even think about her. If that prick shows his face, I’ll bite my tongue and ignore him. And her… well, let’s hope he’s enough of a distraction that she won’t seek me out. He repeats this mantra over and over in his head as he walks up the drive, gravel crunching under his work boots, case of Coors under his arm.
Joel opens the front door, and is able to see down the hall through the screen door to the backyard full of people. The sound of his boots on the hardwood echo through the empty house. Almost to the door, his body is suddenly run into by a smaller form, stopping him in his tracks. He looks down, and sees you standing there, having walked right into him as you stepped out of the kitchen holding a plate of deviled eggs.
Joel helps you level them before they tumble to the floor, and instantly he’s cursing in his head, so much for avoiding her.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. Wasn’t looking where I was going… thank you,” you look up at him with your doe eyes, and instantly his mantra is forgotten. Your hair is loose around your shoulders, a short sundress hugging the curves of your frame. Joel takes a step back, trying to create distance between you, suffocating on your presence.
“I didn’t think you were coming…” you trail off, and Joel wonders for a moment if that's disappointment or satisfaction in your voice.
“Tommy passed on the word. I almost thought about not… no invite ‘nd all, but figured your old man just forgot” he trails off, holding your gaze. The two of you stand like that, frozen in time, eyes locked on one another, breath stilted.
“Y-yeah, sorry that’s my fault. I was supposed to invite you, I’ve just… been a little out of it today..” So disappointment, got it, Joel notes to himself. He tries not to notice the sting he feels somewhere between his lungs at that. He keeps his face carefully neutral, then motions towards the open backdoor, “After you”.
You smile, a small awkward thing, then lead the way, heading down the porch and back out into the fray. Joel takes in the crowd, it’s mostly friends of Daniel’s from work; some familiar faces, some not. Joel spots Tommy talking to an overly animated woman who keeps laughing and placing her hand on his flannel wrapped bicep, making Joel chuckle to himself. Tommy makes eye contact with his brother, and looks like he desperately wants to be saved. Joel smirks and turns the other way, looking for the cooler to set the beer.
He finds one over by the grill which is being manned by his best friend, who turns with a big smile on his face when he sees Joel. “Hey ya made it! I was startin’ to think you wouldn’t show! Know crowds aren’t really your thing but I was hopin’ you’d show your face at least”. Joel grabs two beers from his case, handing one to Daniel and opening one for himself. He takes a big swig, needing the alcohol to kick in desperately. His mind is focused exactly where it’s not supposed to be, on the woman sitting at the firepit next to a distinctly floppy haired obnoxious prick.
Luckily Daniel can talk for two, so Joel just has to stand and make a grunt here and there as he waits for the beer to sink into his bloodstream. In spite of himself he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Even with Daniel and countless other people standing between the two of you, his eyes are locked on you and he can’t seem to pull them away. That boy, Andrew, is sitting next to you, chatting with some of the other people, crows feet creasing around his eyes as he smiles and laughs his way through some conversation.
Your body language is distinctly more somber, knees tight together, chest curved inward, hands clutching a beer bottle for dear life, face carefully and masterfully blank. Your eyes are watching the flames before you, but only in appearance. You’re somewhere else, and Joel can’t stop himself from wondering where it is you’ve gone.
You must feel his brown eyed gaze, because suddenly your eyes flash to his, eyes locking on one another from across the yard, and everything goes quiet.
The yard’s empty save the two of you. His feet move of their own accord, drawn to you like the pull of a magnet. His legs knock against your knees, still sitting in your chair, and he kneels in front of you. Joel reaches out, taking the beer bottle from your hand and setting it down beside you. Your breath is coming in rapid short breaths, chest rising and falling, eyes wide taking him in on his knees before you. With a slight tremor, he lifts his hands, resting them gently on your legs. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he slides his large hands slowly up your thighs, just barely grazing your skin. Then, hands resting on your hips, Joel breaks eye contact with you as he slowly bends at the waist, resting his head gingerly on your lap like he’s afraid you’ll break.
As he breathes in the warm scent of you he knows at his core he’s weak. His fingers tighten, gripping onto your hips, knuckles white and shaking. Teeth bared, brow twisted in agony. He’s not good. Not strong. He’s sick for this, for you, for wanting you and this. You’re single handedly taking him apart and he hates you for it, except he doesn’t. Not at all. His grip on you becomes painful and still you’re silent above him, and he wishes to god you would say something, anything.
Then with a flash, as soon as it went quiet the noise comes back in a roar, deafening him. He blinks. Once, twice, then suddenly he’s back standing next to the grill. Your dad in the middle of saying something to him.
“Huh? S-sorry, I… checked out, whatdya say?” Joel asks, shaken by whatever the fuck that was.
“Ha! Yeah I’ll say, had that thousand yard stare, thought I’d lost ya for a second there. I said do ya mind manning the grill for a sec, I was gonna run inside and grab some more burgers from the fridge”.
Joel shakes his head, taking the spatula from your dad as he heads inside. He downs what’s left of his beer, doing anything to lock himself back in. Suddenly a slap on his shoulder has him jump slightly, and he turns to see the smiling face of his younger brother.
“Damn, what’s gotten into you today? I’m tellin’ ya you’re losin’ it, old man” Tommy chuckles as he sits down on top of the cooler. “Thanks for savin’ me by the way” he looks up at Joel with an annoyed look.
“You seemed to be handlin’ yourself just fine,” Joel huffs a laugh. “Hand me another one will ya’?” Tommy lifts off the lid for a moment, grabbing another beer before handing it to Joel. With the bottom of the other bottle, Joel pops the lid off, before taking three massive gulps.
“Damn brother, ain’t goin’ no where”, Tommy whistles as Joel shoots him a glare.
Your dad comes back from the house holding a few more trays of burgers, and thanks Joel. The three of them chat mindlessly for a while as your Dad finishes up, the whole while Joel’s only half in the conversation. Tommy and your Dad don’t really notice much, Joel’s always been the quiet one of the three. But every once in a while Tommy will shoot a sidelong glance at Joel, knocking his boot to bring him back to the conversation.
Luckily, he never seems to notice where exactly Joel’s attention is focused. Or that it just so happens to be wherever you are.
Hours pass, and Joel’s finally moved on to the good stuff, Tommy having convinced your Dad into bringing out the whiskey awhile ago. Joel’s feeling good, fuzzy behind the eyes and warm all over.
He’s sitting at the firepit, amber liquid swirling in his glass as he stares at the flames, trying desperately not to think about the last time he was this drunk. He’s not sure where his brother went, or your Dad for that matter, the trio had been shooting shit around the fire but they both seemed to have disappeared into the sea of bodies. The sun has crept just beneath the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything, the cicadas humming their evening tune.
A body sits down in the chair beside him, and he turns expecting to see Tommy or your dad, but instead he has to choke back the groan when he sees none other than Andrew sprawled out next to him. The boy lets out a dramatic sigh, beer in hand, before lifting it to his lips. He wipes his mouth, sniffing loudly through his nose, before turning towards Joel.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks Joel up and down; it’s similar to how Joel imagines it must feel to be stalked on a hike by a mountain lion. Andrew’s eyes are a cold, deep slate; the fire casting a shadow over their deep set that is distinctly unnerving.
Joel clears his throat, clearly Andrew wants to intimidate him, and he sure as hell is not about to let that happen. “So… how’d you two meet?”
Elbows on his knees, Andrew never breaks his gaze, that same wolfish grin plastered on his smug face, “At my work. She came in one night, few years ago, with some friends. Prick was bein’ a creep so I helped her out, and well you know, rest is history”.
Joel nods his head, not at all familiar with the story of how the two met, and not really caring at all either. He just knows everything in his gut tells him this kid is wrong. And he knows he said he’d ignore him but he’s presented Joel with the perfect chance to interrogate him. And maybe sober him would see this as a bad idea, but the alcohol coursing through Joel’s veins is choosing to ignore that.
Joel does his best attempt at normalcy, taking another sip of his whiskey, leaning back into his chair to seem relaxed. “You’re a lucky man”.
Andrew cocks his head at that, eyes narrowing ever slightly, “How so?”
Joel swallows, suddenly the heat from the fire is uncomfortable. “Well she’s a great girl. Smart, kind, intuitive—”
“Fine as hell, great ass. Nice tits too. But you were getting to that I’m sure”, Andrew’s grins, the shadows from the fire making it look impossibly wide.
Joel’s jaw ticks, hearing Andrew talk about you like that makes his blood boil. But he doesn’t want to let it show. He’s being read right now, Andrew has clearly marked him as a threat.
“I can’t say I’ve noticed”.
Andrew chuckles at that, finally breaking eye contact for a moment as he laughs. “Oh I’m sure you haven’t.” He scoots closer, resting on the edge of his chair, leaning towards Joel in a way that makes every instinct in Joel want to move away, but he doesn’t. “You think I haven’t seen you? Staring at her, watching… That night I came, why one might almost say it looked like I’d interrupted somethin’ between the two of you.”
Joel just stares, clenching down on his molars, unwilling to open his mouth for fear of saying something he’ll regret. Andrew takes that as submission, leaning in even closer, voice a whisper. He makes a show of looking around, giving the impression of the pair being in on something, it makes Joel want to crack his head in.
“Look, I get it. She’s a young, hot piece of ass. You’re a lonely old man, probably haven’t had some in years… I get it, you’ve got a little crush. Cute. But I’m here now, and I’m gettin’ kinda sick of you eye fucking my girl any chance you get, yeah? So I’m gonna need you to listen when I say, she’s mine. I don’t want to see you near her, touchin’ her, talkin’ to her, anything. Got it?” His voice drips with malice, that same smile twisting his features but never meeting his eyes. His eyes are just as dead and cold as they’ve been since he came through that door.
Joel’s grip on his glass is so tight he thinks he might break it. Andrew lifts his finger beside his ear, a mocking expression on his face. Joel responds with a single nod, still not trusting himself to open his mouth. It’s enough for Andrew.
“Good talk”, he slaps Joel on the knee, before standing up and sauntering away into the crowd.
Joel downs what’s left of his whiskey, wanting nothing more than to throw the glass at the tree nearest him, or maybe find Andrew and throw it at him. He does his best to collect himself, resting his hands on his knees, deep breaths in, but it’s not working. He needs to get away from the people, the noise. He needs to clear his head before he combusts.
He contemplates just leaving, getting in his truck and driving straight home, but something stops him. Instead he stalks off towards the trees, someplace dark and quiet. Somewhere he can breathe.
Past the treeline he stumbles upon a pond he forgot was tucked behind the house. It’s far enough that the hum of the music and voices is muted. He steps through the overgrown brush, thinking that clearly Daniel doesn’t visit the water much now that you’ve grown up. He’s desperate for some much needed solace, only when he breaks through the brush, he finds that the shoreline is anything but abandoned.
There on a log, smoking a cigarette and staring off into growing night, is you.
Joel stops in his tracks, thinking for a moment about being smart and turning around, but a twig snaps beneath his boot, betraying his presence. You turn around with a jump, shoulders risen in panic that makes bile churn in Joel’s stomach. But the moment you realize it’s him, every muscle in your body relaxes, almost like his presence is a comfort.
He takes that as permission enough to join you, and maybe it’s the booze gone to his head but he suddenly can't remember why he ever thought of walking away; the conversation with Andrew already forgotten.
He sits next to you on the log, matching your gaze out over the small body of water. You nudge him slightly, and he looks down at you, his eyes dropping to your small hand holding a cigarette for him. He nods his head in thanks, taking it from you, careful not to linger too much on your touch. The two of you sit in silence for what feels like eternity, nothing but smoke exchanged between you.
He wonders what you’re thinking of, whether every inch of you is aching like he is — to hold you, to touch you, to shake you and ask why this is happening. When this happened, how it happened and how the fuck to make it all stop. How you can just sit next to him, so close the bare skin of your thigh is rubbing against his jeans, and not be crawling inside yourself. Joel exhales heavily out of his nose, maybe he should bite his tongue, clench down until he tastes blood.
“What did you and Andrew talk about?” your voice disturbs the quiet, jolting Joel from his thoughts. He tenses at the mention of your boyfriend, he didn’t realize you had seen them. For the first time in the night he hadn’t had eyes on you, but apparently you’d had eyes on him.
Clearing his throat, he takes another drag of the cigarette. He pauses, debating on whether or not to be honest, but then again, what else could Andrew and he have possibly talked about aside from the girl currently boring holes into his profile.
“You. We talked about you”, he says around a closed throat, voice quiet around the smoke.
“Yeah, I figured that. What did he say? He has a tendency to be an ass and I just… want to know what he said to you”. He looks over at you now, and you’re looking down at your hands, picking at your cuticles, clearly nervous. Joel thinks of how to word it. He doesn’t want to be too honest, doesn’t want to give away any of the damning details of Andrew’s accusations.
“Why are you with a guy like that?” Joel's voice comes out harsher than he means it to, more accusatory, and instantly your hackles are raised. A huff of a laugh comes out, your brows twisted in confusion.
“The absolute last thing I need right now is your judgement Joel”, and you rise up, but before you can walk away he grabs your arm, stopping you.
“Look, that didn’t come out how I meant, it’s just I see the way you look at him, like you’re scared. You’re timid and that’s something you’ve never been so I want to know what he’s done to make you like that”.
You rip your arm from his grip, taking a few steps back. This is not at all how Joel wanted this to go, the last thing he wants right now is to argue with you, but he can’t stop his mouth from running faster than his brain can think. He’s starting to realize he’s drunker than he thought, his tight grip on his control slipping, his body moving before his brain, and he’s cursing himself for letting himself get like this.
“Look Joel, just do me a favor and stay out of it okay. It’s none of your business”, you throw your cigarette onto the ground, stomping it with your shoe. You’re about to turn away but Joel isn’t done with you yet, so he stands up walking towards you.
“Do you not remember what I said to you all those years ago? ‘Bout never lettin’ a guy treat you less than you deserve? So why are you with one that makes you flinch every time he comes around the corner? Somehow he’s got you wrapped around his finger, ‘nd you’re better than that!” Joel’s voice is rising higher than he means for it to, and some small voice in his head is telling him to just let you leave — to stop talking before he says something he’ll regret.
You turn around quickly, stopping him in his tracks, “Jesus, Joel! You were never this involved in Sarah’s love life, so what is it about me? Huh!?” Your voice has risen to meet his pitch as you look up at him with wide eyes, “Why do you give a shit!? I’m not your daughter, you’re not my dad. So tell me, why do you care?!” Your eyes search his, and Joel feels his throat close up, choking around unspoken words — words that he’s too afraid to even think.
His breath comes out in huffs through his nose, and you raise your chin. The sun has fallen completely beneath the treeline now, Joel’s eyes having to adjust to the low light, but he knows your face as well as his own daughters, and he can see the challenge in your eyes. Daring him to say what you both know is hanging in the air between you, threatening to ruin you both.
Approaching footsteps break the silence, and Joel turns to see the absolute worst person who could possibly stumble upon your exchange. Although he very much doubts Andrew found you by accident, especially with the twisted grin on his face and malicious shine to his eyes.
“You know,” his voice is slick as oil and sharp as a blade, “when I couldn’t find you just now, I had a feeling I’d find the two of you together. Then again, I’d hoped I’d be wrong but well you’ve always had a way with not living up to my expectations”. In the darkness, Andrew’s features look distinctly wolfish in a way that raises the hair on the back of Joel’s neck. He steps slightly in front of you, but you step back around him.
“Andrew, just leave it. Let’s just go back up to the house—,” but your words are interrupted by a cold, bitter laugh from Andrew.
“No, I don’t think I will. You really think you can run off, have some sort of sordid tryst behind my back and we’re just gonna walk away?” There's a shine to his eyes that reeks of danger, somehow even in the dark they seem illuminated like a predators. “Oh baby, you break my fuckin’ heart. No, we’re gonna talk about this like adults, right Joel?” He flashes his eyes over to Joel, whose whole body is a rigid line.
“I think it’s ‘bout time you leave”, Joel’s voice is dangerous and low, he can feel your eyes on the back of his neck. Andrew laughs a humorless thing, and walks right up to Joel until their noses are mere centimeters apart. His breath is hot on Joel’s face as he grins, looking him up and down.
“Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do about it old man, huh?” Every word Andrew speaks is laced with venom, spit hitting Joel’s face with every syllable. “You think I’m leaving here without her? You fucking want her, you’ll have to take her from me. She’s fucking mine. I call, she comes. I leave, she goes. I tell her to fucking sit and she sits. She’s as well trained as a bitch and I sure as hell ain’t about to let Daddy’s best friend try ‘nd take what’s mine—”
Everything goes black.
It’s like those memories as a child, when you’re just about to fall asleep. The world is suddenly a tunnel, far away, and you’re a passenger watching as everything moves in slow motion, while simultaneously feeling like it’s all passing by at the speed of light. Joel’s vision tunnels, he feels himself being pulled away by some invisible tether. The only thing visible at the end is Andrew’s face — lupine and vicious.
One minute that prick is running his mouth and the next moment Joel’s knuckles are slamming into the side of his jaw. Andrew stumbles back, blood pooling out of his mouth. He looks up at Joel, a look of genuine surprise on his face, that’s instantly replaced with something far darker.
But Joel’s mind is empty. He’s drifting, further and further away. Nothing’s left except action. Movement. Cause and effect.
His body is functioning without his brain, or maybe his brain is working outside of his self. He’s not sure, he’s simply a passenger now.
He sees Andrew lunge for him, but Joel’s faster, drawing back and clocking another punch straight to Andrew’s nose. Distantly he can feel the crack of bone beneath his knuckles. A river of blood flows out from between Andrew’s fingers as he stumbles back.
Then Joel’s on him. White knuckled grip in his shirt.
Fist meets bone again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He’s vaguely aware of a voice — someone yelling? But he ignores it.
Fist meets bone again. Another crack, a tooth maybe? A molar? He doesn’t stop.
The body has started to slump, legs giving out, pulling Joel down with it.
He’s standing over it now, as it lies on the ground, but still he doesn’t stop.
Skin splits beneath his fists, and there’s blood.
So much blood.
All over.
His hands look black, why is it black? Shouldn’t it be red? It must not be blood, blood is red.
He hits again.
The voice again, closer this time.
Then hands on him, around him, something wet on his back.
His breath is a roar in his ears, heaving from the exertion.
The body is barely moving, something that sounds like a groan comes from it.
Then the voice again, clearer this time, in his ear, “Joel stop! Please stop!”
It’s you.
You’re crying, why are you crying? He hates to hear you cry.
The tether pulls him back to shore, back into his body. All senses coming back to him in a painful cacophony.
Joel looks over his shoulder, seeing you there, holding him — tears streaking down your face. He wants to hold you but he doesn’t want to get you wet.
He looks then at the wetness, at his hands, covered in blood. Then, just past them, at the now nearly unconscious body of Andrew, coughing even more blood.
He stands up, rigid, a loud roar in his ears. It sounds like a train, but no, it’s his breath.
You’re kneeling on the ground, fingers pressed to a bloody neck. He must still be alive, because you’re up again, talking to Joel. But he can’t hear you, not over the roar.
You try to reach out to him, but he steps back. The look on your face makes him want to gouge out his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another few steps back. He needs to get away from here, away from you, away from what he’s done. You reach for him again, but Joel shakes his head stiffly. He turns then, walking back up towards the house, leaving you there.
Luckily, it doesn’t seem anyone heard anything, music still playing and people conversing like Joel’s world didn’t just slip from beneath him. He walks the perimeter of the crowd through the trees, looking like a walking crime scene. His long legs take him back to his truck quickly. Everything is on autopilot.
Open door, key in ignition, drive home. But suddenly his passenger door is opening, and he looks over expecting to find a blood soaked Andrew but it’s you — hopping into his truck.
He gapes at you, wondering what in the hell you’re doing. There’s blood on your hands, and he’s suddenly filled with disgust at himself for putting it there. He wants to tell you to get out, but his voice is gone, and you wouldn’t listen to him anyway. So he doesn’t, he just puts the truck in drive, heads down the gravel road, and out on the highway.
summary — whatever tension has been building with you and joel is disrupted by an untimely visit from your boyfriend, bringing a swell of unwanted memories.
word count — 7k
tags — joel miller x reader, dad's best friend, no outbreak/no cordyceps, age gap, slow burn
content warnings — hefty age gap (reader late 20s/joel early 50s), mentioned phsyical abuse (past),mentioned alcoholism (past), mentioned depression (past), gaslighting.
psa!!! i do feel the need on this chapter to mention that though this is an x reader fanfic, reader is a fully fleshed character to me, so though the perspective is "your" pov, it's much more along the lines of an oc. i wanted to clarify that because obviously her actions in this chapter might not align with how you would behave in an abusive relationship, and i don't want it to pull you out of the story. so just go into this chapter with an open mind, knowing that everyone handles abuse differently, and every response is just as valid as the next.
author’s note — okay wowza so this chapter is a doozy. seriously read the content warnings on this one, because it's an emotional roller-coaster and could potentially be triggering. we finally meet reader's boyfriend andrew [the crowd boos]. i also would like to formally apologize for kyle gallner being the fc for andrew, i love kyle and i hate that he visually matches andrew (◞‸ ◟) i tried to handle this chapter with as much care as i could, not including too much triggering stuff, but enough to give you a sense of their reader/andrew's past. i promise this is the last chapter that will contain flashbacks of them, i know it's not fun. and if it's any consolation andrew will be gone soon so hold on i promise he's introduced for a reason that will pay off! as always please like if you read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, and thank you all so much for the support on this fic ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
tag list — @vanillaxbambi @juliebb1 @froggyloora @starryd147 @rottedbeneath @lanagriffinxxx @jackiecarter @javiermillerrrr @angelgmf26 @swagdaddy2004 @pinkcabinet @billionairecowgirl • if you want to be tagged on the future chapters, comment on the masterlist!
It's sometimes just like sleeping, curling up inside my private tortures / I nestle into pain, hug suffering, caress every ache / I play dead.
You’re not done with Joel Miller. You manage to convince your dad and him into a night cap on your way back to the parking lot, and though both old men claimed to be tired, the thought of a few more beers perks their interest: Well it is a Friday ain’t it, no work tomorrow, might as well.
They’re out back now, sitting around your dad’s firepit chatting about whatever middle aged men talk about. You’re upstairs in your room changing into some comfier clothes, their voices floating up through your open window. Throwing on a pair of grey sweat pants, you replace your band tee with a tank top. You contemplate putting a bra on, but you wouldn’t normally, and there’s a small thrill at the idea of Joel seeing the swell of your breasts. You take your hair out of their braids, running your fingers through the formed waves.
You grab a beer from the fridge before heading outside to join them. Joel has his boots propped up on the stone of the firepit, head leaned back, staring up at the sky while your dad talks his ear off. The flames illuminate the long line of his neck, making your throat go dry. He lifts his beer to his lips, taking a swig, humming noncommittally at whatever your dad is going on about. He straightens his head when he hears you come out, and you purposefully avoid his gaze as you decide to sit in the chair next to your dad, conveniently across from Joel.
You settle into the chair, stretching out your legs before tucking them under yourself. You finally look across the way to find Joel staring at you, fire light illuminating his eyes, beer bottle hovering above his lips. Those amber eyes take in exactly what you wanted, flashing down to your tits for an instant, and looking away just as quick. And maybe it’s the glow of the fire but you swear his cheeks are flushed.
You smile to yourself, drinking beer, and finally tuning your father’s voice into your ears, hearing him still going on about some story he saw on Facebook. You’re not really listening though, too busy waiting the perfect amount of time between glances to look over at Joel; your heart racing when you catch him doing the same.
Whatever tension has built over the course of the night has you both noticeably on edge. For the first time since being home, you know in your gut that Joel is just as preoccupied with you as you are with him. So much so, that when your dad stands up, neither of you really hear him when he speaks until he says sarcastically, “I gotta take a piss… y’all don’t talk too much without me”. He gets up, walking up the porch and into the kitchen, leaving you and Joel and the crackle of the flames.
The two of you stay like that for a moment, the silence speaking for you. Joel shifts in his seat, lifting up slightly to grab something from the pocket of his jeans. You can’t see what’s in his hands as he stands up, walking around the firepit towards you.
You hold your breath as he draws nearer, until he’s standing in front of your dad’s chair, towering over you. It’s then you see what’s in his hand, a slightly crushed pack of Marlboro’s. He flips the pack open, pulling two out with his teeth as he sits down. He pulls a small silver lighter out of his pocket, flipping it open, the flame coming to life.
You watch completely enraptured. The way the cigarettes dangle loosely from his lips, his cheeks as they hollow on his inhale, his jaw tense as he holds the smoke in his mouth, long fingers extended as he hands you your cigarette. You grab it from him, putting the cigarette between your own lips, noticing as his brown eyes follow your every movement.
You mirror him, pulling in a drag, the two of you exhaling smoke in unison. You see his eyes flash over your shoulder for a split second, checking to make sure you’re not caught, and you feel a rush. You don’t really know what exactly is happening between you and Joel, but you’ve decided not to look too closely at it. For once choosing to just enjoy something, to live in the moment, and do your damndest not to ruin it.
This feels fragile, whatever it is, and you know the slightest wrong move could shatter it. You’ve always felt connected to Joel, felt something for him that’s gone beyond him simply being a pillar of your life. You’re similar in a way that has always made you feel comfortable with him. And in this moment, as confusing as this thing is, you know whatever reservations you feel he likely feels tenfold. Joel has always been a closed book, a concrete wall, no one getting through. And right now you have a pick axe, slowly chipping away at him — so no, you’re not going to let your mind get in the way of whatever this could be.
His rough voice pulls you from your thoughts, “You’re a bad influence on me, hadn’t smoked in years ‘til you came back”. He looks over at you, tone teasing. You smile back at him, your heart fluttering.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so impressionable”.
“Well, old dog and all”, he takes another drag, smoke spilling from his nose in a lazy stream. You hum, watching his profile unashamedly, the alcohol in your system and the fever dream of the night still clinging to you. His arm is resting lazily on the chair, hand hanging just centimeters away from your own. You wonder what it would be like to be able to close that gap, taking his hand in yours. Would he pull away like he did when you kissed him? Or would he interlace your fingers? Tracing the lines of your hand, lips ghosting your knuckles?
You don’t even realize you’ve moved until your finger just barely grazes his, and right as his head snaps to look at you, eyes locking with yours, you hear your dad’s footsteps coming from down the porch. You move quickly, throwing your cigarette into the fire, as Joel gets up at the same time. He points to the empty bottle in your hand, “Uh, you uh, need another?” he clears his throat, looking frazzled and before you even have a chance to answer he nods his head and steps inside.
Your dad comes strolling up, completely oblivious as always, “Thought I heard a noise out front—” but before he finishes his sentence you’re already shooting out of your seat. “I’m hungry, I’ll grab a snack from inside, you want something? I’m gonna get something”, and before your dad even has a chance to respond you turn and follow the path of Joel’s footsteps.
Bare feet padding on the wood, you find Joel in the kitchen, back towards you. He hears you, lifting his head from the fridge, an expression on his face that looks oddly like guilt.
“Joel—” you’re interrupted mid sentence by the wrap of knuckles on the front door. What the hell? You look from the door, to the clock on the stove reading almost midnight, then your eyes meet Joel’s, an equal look of confusion on his face.
You move, walking slowly up to the door, and you can hear the wood creak behind you, Joel presumably standing at the end of the hallway. You reach the door as another knock echoes. Your hand hovers over the door handle, and you’re suddenly awash with an inexplicable sense of dread. You realize why when you open the door and see who's standing on the other side.
Your stomach drops instantly, your throat closes up, feeling like someone just hit you with a train. Andrew is here. Standing in front of you, with a bag slung across his shoulder. Your boyfriend. Who lives in Boston, is here, in Texas on your dad’s porch. Andrew is here.
He’s looking at you, shaggy dark blonde hair pushed back, his eyebrows severe as always. The yellow glow of your dad’s porchlight highlighting the strong line of his nose. Thick lashes frame his dark grey-blue eyes that hold the all too familiar kicked-dog look you’re used to when he’s groveling for you. His face cracks into a small smile, and then his toned arms are wrapped around you, pulling you to him.
He breathes in through his nose, “God, I’ve missed you baby”. He kisses the top of your head, and you’re frozen in place, body a rigid line. He pulls away, arms on your shoulders, eyes taking you in.
Your heart is thumping in your chest, your vision is spotty, and your head is aching instantly, but somehow through the roar of blood in your ears you hear him. “I— uh, I— I didn’t know you were coming”, a nervous laugh comes out of your mouth, your tone light and dismissive.
Already your body is reverting back to its old defense mechanisms, trying desperately to hide your feelings for the sake of the man in front of you. Your brain is on autopilot, the reality of what’s happening too much to comprehend.
His eyes are piercing through you, scrutinizing every minute detail of your mannerisms. The grip on your shoulders tightens the slightest bit, “Did I not mention it?”, there’s a wolfish nature to his smile that makes you feel like prey.
Before you have a chance to say anything else, your dad’s voice comes booming down the hallway, “Well what the hell hun, you didn’t say Andrew was comin’!” He walks over to the two of you, and you step aside, creating as much distance from Andrew as you can. Your dad slap’s Andrew on the shoulder, smiling wide, “Long time no see! How ya’ been?”
Andrew smiles, patting your dad back on the arm, always the picture perfect boyfriend in company. “Ahh, she didn’t know. I wanted to surprise her. I’ve never been over here, and I thought it’d be a good chance to finally come.”
His smile is warm, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, something your dad doesn’t pick up on but that sets a chill in your blood. He’s pissed. He might be playing the loving partner, but you know Andrew better than anyone, and you having been out of his reach for over a month, slowly extricating yourself from his influence… oh, you know the moment you’re alone— you stop that thought. Your brain protecting itself, knowing you’re with company.
It suddenly hits you then, the other presence in the house, standing still at the end of the hall. You can’t get yourself to look at him, your eyes uncomfortable with leaving Andrew for even a moment, watching his every move.
Your dad steps to the side, grabbing Andrew’s bag and ushering him inside, “Did ya’ just get in town? ‘Sa long drive from Massachusetts, I wish we’d known you were comin’. It’s late, I’m sure you kids will want to catch up, but we were just having a beer out back if you want one. Oh! Joel! Have you met Andrew?”
You’ve followed them down the hall, body moving outside itself, everything slightly out of focus. Your dad’s words pull you from the haze for a moment, your heart stopping dead in your chest at the sight before you.
Joel and Andrew standing in front of one another, cool blue locked on depthless brown. Joel hovers just above Andrew, only a couple inches taller. The line of his shoulders are the only thing that betrays his tension, his face carefully neutral. Andrew extends his hand to Joel, a misguidingly friendly gesture, “Joel, huh? Nice to finally put a face to the name,” there's well disguised venom in Andrew’s tone that opens a pit in your stomach. Joel holds his gaze as he grips your boyfriend’s hand firmly, one singular shake before he lets it go, “You as well”.
They stand there a moment, the two men sizing one another up; though it’s subtle. There’s an electricity in the air, something your dad is most definitely oblivious to as he goes to grab Andrew a beer from the fridge. You’re hovering in the shadow of the hall, hoping if you stand still enough everyone will forget you’re here. Hoping you’ll forget you’re here. It doesn’t work.
Andrew turns, extending his hand out to you, “Babe, I’m sort of beat, let’s go to bed”. His tone is commanding, not a question, and you feel your feet moving on their own, your hand grabbing his.
Your voice sounds tinny in your ears, unfamiliar, “Dad, I actually think we’re gonna turn in”. Your dad sets the beer in his hand on the counter, nodding towards the two of you, “Alright, we can catch up tomorrow! You kids have a good night, Andrew you’re welcome to anything”.
Andrew smiles in return, thanking your dad, then his eyes lock back on Joel who hasn’t stopped watching your boyfriend for an instant. You actually feel yourself begging him to stop, knowing Andrew most definitely notices. He turns and ushers you to lead the way, and finally Joel’s eyes meet your own. You’re not sure if he can tell how distant you are within yourself — Joel’s face a small window in a long black corridor. But there’s a furrow in his brow that makes you think he does, so you look away instantly. “Goodnight Dad, night Joel” you say quietly, before leading the way up the stairs, Andrew close on your heels.
𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑
You remember the first time you ever saw Andrew like it was yesterday. You were celebrating finishing your masters with some friends. It was seven of you, walking into a bar a few blocks away from campus, and to say you turned heads when you walked in would be an understatement. You don’t remember which of your friends' idea it was to dress up, but this was decidedly not a ‘dress-up’ bar, and you felt a little uncomfortable in your mini skit and knee high boots when you came in. You were suddenly very grateful for the tights you opted to wear.
Within the first hour men were swarming around the group of you like flies. You managed to escape to the bar to grab another drink when one of your friends accidentally knocked over yours. This was when you still had a relatively healthy relationship with alcohol, it really being more of a social crutch than anything. You stood at the bar, waiting to be helped and relishing in the brief moment of respite.
But it was short lived, one of the men must have seen you slip away, because suddenly he was beside you standing way too close for your comfort. He offered to buy you a drink and you politely declined, to which he just continued to pester you further.
At one point he lifted his hand and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, and you wanted to smack him for touching you, but instead gripped your hand a little tighter around your wallet. Suddenly, a smooth voice broke through the man’s obnoxious tone and the noise in your head, “Here you go babe, one gin and tonic with extra lime.” You were so startled by the pet name you looked up, and looked into eyes like the cool waters of the Atlantic. The bartender had a warm smile on his face, and he then turned and looked at the man who had been bothering you, “Hey guy, I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t hit on my girl in my face. Now fuck off”.
The man stood with his mouth gaping like a fish, clearly offended and confused, and mumbled something that sounded a lot like “slut” under his breath as he walked away. You turned to look back at the bartender, and his eyes were on yours again. They had a slightly faraway quality that should have been discomforting but oddly did the opposite. “This wasn’t just some elaborate way for me to hit you on, I promise. You just seemed uncomfortable and I thought I’d help”. He smiled at you and you noticed the light in his smile didn’t quite meet the slate of his eyes.
“I usually like to fight my own battles, but I appreciate it”. He laughed at your words, a warm chuckle that flashed his teeth. He kept staring at you, and normally that would’ve made you uncomfortable but something about him was disarming — comforting almost. To your surprise you introduced yourself, and he made a show of shaking your hand, flashing you another wolfish grin, “Andrew”.
You walked away from the bar that night with butterflies in your stomach and a number in your pocket. You hadn’t given yourself much time for guys during college, focusing too much on endless hours of interviews, research, and partying to compensate for the stress. But something about Andrew got under your skin, and in the end it only took a few days before you were calling him.
Your relationship developed relatively quickly after that, milestone after milestone coming in rapid succession. From frequent dates, to goodnight texts, meeting friends to spending nights at his place. It had only been three months and slowly all of your things now sat in his apartment, yours having a sterile uninhabited quality on the rare nights you stayed there. So when he placed a key in your open palm, that characteristic grin on his face, it only felt natural.
So what if your friends had made a comment here and there about how fast things were moving, how they felt they never saw you anymore? They should be happy for you, shouldn’t they? When you asked if they disliked him they were always quick to deny it, “he seems like a good guy / no, no, he’s great / just don’t get so caught up in him you lose yourself”.
Things somehow moved even faster after Andrew helped you move into his apartment. It was by the bay, far from your old place and your roommates, so it felt natural when you started spending more time with his friends. And when you got the news of your dream internship at the Boston Globe, Andrew was your number one supporter, throwing a huge party at your apartment, bragging to his friends how his girlfriend was going to be a journalist. As you worked your way up through the ranks as the years went on, he was always your champion. Going on about how proud he was of you, and how you deserved to be with someone who wasn’t a deadbeat bartender at a dive bar, to which you always ended up with his head in your lap, fingers running through his hair, having to comfort him.
He stood by you even when the stress over the internship got to you and you started drinking more. Even when you started to feel isolated, never seeing your friends, and not really clicking with any of his. Even when your shifts were long, and you would come home to an empty apartment, curl up on the couch with bottle after bottle, and he’d come home to you asleep in the same clothes you’d worked in. He’d always pick you up, change you, and gently place you in bed. He could be so good to you sometimes, you wondered what you had done to deserve him.
He took care of you when you were at your lowest, never batting an eye. When you would forget to shower, he would sit you in the tub and wash your hair. When you couldn’t get yourself to eat he would go to the store and pick up your favorite snacks and eat them with you. When you couldn’t stop yourself from crying because of the overwhelming stress and isolation you felt, he would hold you, stroking your back as you shook in his arms.
Things were best with Andrew when you were at your worst. Andrew’s best moments were when there was no one in the world for you but him. It took you longer to realize that than you like to admit. Things between the two of you started to rot the moment you started to get better. When the Globe offered you a full-time position, and your writing impressed your coworkers and superiors. When you stopped drinking as much, and began to see a therapist. Fewer and fewer nights Andrew would come home to have to take care of you, and that shouldn’t have bothered him. It shouldn’t have, yet it did.
The more independent you became — the more you turned back into that girl who liked to fight her own battles who he’d met in the bar three years ago — the more irritable he became. Andrew’s whole nature shifted alongside yours, or maybe it didn’t shift so much as reveal itself.
You were just starting to see him a little more clearly without the haze of depression and alcoholism weighing you down. There are certain memories in hindsight that should have made the toxicity of your relationship clear to you.
It was your first Christmas party at work, a year ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of going, but in your new department you had made friends with most of your coworkers, and they had convinced you to go. You were excited to tell Andrew about it, and he had seemed excited to go: “Finally get to meet these people you always talk about”.
The two of you arrived at the restaurant your boss, Don, had reserved and it was breathtaking. Right by the bay, it was a close walk from your apartment, and the patio was decked out in Christmas lights so you could see it blocks away. The inside had a beautiful fireplace lighting the room, alongside the array of Christmas decorations and a tree. There was an open bar, so everyone was well on the way to drunk by the time the two of you arrived.
But Andrew stood out. You both noticed it instantly, and you could tell by the tension in his smile and the glint to his eyes that he was pissed. You felt guilt rise up in your throat like bile, but you shoved it down, not wanting to ruin the festivities. And really it wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend didn’t exactly blend in with a bunch of journalists and writers.
Things only got worse when you introduced Andrew to one of your coworkers and she made a joke about getting him behind the bar to make a few drinks. Andrew had laughed at it but his grin had taken on that characteristic wolfishness that actually made you feel a pit of fear in your stomach for the woman. But as always, Andrew was ever the charmer, never was there a group of people he couldn’t get to love him. A few hours in and already multiple people had come up to you to tell you how great he was, and you would smile back, almost believing them.
At one point, Don had come up to talk to you. He was older, in his early 40s and handsome, kind eyes and a chiseled jaw. Sure, there might have been a part of you that had a small work crush on him, but it was nothing serious. He was married and had been for almost as long as you had been alive, and he was professional; you knew he wouldn’t dream of entertaining a subordinate. But Andrew certainly didn’t see it that way. You felt him before you saw him, his eyes drilling into your profile. Don had paid a particularly kind compliment to your newest piece, and you had blushed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, and thanked him. Right as Don placed his hand on your arm, likely in much more of a fatherly gesture than anything else, Andrew appeared behind you, hand on your waist. You knew by the sharp press of his fingertips in your side that he had seen, and was assuming the worst.
You had immediately introduced the two, and Don had taken the hint and politely walked off to leave the two of you alone. You turned to find a look in Andrew’s eyes that frightened you. He was still smiling, but his eyes were a void of light. He tugged the two of you outside, and the walk home was deathly quiet — his hand never leaving its grip on your side.
The moment you got inside the house he exploded. Accusations flying about you and Don, “Is that how you got that promotion? Don’t look fucking dumb to me, I know what you look like when you’re flirting, but in my fucking face?” You tried to calm him down, to deny everything but he wouldn’t listen, just continuing to tear you apart. His words stung like slices of a blade, and before you knew it hot tears were streaming down your face, and that only made him more angry, “Oh for fucks sake, baby really? Don’t— don’t fucking do that, you know I hate when I make you cry like this—” and suddenly he was over to you, holding your face in his hands. Like a switch had turned he was back to his usual self, pulling you close, and stroking your hair.
“Baby, I’m sorry, I don’t like to make you cry but…. can’t you see why I’m upset? You let him touch you, right there in front of me, and you expected me not to assume things? Don’t you see how I would think that something was going on, you were blushing and laughing with him, don’t you see? You can’t disrespect me like that in front of your friends and expect me not to be hurt? Do you like hurting me, baby?”
Like clockwork you were back under his thumb, apologizing to him, begging for his forgiveness. And of course he would, he always forgave you because there was never anything to be forgiven.
You close your bedroom door, and turn to see Andrew sitting on your childhood bed, and it’s a surreal sight. This room has been your refuge and he feels so out of place within its walls. You remain standing in front of the door, arms crossed over your body, hoping to protect yourself from whatever he may throw your way. But he just stares at you, eyes tired and dead. He pats the bed beside him, motioning for you to come sit next to him. Before you can stop yourself, your body follows his command, sitting gingerly on the comforter, but still with a few feet between you. He turns his body to face you, and looks you up and down, “You look good, better. You’ve got some sun”.
You don’t respond, just waiting for him to get to the point where he says what he really wants to say. He lets out a deep sigh, and rubs at his eyes before running his hand across his goatee, and for a moment it reminds you of Joel which makes you sick to your stomach — aching to be back in that ferris wheel car with him.
When he looks back at you, all the gentleness from his face is gone, and his stare is piercing. His voice comes out hushed, mindful that your dad is very much still in the house, “Baby, what is going on? It’s been almost two months, whatever story you told me to come out here, I’m starting to get the feeling it ain’t true. So what’s the deal?”
You stare at him, his eyes searching your face and looking very much the part of the neglected boyfriend, and you realize he genuinely doesn’t understand. How on earth that could be is beyond you, and you start to wonder if he is truly that out of touch with himself. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can he interrupts, “I’ve been driving for days to come see you, and you can’t even say anythin’ to me? We have a whole life together baby and you just, what? Up and run away? Run back home? What have I done that’s deserving of that?”
That snaps you out of it. Breaks you out of the spell you’ve fallen under from the shock of his appearance. You scoff, an ugly thing that chokes you, “Are— Are you serious?”
The sound of your dismissal makes his nostrils flare, his hand tense on the bed beside him, “Baby, jesus fuck is this seriously about that? What do you want me to do fucking flog myself in the street? I’ve apologized over and over, what more do you fucking want from me?” The slight rise in his voice has you standing again, moving towards the door.
“I’m not doing this tonight, Andrew. My dad is here, it’s late, and we’re both tired. We can talk tomorrow—” he cuts you off, reaching for your hand. “Okay, fine, just– sit back down. Come on, let's go to bed”. But you don’t move, instead making for the door, throwing over your shoulder, “I’m gonna shower”.
You walk down the hall quickly, closing the bathroom door behind yourself and locking it. You lean against the wood, taking deep breaths as you try to calm your body down. It’s okay, we’re not doing this right now, not tonight. Just breathe, take a long shower, and he’ll fall asleep. You turn the hot water on, steam filling the room as you undress, trying desperately to clear your mind. You step beneath the scalding water, hissing through your teeth at the sting. You stand there, eyes closed, and lose yourself in memory.
You don’t even really remember how it started. It was only a few months ago, but your memories of that night are murky — like watching a movie but someone placed a blanket over the screen, — everything just shapes, sound, and colors. What you do remember, you wish you didn’t.
It was late, almost 4am. You don’t even remember why you were up, maybe you were just anxious about work the next day or simply couldn’t sleep, but either way often you wonder what would have happened if you had been asleep. Andrew came home, stumbling through the door, hours after his shift usually ended. He smelled like alcohol, which wasn’t abnormal for his job, but it was on his breath, his skin. He plopped down on the couch right as you came out of your bedroom, rubbing your dry, sleepless eyes, “It’s late”.
He looked up at you, taking in your appearance, and seemed surprised to find you awake, “Yeah, the girls wanted to get some drinks, annoying ass night”, he started taking his shoes off, not looking at you. You know Andrew works with women, it’s a bar after all and they make good money, but he doesn’t usually hang out with them. At least, you didn’t think he did.
“Oh? You could’ve texted—” he throws his shoe across the room, stopping your words. He looks up at you, “Fuck babe, are you really gonna be like this right now? We just had some drinks, it's not a big deal”.
You don’t think you’re ‘being’ anything, but his defensiveness put you on edge and pissed you off a bit. The two of you hadn’t been doing great, not since the whole Christmas party incident, and slowly a tension had formed between the two of you; a dagger on a rope that’s slowly burning away, thread by thread, waiting to drop.
“So I can’t have lunch with my male coworkers, can’t let them talk to me, or follow them on Instagram but you can have drinks at 4am with the bimbos you work with?” your voice had risen, and you knew you should reel it in but your blood was burning in your veins.
Andrew stood up quickly, walking over to you, one shoe on and it should’ve made him look less scary, but somehow it made it worse. “Oh, so that’s what this is, huh? Fuck, when did you get like this? You wanna hang out with those guys who so clearly want to fuck you? Is that what you want? Want to fuck them in the bathroom at work, come home and fuck me knowing I have no clue, huh? You want to be a whore so be it!” His words shocked you, freezing you in place, even as your heart rate increased and your breath came in short rageful bursts. His eyes were dark, a vein popping over his temple, and you didn’t think you'd ever seen him so angry; the vodka on his breath choking you.
“Fuck, you know I think I liked you better before. At least when you’re a wreck you’re bareable to be around, but now you’ve got this big fuckin’ head thinkin’ you’re better than me, ungrateful bitch. Don’t consider all I’ve done for you, how much I’ve taken care of you. But fuck me right? I can’t have a few drinks with my friends who happen to be girls”. He scoffs in your face, shaking his head with a look of disgust as he realized you’d started crying, “Aw here we fucking go, here comes the fucking water works. God, baby who fucked you up so bad, huh? What mommy died and daddy didn’t love you enough, huh? Now I gotta pick up the slack?”
You wiped your tears, trying to stop your stupid body from betraying you, but they were relentless, your eyes burning. “Oh, fuck you Andrew. Fuck you! You think you’re this perfect fucking boyfriend? You’re fucking pathetic. I think you can’t stand me even talking to other men because secretly you know you’re worthless to me. You only like me when I have no one in my life who isn’t you. You want to keep me broken because that’s the only time I need you! In your heart you’re just a sad, pathetic, insecure boy who can’t stand that I don’t need you—” your words were stopped in your throat by a sudden searing pain in your head.
Your vision spotted, your ears rang, you tasted metal, and suddenly the floor beneath you. Your hips ached from the force of you hitting the hardwood. Before you even had time for your eyes to focus, Andrew’s blurry face was right in front of you. He grabbed your face, pushing your cheeks together, yanking your head closer to him causing the searing pain in your jaw to radiate through your teeth and down your neck. You cried out, tears streaming down your cheek, and something else liquid and hot running down into your mouth, tasting like iron.
Through the ring you could hear his muffled voice, “Are you listening to me, huh? Think I need you to need me? Think I’m fucking pathetic? See what you make me do?! See what you fucking do to me?! Huh!?” His spit was flying on your face, each word punctuated by him yanking your head side to side, the pain in your jaw so blinding you could barely process anything else. Then as suddenly as he grabbed you, he let go with a shove, dropping you to the floor. He stormed out of the house one shoe and all, slamming the door and leaving you lying there.
You don’t know how much time passed before you got up. Chest heaving in aching sobs, nose dripping blood on the floor, cheek tight and burning, body aching. You just know you’ve never felt more shame in your life. Your stomach ached, bile rising to your throat threatening to choke you. Somehow, eventually, you got up. You cleaned your face, got into bed, and somehow managed to fall asleep.
When he came home he was full of remorse, broke down sobbing at your feet, begging for your forgiveness. It was pathetic to watch but you gave it to him — out of fear and a small part of you out of the love you had genuinely once had for him. It took you a few days to come up with a reason to leave, one that wouldn’t immediately raise his suspicions. You eventually told him some story about an aunt passing, your dad’s sister who he was close to, that he had called and asked you to help with the funeral and just to be there for him. Andrew had been understanding, even encouraging you to go, clearly doing everything he could to repent.
But you knew it was a show. Andrew had finally fucked up enough that you couldn’t forgive him. You knew if he did it once, he would do it again, and there would never be an again. If you were braver, you would have ended things immediately — but truth be told, he scared you. You had built your adult life in Boston around him, he was inextricably woven in every fiber of your life outside work, and the thought of having to start over was terrifying.
So you ran. You hated yourself for it, for not having the strength to leave for good; but at least it would give you some time to think of how best to do it. You’ve always needed a plan, and it would at least give you some time to figure one out. You didn’t plan to stay in Texas so long, and you sure as hell didn’t plan for anything that’s happened since you got there. You thought it would make it easier, but your life feels more complicated than ever.
When you finally leave the bathroom, and sneak into your bedroom to change into new pajamas, Andrew is thankfully asleep. The soft sound of his snores fills the room, and the thought of sleeping next to him again fills you with dread. You don’t want to sleep downstairs, because your dad is always up at the crack of dawn, and the last thing you want is him poking his nose in this mess.
You heave a sigh, and pad softly down the stairs to the kitchen. Pouring yourself a glass of water, you hover in the kitchen, debating what to do. You could always sleep downstairs and set an alarm, hoping to wake before your dad so you can pretend you just woke up early. Or you could always go back upstairs and sleep in the spare room, but then you’d have to deal with Andrew in the morning, and maybe you’re a coward but two months in and you still haven’t found the courage to face that.
You’re pulled from your head when you see movement out of the corner of your eye in the living room. You jump, startled when you suddenly see Joel looking at you from over the back of the couch. His hair is a mess, curls standing up in the back, eyes heavy and tired. You had no idea he hadn’t left, your dad must have told him to stay after the beers you’d all had.
You stand awkwardly in his gaze, when you feel a tug behind your belly button pull you forward. You walk slowly into the dim light of the living room, stopping to rest on the end of the sofa. A blanket is strewn across Joel’s legs, but one ankle is exposed, revealing a sock and dark hairs on his leg. For a brief moment you realize he must be in his briefs, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the storm in your head. Neither of you have spoken yet, but his presence is calming in a way you desperately need right now.
You can physically feel your heart rate slow near him, and the imperceptible tremor that’s taken root in your limbs has calmed. You let out a deep breath, and finally break the silence, whispering, “Didn’t mean to wake you,... I didn’t know you were still here”.
“S’alright, I don’t sleep too good anyway.” His voice is rough with sleep as he speaks softly, “You okay?” His brown eyes look worried, taking you in, and it makes your heart ache so badly you think it could split right down the middle.
You take a moment to respond, debating on whether or not to be honest with him. As much as you don’t want to worry Joel, you can’t find it in yourself to lie to him, not like this — not when he looks so… soft. You smile, a sad thing, “Not really… but it’s okay”.
“That ain’t okay” his voice comes out hard, and you can feel the weight of his gaze even in the low light.
“I know”, you respond simply.
There’s so much unspoken between the two of you. Things unsaid and unseen. You are suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to crawl across over to him, and curl into his broad chest. To sit on his lap and let him hold you together. He would stroke your back, your hair, whispering gently to you, “I’ve got you, baby, I got you”. He would press a gentle kiss to your hairline, and maybe you’d cry but he would wipe away your tears with his lips, kissing you gently on the cheek. You actually feel your eyes burn at the thought, at the knowing — knowing that if you did exactly that, he would probably let you, and knowing that you can’t.
Instead you stand, walking around the back of the couch, and stop a brief moment next to him, so you’re looking down into his black eyes. You blame it on the preternatural state that Joel puts you in, or maybe the heightened emotions of the evening, but you slowly lift your hand and run it through his hair, laying down the unruly curls on the back of his head. His body goes rigid beneath your featherlight touch, his eyes flashing to meet yours right as you look away, “Goodnight Joel”.
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: Soon, you’ll be making new memories with Joel inside your shared home. What once was a temporary place to stay while you healed a broken man is now a comfortable and happy home full of love, getting ready to welcome a new, tiny feline life.
Chapter Warnings: smut, lap dance, riding, blow job, cum eating, domestic domestic domestic things, KITTEN, hints of a panic attack, suicide attempt mention, sarah memories, MOVIES!
Words: 4,800
A/N: My "can never be happy with what I made" self thinks this chapter is boring but @for-a-longlongtime read through this and let me know it's okay if Joel and Doc have a nice and calm cozy chapter. Anyways, welcome to another entry of Mallory Puts Too Much Pressure On Her Hobby & Will Never Know Peace. Hope you enjoy.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Lonesome Dove lies atop the bookshelf in the bedroom. Only a hundred pages left, and yet, it still sits unfinished. Joel picks it up, feeling the heaviness of the book, the pages that chart the progression of his recovery, the growth of his feelings for you. He sits in the chair with his reading glasses on and opens the book, flipping through the first few chapters; he doesn’t recall much about them, just the sweet lilt of your voice as you’d read to him, the only thing keeping him going those first scary weeks.
Many upper corners of the pages are dog-eared, reflecting your care and dedication to not only healing his body, but also his heart. Your kindness, reading to him night after night, sometimes falling asleep in the chair beside his bed, the book open on your lap. Once he could finally see you, since he first saw your beautiful face, he could never look away.
There’s a frayed edge on the cover. He remembers the sight of it lying on the floor that morning after he first knew the taste of your lips and the feel of your body on top of his.
With every turn of the page, every chapter read, he fell for you harder and harder. You came into his life and saved it, turning death and despair into a future and love. People used to talk about silver linings, about good coming from bad, but he stopped believing in that kind of optimism long ago. Yet now, with you in his life and his home, planning a future, he's starting to think maybe there's something to it after all.
"Are we ever going to finish that?" you ask, walking into the bedroom.
"One day,” he says, “but I already got my happy ending."
"Aww," you say, rolling your eyes and sauntering over to him. "I can give you a really happy ending if you'd like."
Joel can't answer; he just nods and grunts.
"Sit back," you say, untying your robe with a tantalizing smile that lifts your lips. “No touching.”
He obeys, his body already burning with desire for you as you stand before him. The robe drops down your arms to the floor as your hips sway slightly. You lean forward, resting your hands on his thighs, his eyes instantly focus on your breasts, his mouth waters when he thinks about licking his way across the curve of them.
You run your hands up your sides, fingers trailing across your skin. He groans, his hungry eyes devouring the way your gorgeous body moves. His jaw tics, the temptation to touch you tightens every muscle and nerve in his body, and when you straddle his lap, hovering over him, knees bracketing his thighs, his back straightens, and his hands grip the armrests, refusing to give in to the temptation to touch you.
You lean in to ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. “Just relax,” you purr.
He grunts, nodding as you drop your center over him and begin to grind against his cock, his robe barely concealing his hardness. You lean away, arching your back, dragging your hands down your chest, fingers circling your nipples. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. He’s being so disciplined, so still, save for the slight tremble of need radiating out of him.
“Christ baby,” he growls, “you’re killin’ me.”
Your fingers slide down between your legs. He bites his lip, the sight of you touching yourself while perched on his lap is almost too much.
“Oh yeah?” you ask. “You want a taste?”
“Please,” he whimpers. He doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds. For you and only you, he’d beg.
You smirk as you bring your fingers up to his mouth. “Open,” you command.
He obeys, and you stick two of your fingers in his mouth, his cheeks hollow around them, sucking the slick off of them. Fuck, you taste so sweet. He sighs happily at the taste of you, his eyes focused on you, needing to see your face, and the way your lips part as you watch him.
“Good?” you whisper, slowly withdrawing your fingers that he chases with his mouth, desperate for more. You pull back with a teasing smile. “Greedy, aren’t we, Mr. Miller?”
Every muscle in his body is coiled tightly, and he almost cums right there at the sound of your voice. He hisses a growl when you swirl your hips against him, grinding down against his cock, standing hard for you.
To everyone else, you’re the calming and caring doctor, a steadfast medic—but behind the doors of his home, you’re something else, something tantalizing, a vixen.
“Sweetheart,” he manages, “I don’t know how long I can go without feeling your pussy wrapped around m’cock.” He’s ready to beg for your cunt. You don’t give him time to plead. You reach down, untying his robe and parting it, tugging at his cock before you position your pussy perfectly over him. He can’t even take a breath or prepare himself before you sink down, taking him fully inside you.
“Fuck!” he gasps loudly, his hands breaking free from the armrests to grip your hips as your heat encompasses him. Your body rolls against his, fucking him fast and hard, your breasts bouncing before his eyes. He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving against it as his fingers dig into your flesh tighter, guiding you up and down his cock.
“Joel,” you groan. “I’m so close.”
He looks up at you, watching as you take what you need from him, his hand snaking between your legs to press swirls against your clit that take you over the edge. He watches you get lost in everything he gives you, his cock, his heart, his sounds of devotion grunting into the air as you ride him. Your body tenses as your head falls back, the sound of his name echoes across the room as your pussy pulses around his cock, your orgasm rolling through you, squeezing him tight.
You’re still quivering with aftershocks when you climb off his lap and settle between his legs. You hum a sweet sound as your tongue darts out to lick the taste of yourself left against the head of his cock before you take him into your mouth. His body tightens as he watches you take him deeper, eyes locked on his as the wet heat of your mouth welcomes him completely.
“Jesus, baby, you look so good,” he moans.
Your tongue swirls around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck. He’s so fucking close, just the sight of your pretty mouth with his cock in it makes him already feel the tingles shoot across his body.
“Baby, gonna cum,” he grits, hips bucking up to meet your mouth.
You moan around him, the vibrations bringing him even closer until it’s too much for him to take, and he cums. You don’t pull your mouth away, you suck harder, making him feel almost dizzy as he quakes underneath you. He watches, transfixed, as you swallow everything he gives you, his cock pulsing down your throat. He’s barely catching his breath when you pull away with a smile and open wide, sticking your tongue out to show him your empty mouth.
You’re such a temptress, he can hardly believe it.
“Fuck, I love you,” he says, his voice between a chuckle and a groan. “C’mere.”
He pulls you up, your naked body settling against his in the chair. It’s not lost on him that this bedroom used to feel so lonely. Now, it always feels like you’ve been here with him. You truly did give him a happy ending.
—-
There’s now a cat tree sitting in the living room, perfectly centered in front of the front window. You know Joel is a talented craftsman, but you’re shocked at how beautiful the cat tower has come out. The platforms are sanded smooth with rounded edges and a branch of the aspen wrapped in rope for scratching.
You place the knitted mat on top of the highest platform, with a few nails and a hammer, Joel secures it to the tower. You specifically chose the bright green yarn because it reminds you of Jefferson’s eyes.
“It’s perfect,” you smile as you stand back. “You might have a new job making everyone cat trees.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, wrapping his arm around you. “Don’t think I’ll be taking any special orders. This one’s just for Jefferson.”
“Don’t forget Sally’s tree,” you note.
“As if Ellie could ever let me forget.”
“Is it weird I’m so excited?” you ask, looking up at Joel.
“Not at all,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’ve been talking about this cat for weeks.”
You lean into him, imagining Jefferson perched on his new tower, surveying his domain through the front window. Soon, you’ll be making new memories with Joel inside your shared home. What once was a temporary place to stay while you healed a broken man is now a comfortable and happy home full of love, getting ready to welcome a new, tiny feline life.
—-
Jackson has their foreman back, with Joel’s return after almost nine months, the biggest town project is nearly done. His leg only throbs lightly as he stretches up on the stepladder and installs a new light over the library’s front entrance. It’s a good pain, one that he used to get after long hours of building and work in his younger days. Now, the aches appear sooner and take longer to subside, but he’s noticed that, with your healing hands and love, the pain doesn’t last as long.
“Hi,” he hears your voice behind him. He smiles as he turns, looking over his shoulder to see you standing there with a tote bag on your shoulder. Every ache he holds in his body already begins to melt away when he sees you.
"Hey, baby," he greets as he steps down the ladder, a little surprised to see you.
"Slow day. Dr. V told me to get out and start my vacation early," you say, stepping up onto the porch. “Figured you’d like some lunch. I grabbed some sandwiches from The Bison.”
“Nobody’s ever brought me lunch,” he muses, carefully settling next to you and stretching his leg out as you unwrap the sandwiches.
“Well, I’ve never brought anybody lunch, so this works well,” you say, handing him his sandwich. “Venison for you, tomato for me.”
He can’t stop looking at you… the slight smile on your lips as you chew, your eyes scanning the construction site, your skin shining under the bright sunlight. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, having suffered in so many ways before being able to build a happy life with you in Jackson.
“You’re staring,” you say, turning to him, snapping him out of his reverie.
“How was the clinic?" he asks, trying to make conversation instead of continuing to stare at you like a lovesick teenager.
“Quiet. Not a lot going on. Dr. V said he and Steven could handle the rounds for the rest of the day, and he assured me they’ll be just fine without me for the next few days.”
“S’nice of him.”
He can hardly wait, four full days of no work, just you, him, and Jefferson after you pick him up tomorrow. A vacation seems so foreign after living in survival mode for so long.
Joel looks up to see Dina approaching, her customary clipboard in hand.
“Framing in the back is done,” she reports. “Ran into some rot and had to replace more than we thought.”
Joel nods. “Figured as much,” he responds. “Make sure everything is dry before they drywall.”
"Got it," she says, nodding before her face lights with a mischievous grin. "Hey, I won't tell the foreman if you leave early."
Joel raises an eyebrow. "I am the foreman.”
"I know, that's why I won't tell you that you left early," she says, already walking away.
Joel shakes his head, turning his head to find you watching him. "What?" he asks.
"I dunno, you're just so... authoritative, it's kinda hot.”
He chuckles, standing and offering his hand. "Come on, the boss said I can leave early."
You hold hands the whole way home, as you both walk down Main Street, Joel can feel the eyes of fellow residents on the two of you. Some send a friendly nod, some small smiles. It still surprises him sometimes how easily everyone has accepted him and you as a couple.
When you reach the porch, there’s a wagon sitting in front of the front door holding a small TV with a built-in VCR and a stack of VHS tapes beside it. On top lies a folded note.
“Enjoy your vacation and new addition. Jane and I figured you could use a little entertainment. Thanks for all that you do for us at the clinic.“ You read aloud with a wide smile. “It's from Dr. V."
Joel looks up to see small, happy tears welling in your eyes as you hold the note. It’s so obvious how special you are to everyone in this town. They value you.
"Guess we've got our evening planned," he whispers in your ear.
"Guess we do."
—-
You're nestled against Joel's side on the couch, both of you only in your robes, your legs tucked beneath you while his stretch out toward the coffee table. The color on the TV Dr. V gifted you might be a little washed out, and the sound occasionally warbles, but it still plays Raiders of the Lost Ark without a hitch.
“I loved this movie as a kid,” Joel quietly muses to you.
You look up at him, watching the lights of the movie flickering across his handsome face as he seems lost in thought.
"My daughter loved it too," he says quietly, after a moment.
Your heart constricts at the rare mention of Sarah. He so seldom speaks of her, keeping her close against his heart. You do the math in your head, realizing she would be in her mid-thirties now if she had lived. She might have had a career, maybe children of her own. Joel would have been a grandfather, living a normal life, with normal milestones.
But time isn't normal anymore, and that future for him was stolen that fateful night all those years ago. You mourn all of those lost memories right alongside him, because in a way, his grief is now yours.
You crawl into his lap, your chest meeting his, looking into his brown eyes, clouded with grief.
"You don't talk about her much. But I always love to hear more about her."
Joel stares into your eyes, and you see the pain he holds, always there, when he thinks of his Sarah.
"I know, baby," he says. He takes your hand, placing it against his temple, where the silver scar you’ve wondered about sits. Your finger brushes against it, feeling the slight raised edges of it, tracing the mark. “It was almost too much. I tried to… I tried.”
Your heart sinks, drowning in the sorrow he’s been holding. “Baby,” you whisper, tears beginning to fill your eyes.
“I thought I had lost everything when she left me. I didn’t think I had anything,” his voice cracks. “But I did… ‘n I do. Especially now.”
“Joel,” his name escapes with a sob.
“I know, baby, I know,” a tear sheds from his eye as you nestle your head into the crook of his neck. “Just because I don’t talk about her with you, doesn’t mean I don’t think about how much she’d love you.”
“Yeah?”
"Yeah. She was a good judge of character. Strong-willed ‘n compassionate, just like you."
“I know I would have loved her because she was a part of you. In fact, I already do love her.”
He holds you tighter, and you feel his body shudder with a quiet sob.
"She's always with you," you whisper. "In all the good things you do, in how you take care of people. In how you love Ellie.”
“In how I love you,” he adds.
You feel the weight of his love and grief right there on the couch as the credits begin to roll. You kiss him gently and reassuringly.
“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth.
“I love you, too.”
“What was her favorite thing in the world?”
“Butterflies,” he answers simply with a small smile.
An idea lights in your mind. “I could plant a garden for her right outside the front window. Butterfly bushes, lavender, marigolds.”
His eyes brighten, surprise and wonder lifting his lips. “You’d do that?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
He pulls you closer, arms tightening around you. “Sarah’s garden,” he quietly says.
“Sarah’s garden,” you repeat, relishing in the warmth of Joel and the love you hold for him and his daughter.
—-
“Mornin’,” Joel’s deep voice rumbles against your ear. The mattress dips behind you as he sits down, rousing you from your slumber. You groan, turning over and opening your eyes to find him holding his customary owl mug. “Coffee?”
You nod, stretching to sit up and take a drink. “Morning,” you respond. The sweetness of Joel sharing his precious coffee with you always overshadows the bitter taste of it.
"Big day for us," he says.
"It is," you say, returning his smile.
Today, Jefferson comes home.
You make eggs and biscuits for breakfast, sitting in front of the TV, watching a well-worn copy of Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead. Your eyes keep darting to the clock ticking on the mantle, waiting for 11 AM. By the time the movie credits roll, it’s almost time to leave to pick him up.
At precisely 10:45, Joel stands. "Might as well head over now," he says casually, as if he, too, has been waiting all morning.
You hold hands the whole way to Amy and Jacqui’s; it's a perfect day to bring Jefferson home. Your steps quicken as their house comes into view. Joel squeezes your hand once before you knock on their door.
Jacqui answers with a smile. "Right on time. Come in, come in."
You follow Jacqui through to the living room, where a small pen has been set up.
"Your parents are here," Jacqui calls, kneeling beside the pen to reach in and gently scoop up the black and white kitten to hand to you. You cradle Jefferson’s fluffy body against your chest. A tear sheds, rolling down your cheek before you can stop it.
"Hey, little guy," Joel says softly, leaning over you with a smile on his face. He carefully reaches his finger out, gently stroking Jefferson's head. It’s striking to see Joel's callused and work-creased hand against Jefferson's tiny, soft body.
"He likes you," you say, smiling up at Joel.
"Reckon he knows he's going to a good home."
Jacqui disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small bag tied with twine. "Some food," she says, handing it to Joel. "The recipe's stapled on it—it's what we've been feeding them. You can transition him to whatever you prefer, but this'll help for the first few days."
Joel takes the bag with a nod of thanks.
"You're always welcome to bring Jefferson over to visit," she adds. "We're happy he and his sister will be neighbors. Ellie's coming to get her this evening."
"That's perfect," you say. “Thank you for everything, Jacqui."
You hold Jefferson against your chest and say your goodbyes before making your way back home. The walk almost feels different somehow—more meaningful. Jefferson against your heart and Joel's hand in yours as you now take home your shared commitment.
When you finally reach home, you settle on the couch with Jefferson, letting him explore the cushions, watching as he tests his new surroundings.
"What movie tonight?" Joel asks after a while, nodding toward the TV and the stack of tapes.
"Mm, I feel like Lord of the Rings."
"That's a long movie.”
"And we have a lot of time," you respond.
—-
Joel looks down, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as you sleep on the couch, only wearing his t-shirt, head resting on his lap, Jefferson curled on top of you. You barely made it halfway through the movie before you fell asleep. He had watched both of you drift off, unwilling to disturb the sight of you and Jefferson resting peacefully. The Fellowship of the Ring plays quietly in the background. He watches the soft glow of the TV cast across your peaceful face. Your hand rests atop Jefferson’s sleeping body, curled on top of you; the sight fills Joel with a feeling that a life he never thought possible is finally falling into place.
He sits and tries to memorize this moment… your cheek on his thigh, Jefferson on your chest, his hand against your shoulder brushing back and forth against your skin. He tells himself this will last forever, but there’s still a bitterness held inside him that refuses to believe it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head imagining him alone in this house, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. The fear comes on him fast and hard. He has to look away from you, shutting his eyes and steadying his breath, fighting against the panic that’s rising in him.
He used to be good at losing things. At ignoring the all-encompassing pain and realization, then retreating. But he can’t do that anymore. He can’t even imagine it.
He reaches down, petting Jefferson, grounding himself to the feel of his soft fur and the short breaths the tiny kitten makes. He takes slow, even breaths, counting them out.
He opens his eyes, watching your even and slow breathing, the same soft patterned cadence he wakes up to every morning.
“Baby,” he gently says, “let’s go to bed.”
Your eyes flutter open, and you smile up at him. His heart stutters at the sight of you stretching before looking down at Jefferson. “Whoops, I fell asleep.”
“S’okay, just don’t want to sleep on the couch all night, it’ll kill my back.”
“I know,” you say, sitting up with a yawn, gently cradling a still sleeping Jefferson against your chest.
He stands, stretching the slight ache from his knees, shuffling up the stairs to the bedroom as you follow, kitten pressed against your collarbone.
In the bedroom, Joel watches you nestle Jefferson into a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. He doesn’t even stir, your touch is that gentle.
When you climb into bed beside him, burrowing yourself into him, he wraps his arm around you with a contented sigh.
This is his home. He tries to remind himself that he deserves this life as he drifts off to sleep.
—-
When you wake, your body warmed by the sunlight shining in through the window, Joel is already up, propped up against the headboard, hunched over a paperback with his reading glasses on. Jefferson lies on his lap, curled and sleeping.
“Mornin’ baby,” Joel greets, gravelly and still husking with sleep.
You scoot closer to him, resting your head on his thigh.
“What do you want to do today?” he asks.
“Nothing,” you say. “Absolutely nothing.”
He smiles, setting the book on the nightstand. You reach over to pet Jefferson as Joel’s hand glides up your arm in a lazy, slow pattern. You two stay like that for a long time. Not saying anything at all, just cocooned together in the warmth of the sunlight and each other.
You used to count the hours until the next day, telling yourself that Joel had survived another 24 hours. Time used to be measured in the progression of his recovery, working through the fear and stress of healing him… now, time is measured differently. There are no hours to count, no days to make it through; now, time is counted in happy events, kisses, and lazy mornings in bed.
Jefferson stalks across the kitchen when you finally pull yourself out of bed. You fry the eggs and toast the bread, Joel sets the table, and feeds Jefferson.
Your feet rest on his lap as you sit across the table from him and enjoy your late breakfast, splitting a cup of coffee between the two of you.
After the dishes are cleaned, you spread out on the couch, Joel’s legs resting on the coffee table, your body stretched across the couch with your head against his chest. Joel’s choice of Spaceballs won over your choice of Bridget Jones’s Diary with a coin flip.
The blue text of the Spaceballs opening scroll begins as Jefferson investigates his cat tower, before climbing onto the top platform. He sits, observing the outside as you cuddle close against Joel, feeling the rumble of his quiet chuckles.
It’s all so cozy and domestic, a perfect, lazy day with your perfect man and kitten.
—-
You’re sitting on the floor playing with Jefferson, moving the makeshift cat toy you made across the hardwood. Jefferson chases it, his little paws trying to catch the tassel. He loves watching you interact with him, the softness and sweetness that seems to exude from you.
It’s already 4 PM, and the two of you have done nothing today except cuddle on the couch and watch movies. He can’t remember the last day he’s had that’s been as easy as this.
He sits on the couch, a smile plastered on his face as you urge Jefferson to chase the toy.
“So, I was thinking,” you say, “maybe tomorrow Maria and Tommy want to come over? Introduce Benji to the cat. We can ask Ellie if she wants to bring Sally over.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll make dinner, we’ll have a little party.”
“I’d like that,” Joel says, genuinely meaning it. He’s never been a get-together hosting type, but there’s something to the idea of you and him welcoming those he’s closest to into the home you share.
You scoop Jefferson up from the floor and join Joel on the couch, settling beside him. He immediately wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him. It always amazes him how well you fit against him.
“What movie tonight?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.
"Hm, let's go classic. Alien?"
"Oh god," you sigh. "I haven't seen it. I heard it's terrifying."
"Mm, it is. But don't worry," he whispers, "I'll protect you."
You giggle. "Aww, my hero.”
His heart always swells at the sound of your joy.
—-
So, everyone was right, Alien is terrifying. You’re curled up on the couch, hiding your face against Joel’s body, practically sitting in his lap. Jefferson sleeps peacefully on the back of the couch, completely oblivious to the terror on the screen.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, burying your face against his shoulder.
He chuckles, pulling you into his lap, cocooning you between his broad chest and strong arms.
"I got you, baby," he says, his lips pressing against the top of your head.
There’s a quieter moment when the ship crew gathers for dinner, and you decide now to muster the courage and watch. "I know I've seen far scarier literally in real life. I know that, but oh my god, I can't deal with this."
You force yourself to watch, determined to make it through the film, but then Kane starts convulsing on the table and an alien bursts from his chest.
"Nope!" you scream, turning to nuzzle your face against Joel's strong, warm chest.
You choose instead to just watch Joel watch the movie, a far more entertaining option for you.
He catches you ogling him. "Enjoying the movie?" he asks.
"Very much," you joke. "This might just be my favorite movie. A very handsome movie, in fact."
You stay in his arms, watching him watch the movie as the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, and his warmth lulls you to sleep.
“Baby,” Joel whispers. You open your eyes to find him looking down at you. “You can’t even make it through a full movie at night, can you?” he teases as you sit up.
You stretch. “You’re too comfortable.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, nodding towards the back of the couch. “Jefferson didn’t make it either.”
You both get up, Joel picks up Jefferson, and the three of you head to bed, another perfect day of your vacation coming to a close.
Next Chapter
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon
summary — the one where you have to face the aftermath of your kiss with joel. but things go better than you expected. then your dad has the brilliant idea that you guys go to the rodeo, and guess who tags along!
word count — 7k
tags — joel miller x reader, dad's best friend, no outbreak/no cordyceps, age gap, slow burn (but we're finally getting somewhere!).
content warnings — hefty age gap (reader late 20s/joel early 50s), mentioned domestic violence (past), implied substance abuse (past), mentioned depression, eventual smut. cw's will be updated as we progress.
author’s note — oh my god okay it's so fun to see how these chapters evolve from my original plan and develop as i write. this is one that my original outline of it versus what you're about to read are so different but i am obsessed. this whole chapter is so much! the ramifications of The Kiss! jealous joel! kind of joel x reader date! a rodeo! and angst galore!!! i feel like an evil genius maniacally laughing when i think about what's about to happen next chapter ( ｡ •̀ ᴗ •́ ｡) i am so happy with how this fic is turning out and the support i've been getting from you all is everything to me! i know it's been a slow burn but we're actually staring to get somewhere and trust me things are about to take off. as always, thank you all for the support, please please like if you read! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! love you all! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
Can you read my mind? I’ve been watching you.
Something’s been feeling weird lately / There’s just something about you, baby.
For a brief moment, seconds before you wake, there is a moment of peace. Your sleep was blissfully dreamless, the kind you only get from complete exhaustion – being in fight or flight will do that to you. But the moment you move to open your eyes, the pounding in your temple is enough to make you wish you could fall back into the release of unconsciousness. You keep your eyes closed, pulling the covers over your head before finally daring to open them, the comforter making everything dark again. Your head is throbbing, your neck is tense, your throat dry. You’ve always hated hangovers, but by this point in your life they’re a familiar enemy.
But this one feels different. It’s not just the alcohol that’s drained you, your whole body feels weak and your eyes ache. It’s then it hits you — the thing you have been trying desperately not to remember. Last night comes crashing down on you like a boulder: the dinner, the cake, the whiskey, the movie, Joel, the kiss. The kiss. Joel.
You kissed Joel.
Your ribs cave in, your lungs aching, and suddenly your breath is coming in short, rapid succession again. What did I do? Oh my fucking god, I kissed Joel??? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck–. It all comes back to you in one unrelenting tidal wave of memories and you’re drowning all over again. The air under the covers is rapidly depleting, so you rip them off. The bright light of morning streaming through the windows blinding you, causing your head to throb more. Your hands are in your hair, tugging at the roots. Pulling your legs into your chest, you rest your forehead on your knees, and try desperately to soothe yourself.
After what feels like eternity your breathing slows, your head throbbing even worse now from nearly hyperventilating. With shaking hands you push your hair from your face and take in your surroundings. The pink walls, the unfamiliar posters, the photos of Sarah’s face beaming with friends. You’ve got to be fucking kidding. You’re still at Joel’s place, and it’s Saturday so he’s almost definitely home. Which means you’re going to have to face him immediately, no chance to run away.
You remember Joel insisting you stay the night, not feeling comfortable with either of you driving, and suddenly you wish to god he was a little less responsible. You groan to yourself, wishing you could just go back to sleep and never leave. Or maybe you could climb out the window, but no your car keys are downstairs. For half a second you almost consider just walking home but in your current state that would be both miserable and stupid.
You’re really not ready to face him yet, so in spite of yourself, you try to remember every detail you can of the night prior. Your memories are clouded in a whiskey haze, but you remember Joel turning to look at you. The way he had looked at you – up and down your face, to your mouth. You leaned in slowly, slow enough surely he could have pulled away. His lips on yours, the taste of him. Your stomach flips, remembering for the briefest of moments you had actually thought he might kiss you back.
But he pulled away; no, he practically leaped to the other side of the couch, putting as much distance as possible between you. And his face, that look. You’d never seen an expression like that on him before, never seen him look so lost. The memory of it, perfectly formed in your mind, has your stomach in knots, your throat constricting in a way that makes it hard to swallow.
Then his hand on your wrist, stopping you. His words, assuring you he wasn’t upset, that everything was okay. But his body was saying something else – telling an entirely different story. The distance, the rigid line of his shoulders, the tension in that hand. You think you’re going to be sick.
No, you are going to be sick. You get up fast, throwing open the door and beelining for the bathroom. You’re just barely able to make it to the toilet before you’re spilling your guts. The cool tile of the bathroom floor feels good on your skin. Once there’s nothing left, just your body heaving trying desperately to get out the shame from your body, you rise on weak legs, moving to the sink to splash cold water on your face.
You want to believe it’s just the hangover that’s got you so sick, but you know that’s not it.
It’s the thought of facing him. Of facing the repercussions of last night. The thought of walking down those stairs, seeing Joel, and not recognizing him. That he might look at you differently. Hold you at a distance, arms rigid and cold like last night.
You feel bile creeping back up your throat and you splash more cold water on your face hoping to keep it at bay. Finally you meet your reflection in the mirror, and god you look like shit. Most of your makeup is gone except for the remnants of your eyeliner, making the sallowness of your skin even more apparent against the dark shade. The absolute disgust and disdain you feel for yourself makes you want to break the mirror, but of course you don’t.
You’re not sure how long you stand there, tearing yourself apart, but you’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear Joel moving downstairs.
Sooner or later you’re going to have to face this, and honestly you would rather just pull the bandaid off. You walk back into Sarah’s room, pulling your jeans back on, and a hoodie from the back of her door. You take a few more steadying breaths, fortifying your walls once more before heading to the gallows.
The walk downstairs is too short, and before you know it you’re following the scent of coffee towards the kitchen.
The moment you see Joel’s back, brown shirt hugging his tall frame, all the nausea from earlier comes back in full force. Your feet almost stop in their tracks, but you force them to keep moving. With the counter as a barrier, you approach him slowly, like a scared dog. He must hear you, because he turns around and your gaze drops to the coffee mugs in each of his hands. He sets one down, pushing it in your direction. You don’t fail to notice that he removes his hand quickly, like he’s afraid of your touch. It makes your stomach knot.
Finally you raise your eyes and the sight of him is like a kick to the stomach. His eyes look tired, dark circles mirroring your own. The lines on his face are more pronounced than usual and his hair is a mess of unruly curls. His beard looks scruffier than normal, and you swear there’s more grey, but maybe it’s just the light. If you had any semblance of bravery before it’s out the window now. It breaks your heart, thinking you’re the reason he looks this way and the weight of your guilt is unbearable.
Neither of you speak, the air feeling heavy, but your eyes don’t break away – like you’re both too afraid to do it first. Surprisingly it’s Joel who does,glancing down at his mug to take a sip. Finally, when you’re just about to crawl out of your skin, you hear yourself begin to speak, “Look, I’m sorry about last night–”
Joel interrupts you, something he doesn’t do often, “You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for, ‘lright? I meant everythin’ I said last night, ‘M not upset with you.” His eyes are severe in a way that you’ve rarely seen, like he’s trying to beat the words into you. He lets out a sigh, setting his mug down, leaning on to the counter. He looks back up at you, and there is something unreadable in his eyes, “Look, last night… I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it, and I’m not gonna think of you any differently, alright?”
Something in his words doesn't sit quite right. You know he means them as a comfort, but instead they make your stomach ache. What if it did mean something to me, what if… I do want you to see me differently? But you don’t say that, those words remain carefully tucked behind your teeth. You manage a weak nod instead, finally grabbing your coffee, “Alright, thanks”.
Joel nods in response, and something in the air has shifted, like it’s settled. You thought it would be a relief to know the two of you are okay, and in a way it is. But there is some small part of you that wishes he was more upset by it. Something about him diminishing it, shrinking it down into nothing doesn’t feel right. You kissed him. Joel Miller. The man who’s known you since you were born. You kissed him and he let you.
He let you.
For the first time that fact hits you. Your memories of last night are clouded but that much is clear. The kiss wasn’t something fast, not some sudden impulsive press of lips. No, it was slow, cautious, filled with bated breath and longing eyes. It comes back to you, his eyes roaming your face, lingering on your lips, the brush of his fingertips on your neck, his breath against your open mouth. For the first time in your life, you realize Joel is lying.
You’re not sure how you feel about that, but your skin is crawling and you know you want desperately to go home. To just have some air to breathe that doesn’t smell like Joel. You both finish your coffee in silence, no room for small talk in the weighted air.
You walk over to the sink, rinsing the mug out and setting it on the drying rack. Your keys resting next to your bag where you’d left them yesterday afternoon. You grab them alongside your phone, and before you can start to leave the kitchen Joel stops you.
His hand is on your wrist, and your heart stops. You look from his large hand wrapped around the weak bones of your wrist, and look up to find him staring at them too. His eyes look unfocused, like he’s not really seeing. His lips are slightly parted, words just barely being contained.
Finally, voice low, sounding so much like he did in your memories of last night, “I think… it’s best we just… keep this ‘tween us.” Then, brown eyes meet yours, the look in them stealing the breath from your lungs. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice, “Yeah, ‘f course”.
He nods his head, letting his hand drop from your wrist, and just like that the Joel from last night is gone again, replaced with the sharp edges and familiar lines of the man you know.
You make it to your car, the heat of the day already unrelenting, and you sit in your car for a few moments soaking it in before turning it on. Something in those moments set a chill in your bones you’re not sure even Texas air can lift. You fumble through your purse, grabbing desperately for a cigarette, practically eating it when the smoke burns your lungs.
You weren’t going to tell anyone, of course. But something about Joel saying that, asking that. It’s a secret, one much bigger than a shared cigarette. If he’s open to this secret, what more could he be willing to keep between the two of you?
You spend the next week being haunted by the taste of Joel Miller. You walk through your days as usual, but you’re still sitting on his couch. You spend every minute of the day dissecting each detail of that night, obsessing over them. Your skin itches like an addict, aching with need for when you’ll see him again. Your days have been Joel-less, which isn’t abnormal but still you’re filled with anxiety on your next encounter with him. How will he behave? Like nothing happened between the two of you most likely. But what if there’s signs, small glimpses that he’s been thinking of that night just as often as you.
Your wish comes true soon enough, when your Dad comes home from work on Thursday. “Hey hun, what do you say about a rodeo? ‘S in town this weekend, first nights tomorrow. Thought it might be fun. We could invite Joel, see if he wants to come with.”
You perk up instantly at the mention of his best friend. This is perfect. You were a little nervous about the idea of doing dinner again so soon after what happened, and this could be a chance to see him with your dad as a buffer. Maybe things could almost feel normal. “Yeah, I’d like that. Want to go tomorrow?”
“Yeah, whatever works for you.”
You offer to ask Joel, wanting to gage his reaction for yourself at the idea of spending time with you. Your dad heads downstairs to order some Chinese for the two of you, and you plop back down on your bed, feet in the air. You’re nervous, hands shaking slightly as you scroll through your contacts searching for Joel’s name. You try not to over analyze everything, but your mind is racing. How long will he take to pick up? What will it mean if he lets it ring, what will it mean if he picks up instantly? You shove it all down as you press his name, putting your phone up to your ear.
The phone rings one single chime before you hear him on the other side, voice deep and shooting directly to your core, “Hey you”. Your heart skips a beat and your head is spinning already. He sounds normal enough, but you were expecting his normal ‘kid’ or ‘kiddo’ and it’s thrown you for a loop. “H-Hey Joel, how are things?” You smack your forehead, cringing at your attempt at small talk. Normal you hates small talk.
“Uhhh, good I guess. Workin’ mostly”, he pauses a moment before asking, “How ‘bout you? Things alright?” His tone gives away that he is very aware at how strange you asking about his day is. You try to back track, going straight into the reason you called, “Oh I’m alright, yeah. I was actually calling cause Dad and I are going to the rodeo tomorrow night, and he wanted to know if you wanna tag along?”
“He wanted to know, huh?” His voice is laced with knowing, and you actually think your brain just short circuited. Why does it feel like he’s playing with you right now? This was not at all what you were expecting when calling him.
You steady yourself, trying to channel some of your usual bravado, “So is that a yes or should I tell him you’re too busy for him anymore?” He chuckles at that, and the sound rumbles through the phone and across your skin, making you suddenly shiver. “Yeah, alright. What time?”
You look up the info, realizing you actually have no idea when or where it even is, and then relay it to him. Something feels strange right now, like you’ve entered some alternate dimension, and you’re not sure why but when Joel hangs up the phone with a “See ya tomorrow” you are painfully aware of the complete lack of the childhood pet name. You don’t think he’s ever gone an entire conversation without calling you ‘kid’ or ‘kiddo’ and you’re trying not to read into that. Really you are. But your brain won’t stop telling you it’s because he sees you differently. You lie there on your bed, staring at the wood grains on the floor, thinking through every moment until the sunsets and your dad finally calls you downstairs for dinner.
The two of you trade steaming dishes of beef broccoli and orange chicken while watching some nameless cop show, but the whole time you can’t stop thinking about the phone call. The sound of Joel’s rough Texas accent, the gravel of his chuckle, the warmth in his almost playful tone — Hey you. Why did it almost feel like he was… flirting with you? But there’s absolutely no way right. He wouldn’t do that, Joel doesn’t flirt with anyone. You’ve never even seen him look at a woman, let alone flirt with one. You're completely lost in thought, not even hearing your dad’s commentary on whatever it is you’re watching, until your phone buzzes beside your leg.
You pull it out, and almost laugh at the name on the screen – Joel Miller. You lean slightly away from your dad, you’re not sure why, and open the text.
So are we dressing the part tomorrow?
Your eyes bug out of your head, Joel Miller is texting you late at night and it’s about clothes? You’re actually completely convinced that you’re existing in some alternate reality right now. This isn’t real. You’re not even sure how to respond so you settle on something simple.
i was thinking about it, but i don’t have a hat ):
I got one you can borrow if you want.
Your heart jumps in your throat, and before you can even think about it you respond,
only if you don’t mind, probably look better on me anyway
I’m sure it will.
Okay, what the fuck. He’s flirting with me. Joel is flirting with me. There’s no way he’s not because what the fuck is that. Who says that? Joel Miller is flirting with me.
You actually can’t compute anything that’s happening, and this is all fake anyway so you settle for a simple smiley face in response and throw your phone on the coffee table, earning an admonishment from your Dad that you couldn’t care less about. The rest of the night is spent with thoughts filled with Joel and you almost feel bad for thinking such things sitting next to your dad.
Your dad pulls into the dirt lot outside Rodeo Austin, searching for a parking spot while Def Leppard blares over the stereo. He’s able to steal one when someone else pulls out, and you hop out of your dad’s truck, your old cowboy boots kicking up dust. You pull down your little jean shorts from where they’d ridden up in the car. You adjust your cropped Nirvana tee, the collar stretched out so it hangs just off your shoulder. You decided to style your hair in two long braids and opted for just some simple mascara to make your eyes pop. Not that you’re trying to look good or anything, it’s just a rodeo and Joel had mentioned dressing the part.
Your dad comes around the back of the truck, “Joel said he’s already here, waitin’ up front for us”. Your heart races at the mention of his name, and you lean into the passenger side to grab your bag. “Honey, did you really not have shorts that’re any longer?” your dad says begrudgingly.
You turn around, bag slung over your shoulder, shooting him a look that could kill. “Really?”
He throws his hands up in surrender, walking around you towards the entrance. You glare daggers into his back, but follow suit. Your dad hollers out to Joel when he sees him, and you take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. Your dad and Joel embrace, slapping one another on the back, and you don’t miss how his eyes meet yours.
His brown gaze warms your skin, as it slides from yours down to the exposed skin of your shoulder, then warming your midriff, your thighs, and back up. It’s a flash, an instant, but you notice it and your cheeks are flushing and you hate him a little bit. Your dad steps to the side, and you’re able to see Joel’s outfit and your throat closes up.
He’s wearing a well fitted flannel, blue and white, tucked into a pair of light blue Wranglers, put together with a brown belt with the typical cowboy buckle. He’s traded his typical brown work boots for a pair of square toe cowboy boots you didn’t even think he would own. And then, on top of it all, in his hand is a suede camel brown cowboy hat. He walks up to you, a small halfsmile on his annoyingly handsome face, and places it on top of your head. It’s a bit too big, covering your eyes, so you adjust it, sitting it back on your head so you can meet his amused gaze, “‘Sa little big for ya’ but you were right, better than on me”.
You blush, but roll your eyes at him, “Thanks”. His eyes hold on yours, before turning away, back over to chat to you dad. You follow behind the two of them, trying to get a hold of yourself, or this is going to be a very long night.
The rodeo itself starts around 5, so the three of you are a little early. You all walk to grab concessions, Joel offering to pay for the beers, while your dad pays for the snacks. Joel hands your beer to you, your fingers grazing briefly, and an electric shock goes all the way up your arm. He doesn’t notice your reaction because you turn away quickly to follow your dad who’s already trying to find your seats. Your dad slides into a row, and you follow him, with Joel behind you.
The three of you sit down, and the stadium is already fairly packed, so you’re pressed between both of their tall frames. You’re burning up in every place that your body touches Joel’s, reminding you so much of your night together last week — his thigh pressed tight against yours as he manspreads, his shoulder and bicep as well. You take three massive gulps of your beer, almost finishing it, and when you come up for air, both men are looking at you with wide eyes. “Ya thirsty?” your dad asks with a sarcastic tone, “If ya finish that one ‘fore us, you gotta get the next round”. You chuckle awkwardly, purposefully avoiding Joel’s eyes boring into your profile.
Luckily for you the show starts soon, and you’re able to at least try and focus on something other than the man whose body is pressed into yours. You always loved rodeos growing up. You loved the show, the clowns, the horses, the noise, and even the smells. Some of the best memories you have with your dad growing up were at the rodeo, one of the few interests the two of you had in common. You used to want to ride horses when you were younger, being mesmerized by the few cowgirls that would perform.
But your dad had always talked about how expensive riding lessons were, let alone taking care of a horse, barrel racing lessons, and all the other things that come along with it. So you let go of your dream of being a cowgirl, but you still loved to live vicariously through them at the shows. It’s a part of your life you had missed living outside Texas. New Englanders favorite pastimes involved the water, or sports of some kind, neither of which was ever your forte.
You do end up finishing your beer long before your dad and Joel, so you offer to go grab another round. You have to scoot by Joel, so you start to move in front of him right as he goes to stand to try and give you more room, resulting in the two of you bumping into one another. Your chests pressed against one another in an awkward tangle. You both huff laugh, and you’re reminded of how much taller he is than you — your nose eye level with his sternum. He steps to the side, allowing you to pass, and you walk away quickly, desperately needing to escape.
You walk up to the concession stand, ordering three more Coors for each of you. The worker makes zero effort to hide the fact that he is checking you out, his skeezy eyes roaming all of your body. You stare him down, and when he realizes he’s caught, he at least has enough shame to look away immediately. You roll your eyes, huffing a dry “Thanks”, before heading back to your seat.
Shimming down the line, you finally reach your dad and Joel, handing them each their beers. Before you have a chance to sit down, you hear a voice come booming across the loud speakers, “Our cowboy’s got themselves a new bronco that needs some tamin’, and they’re lookin’ for a fine young lady that wants to go for a ride. How ‘bout it ladies?? Y’all wanna ride?” The crowd erupts in hoots and hollers, men whistling and ladies screaming. You’re looking around at everyone distracted by the stream of cowboys lining up in the middle of the arena.
You’re just about to sit down, when the voice starts again, “Oh-ho! Looks like we got a volunteer! Little lady in the braids, you wanna go for a ride?” You stop dead, realizing everyone around is staring right at you. Your eyes go wide, turning to see the commentator where he stands at the edge of the ring. Oh god. You point to yourself, probably looking like an idiot.
“Yeah you, darlin! Come on down! Pick a hat of one of my boys down here, and they’ll give ya a ride.” The way he speaks is lewd and suggestive, making the crowd roar in another wave of whistles, men and women alike egging you on. Mouth agape, you turn to look at your dad who looks entirely amused by the whole thing. He nods his head forward, “Go on! Y’always talked about how you wanted to be a cowgirl, now's your chance!”
Dragging your eyes over to Joel, you take in his expression, which is decidedly less amused. There’s something in his eyes, the set of his jaw, that makes your stomach flip. Oh. Is he…? Suddenly, the thought of going down there sounds entirely appealing. Your face splits in a grin, and you take his hat from your head, gently placing it on his lap. You look up through your lashes, bent in front of him, and give him a mock look of apology.
As you pass him to walk towards the host, you don’t miss the tick in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, watching you the whole way. A few women pat you on the shoulder as you pass, a few men too, and when you finally reach the floor, the commentator is making a show of looking you up and down.
He whistles, “Well my, my! Even prettier up close! Our boys are all lined up for ya’, whichever tickles your fancy, he’ll give you his hat and well… you know the sayin’”. You blush, knowing exactly what he means, if you wear the hat you have to ride the cowboy, and not at all lost to the implications of that statement to the fact not two minutes ago you were wearing Joel’s hat.
You wonder if that thought hits him the same moment it does you. Guilty, you hope it does.
The commentator opens the gate for you, and walks you out to the boys. There’s seven in total, and though quite a few are objectively handsome, none of them particularly catch your eye. You make a show of walking down the line, looking at each of them and having way too much fun. There is one cowboy who has a nice mustache with a whole young Sam Elliot thing going for him, and his horse is a beautiful paint. You stop in front of him, looking up into his green eyes, and he dips his hat at you, flashing a too white grin.
You smile back, and extend your hand out expectantly, having seen plenty of these shows before, you know what the crowd loves is a confident woman. Plus, there’s a certain older man in the crowd that you are getting a sick pleasure out of knowing he’s probably hating this.
The cowboy, who introduces himself as Tyler, hops down from the horse, and helps you get on. His hand touches your ass a bit as he helps you into the saddle, and though normally you’d hate that, a thrill rushes to your core at the idea of Joel’s thoughts on that. He motions for you to sit at the front, and he hops on behind you. His toned body is firm behind you, reminding you of Andrew for a moment. Your boyfriend leaves your brain instantly when Tyler wraps his hands on either side of you to grab hold of the reins, then leans into your ear to whisper, “You know how to ride? If not I can guide you, just hold on”.
“N-no, I don’t but I kind of get the idea”. He laughs a warm chuckle in your ear, making the hair on your neck stand up. “Just follow my lead,” and he places his hands on your biceps, and nudges the horse to start walking.
This is way more fun than you thought it would be as you begin to circle the ring. Though the rock of the horse has Tyler borderline grinding into your ass every step, making you flush. As you pass by where you were sitting, you make a point to look into the crowd, trying to spot your dad and a certain someone. You see them, and oh it’s priceless.
Your dad is standing, holding his phone like the old guy he is, taking pictures with a huge smile on his face. But Joel, oh the look on his face sends heat straight to your core. He is positively fuming. You're suddenly light-headed, reeling by the fact that Joel is jealous. Of you – with another man. The implications of that alone are almost too much to bear, and you have to look away.
Joel had said the kiss meant nothing, that you both had just had too much to drink. But he had let you kiss him, and doesn’t that mean that deep down, he wanted it? He wanted you to kiss him. He wanted to kiss you. He hates seeing you with this young, fine cowboy. Because what if he wants to be the man whose body is rocking into yours? You start to sweat just thinking about it, and for the first time you realize you might be a bit tipsy. You don’t remember eating much today, and the beer is starting to settle into your bloodstream.
Once Tyler and you have completed your lap, he stops the horse in front of the entrance. He hops down, then puts his hands on your waist to help you off, and his fingers are a bit too close to your breasts for comfort but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He smiles what is probably meant to be a charming grin at you, before taking his hat back with a wink, “Thanks for the ride”.
“Let’s hear it for our cowgirl everybody!” The crowd applauds raucously, and you find your way back. Slipping back into your seat, having to scoot back by Joel (who is purposefully not looking at you), your dad greets you with a high-five, “‘Lright! I got loads of pictures for you hun! Glad you actually went! I know it ain’t your thing bein’ the star but it was fun wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.” You get comfy, wiggling back into your seat, bumping into Joel’s leg. You turn to him, and without saying a word you pick his hat up from his lap, and place it right back on your head. That gets him to finally look over at you, and you smile smugly at him. Though his eyes are a bit darker, he huffs a laugh, shaking his head at you before taking a sip of his beer.
You’re riding on air for the rest of the show, and when it’s finally over, your dad starts heading towards the truck. “Woah, hey. We’re not gonna enjoy the fair?”
He stops, looking at you a little dumbly, “Babe, we used to do that when you were a kid, ain’t you a bit old for that now?”
You look at him a little offended, but make your best attempt at puppy dog eyes, then turn to look at Joel pleadingly. He looks between you and your dad, once, twice, then sighs, “I could go for one of those turkey leg things”. You bounce on your feet, beaming at him, and as you hear your dad groan you turn and head into the frey.
The three of you wander the fair grounds, stopping first to get you a funnel cake, and Joel his turkey leg. Your dad opts out, something about ‘watching his macros’, you don’t know you just boo him, and say he’s no fun, leading to Joel laughing a bit too hard, which earns him a glare from your dad.
Every once in a while you make them stop to play a game, and you discover Joel has a bit of a competitive streak. The two of you end up playing the same dart game five times in a row before your Dad finally pulls you away, declaring you both victors. Joel grumbles at that, and you’re a little disappointed you didn’t get to win the giant panda.
Eventually, you reach the ferris wheel, and you start practically bouncing on your feet. “Oh! I love ferris wheels! Come on, Dad let’s go!”
He immediately starts shaking his head vehemently, “Uhuh, hell no, babe. No can do. You know I hate heights”.
“Oh come on, it’s not even that tall.” When he keeps shaking his head, you let out a big sigh, “Fine, whatever”. You start to walk away when you hear Joel speak up from behind you, “I’ll ride with you, kiddo. If you really want to”.
You stop in your tracks, your heart jumping in your throat. This whole night has felt more like an evening between you and Joel, than it has been a night with you dad – him being a bummer about the carnival and grumbling about it “bein’ past his bed time” every two seconds. It almost feels like— No, you stop that thought right there. But, then again, you think, if you were to ever go on a date with Joel, you can imagine this is what it would be like.
You look at Joel, chewing on your bottom lip, “Are you sure? It’s really not a big deal, I know it’s gettin’ late”. Though your tone implies very much that it is a big deal, and you most definitely want to go on the ride.
He looks at your dad then, “We’ll do this one, then we’ll get on the road. I’m beat too.” Your dad raises his hands again, then walks over to find a bench presumably to wait for you two. Leaving Joel and you standing there, you suddenly feel a little nervous. Okay, a lot nervous. You walk up to him, and he motions for you to lead the way.
You’re suddenly very aware again of your dad’s comments about your shorts being too short, and you’re both simultaneously happy and hating that fact. You walk up to the carny, and he asks for 5 dollars. Your eyes bug out of your head at the same time Joel exclaims, “Five dollars!?” The carny just looks at you both with a dead expression, and you turn to look at Joel, “I don’t have any cash…”
Shaking his head, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, “Your generation, I swear. Never got cash on ya”. He hands the guy a ten, “You got change?” The carny just looks at him like that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard, and Joel glares back at the kid before grabbing you by the elbow and pushing through the gate. “God damn scam” he grumbles, and you stifle a laugh.
Another carny guides you to your car, and it’s surprisingly cramped inside. Once again, you find yourself pressed up next to Joel. His large frame is almost comical in the tiny ferris wheel car, his boots pressed against the wall opposite you, and his hair grazing the top. You can’t help chuckling, and he looks down over at you, eyes dead, but the corner of his lip is twitching and you know he’s also trying hard not to laugh. Your knees are resting against one another again, and you’re not sure what to do with your hands, so you place them neatly on your lap.
The ride creaks as it starts to move, and as you lift away from the ground, the sounds of the fair slowly begin to drown out, leaving just the sound of your mingled breaths. It’s comfortable, like yours and Joel's silences always are. But there's a weight to the air, like there was last Friday night.
It hits you then, that it’s been exactly a week since you kissed him, and suddenly this feels like some sort of twisted anniversary. You look over at him, and realize he’s been staring at you.
It’s dark up here, the lights of the carnival dim as you reach the top. His expression is dark, brooding almost, like he wants to say something. When he finally speaks it almost startles you, “That boy, he was awful handsy”. That’s the last thing you expect him to say, fully expecting him to mention your kiss, not Tyler the cowboy who groped you a bit. You blink in response, then turn away, his eye contact making you nervous. “Oh, yeah. He was a bit but it’s whatever. Part of the show ‘nd all”. You’re looking out over the lights, but you can feel him still looking.
You turn to face him again, and you swear he’s a little closer, and suddenly this tiny car feels very claustrophobic. “Just didn’t like it, y’don’t deserve that. And a man layin’ his hands on you without your permission ain’t ‘whatever’. I know you know that.”
For a moment he sounds like a father, like when he used to scold you when you were a teen. It makes your cheeks flush with annoyance and a bit of defensiveness. You didn’t mean that by it. But also, he unintentionally struck a nerve. You're reminded of why you’re here in the first place, back home, and you look at him, anger in your eyes, “I do know that, thanks for the reminder, Dad.”
Something flashes in his eyes at that, and you see his jaw clench once, twice. He swallows down whatever it is he wants to say, and looks out at the view as the ground draws nearer. You’re annoyed now, at him and at yourself, and you’re reckless when you’re annoyed. It’s your turn to look at his profile, the strong line of his nose still as statuesque as it was a week ago.
“Why’d it bother you? Dad didn’t seem to notice, and if he did he didn’t seem to care. So why do you?” You stare him down, and you see that vein in his neck twitch, his Adam’s apple bob, before he turns to face you.
His eyes are hidden by shadow, but you swear there’s something in them. Something that can’t be real.
You hold his gaze, daring him. Daring him to say something. Daring him to confess, to let you know you’re not crazy.
The ferris wheel jerks forward, coming to a stop at the bottom, illuminating his face again. His eyes look back and forth between yours, and then they dip to your lips, before returning again. Your heart is beating so hard you swear he can probably hear it.
Where it was a comfortable warm summer evening, the air is suddenly too hot, and a bead of sweat rolls down your back. Once again, the closeness of his body is suddenly overwhelming. His jaw ticks, his throat bobbing, and his eyes linger on your mouth again, like he too is remembering how eerily similar this feels to the last time the two of you were this close.
Just when you’re certain one of you is about to break, the door of the car creaks open loudly, the same dead faced carny looking at you both like idiots, “Rides over guys, let’s go”.
Joel is instantly back to reality, apologizing to the guy before stepping out, stretching his body back out. You linger for a half-second longer, eyes blinking repeatedly, and very much filled with vitriol at that fucking carny. He gives you a look like he’s definitely going to bitch about you to his friends tonight, when you finally climb out, not so subtly glaring at him as you pass.
Joel’s already reunited with your Dad, back to his usual self like whatever the fuck just did (or didn’t) happen between the two of you was inconsequential. And for the second time, you’re left wishing you could understand what on earth is going on inside Joel Miller’s head. If you could just crack his skull open and climb inside, eat away at every bit of him until you find the answers you want, you would do it.
When the hell did things get so fucking complicated with him? You hate yourself for murkying the waters between you, but another part of you loves it. Never in a million years would a younger you, who had such a childish crush on your dad’s best friend, imagine that you would kiss Joel Miller.
That every moment you spend with him feels plagued with tension, like gunpowder that is just waiting for the match to drop.
summary — joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. the two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. for the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. but in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like something else. like spending time with someone he is close with.
word count: 5.4k
content warnings — age gap relationship (reader is late 20s/joel early 50s), complex themes that come alongside dbf, this could be taboo for some so if you're that person then don't read! otherwise this chapter is fairly free of cw, just go in with an open mind.
author's note — okay so this chapter kicked my ass. seriously i rewrote it a few times and almost completely scrapped it but finally got something i am remotely happy with. next time i do a joel pov i will make it a complete stand alone chapter. i really did my best to try and capture joel's internal conflict when it comes to our reader. i've only ever experienced these feelings from her perspective, so imagining the complexity of how he might feel was originally what made me want to write this chapter. i love media/art that delves into the complexity of relationships and the taboo so even though this chapter was a challenge to write i hope it came out well, so let me know <3!! as always like if you read, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. thank you all for the support on this fic it truly means the world to me! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ₊˚⊹ᰔ
additional note — this chapter is joel's pov of the previous chapter, make sure to read it before reading this one! if you would like to be added to a tag list for future chapters comment on this chapter! ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡
Joel stares at your name on the screen, finger hovering over the blue letters. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, it’s not abnormal for him to call on your birthday. Yet something deep in the back of Joel’s mind tells him it’s different. Maybe it’s something to do with intent: he wants to wish you a happy birthday of course, but it’s also Friday. He hadn’t realized how nice it’s been to look forward to your company at the end of each week, but knowing that you likely won’t come tonight is a little disappointing. He chastises himself for even thinking that. Of course you’re not going to come, you surely have any number of things you would rather do than spend your birthday with him.
He shakes his head and presses your name, holding the phone up to his ear. The phone rings for a few moments, long enough that he’s almost about to hang up, when it picks up, your breath heaving on the other end. Joel hesitates another moment, before clearing his throat, “Hey birthday girl”.
“Hey Joel, what’s up?” Your voice sounds slightly off, and he worries he’s caught you at a bad time.
“I was just wantin’ to wish you a Happy Birthday”, Joel leans back into the sofa in the trailer that’s serving as a makeshift breakroom on the site. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that's permanently taken root in his aging body, “You got any big plans for today?” He does his best to sound casual, not wanting you to feel any sort of obligation to y’alls weekly routine.
There’s a pause before you respond, “Uh so actually about that, I was hoping I could still come over for dinner tonight, like usual…”
Joel’s eyebrows shoot up, his hand stopping in its menstruations, “Oh!” He sits up a bit straighter at that, that is not what he was expecting you to say and he’s trying to ignore the stir in his gut that feels suspiciously like excitement.
Before he has a chance to respond, your voice comes in anxious and rambling, “Unless you don’t want to. I just thought… ya know it’s been kind of a nice routine… why break it?”
A smile threatens to break across his face, betraying the nonchalance he is trying to conjure up about this change of plans. But he doesn’t want to give away anything. Part of him wonders if you just feel bad about ditching him for a night out with friends. Joel would love to have you over, but he doesn’t want you to come just because you feel like you have to, so he treads cautiously, “Yeah no of course. I wouldn’t mind one bit but you don’t have plans with your Dad, or some friends?”
It’s quiet on the other end for a moment, and he’s instantly kicking himself for prying. When you finally respond, your voice comes out dejected, “Dad actually had to go to Houston this weekend. He left this morning and… well, you’re kind of the only person I’ve spent time with since I’ve been back…” Joel curses under his breath, of course Daniel had to work. It’s nothing new, his best friend has always had a knack for being neglectful. Then again, for the first time it occurs to him that he hasn’t once heard you talk about any friends since coming back home. If anything, you seem to do everything but talk about your personal life. He rubs at his eyes, conflicting emotions threatening to tear away at careful compartments he’s made when it comes to you.
A part of him hates that he’s all you seem to have at the moment. Knowing that it’s your birthday and there is no one for you to spend it with aside from him has his heart ache for you.
But on the other hand, in the darkest recesses of his mind: he likes knowing you depend on him. Joel has always had an almost compulsive need to care for those who are important to him, and you're nothing if not important. It also gives him the opportunity to spend the evening with her and the chance to make it special just for you. It’s selfish of him to want this, and he hates himself for it.
He pulls himself from his train of thought, realizing he’s paused for probably a moment too long, and tells you to come by. The genuine excitement in your voice tugs at his heart strings. He likes knowing that he’s the cause of it.
He hangs up the phone and rests his head on the back of the couch, staring up at the water stained ceiling of the trailer. He wants to make the night special, but it’s already well into the afternoon and there isn’t much he can do so last minute. You’d always had a sweet tooth, so he settles on a simple cake. Maybe a small gesture, but he’d always loved Sarah’s reactions to the cakes he would get her – face alight with childlike giddiness.
His mind conjures up the thought of you like that, face split in a beaming grin, and something twists inside him. You look beautiful when you smile. The smallest hint of a gap between your teeth, freckles crinkling on your nose, your one dimple making an appearance. Something unspeakable begins to unfurl in his chest, clinging to the back of his ribcage. It’s foreign, something he hasn’t felt in years. That realization hits him, but almost as soon as it’s there it’s gone – his mind a clean slate again.
He stands up quickly, hoping with movement he can shake off whatever started to settle over him just then. He opens the door to the trailer, the Texas sun blinding him for a moment before his eyes readjust. He walks up to the flannel clad back of Tommy who’s currently shooting the shit with a few of the guys over sandwiches.
“Hey, I’ve gotta run, last minute errand just came up. You got this?” Joel’s voice is commanding in a way that tells Tommy there isn’t any other option than for him to say yes.
Joel nods, a noncommittal sound coming out before he slaps Tommy on the back and turns heading for his truck. A/C on full blast and the radio quietly playing a Rush song, he leaves the parking lot, clouds of gravel dust surrounding his truck.
Once on the road, he rolls his window down, pulling a half empty cigarette pack from his glove box, pulling one out with his teeth. He throws the pack on the seat, and rummages around for the lighter he’d bought. Flame kissing the end of the cigarette, he pulls in a drag, the familiar burn of smoke filling his lungs. The feeling reminds him of the first cigarette he’d had in years, on that beach at the lake. Before he can stop himself, his mind flashes an image of your lips wrapped around the cigarette the two of you had shared. The blush that had crept across your cheeks when he had put your cigarette to his lips, the quick aversion of your eyes, and once again he finds himself having to wrangle his own thoughts.
Taking another drag, he allows himself half a moment longer of reflection before taking the memory and tucking it back into its fortified box in the back of his mind. Locked tight enough that hopefully it won’t escape every time he tastes the burn of tobacco.
Joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. The two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. For the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of Sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. But in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of Sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like… something else. Like spending time with someone he is close with.
He’s not sure when the switch started, but it feels gradual, something subtle that has crept up on him. So when he opens up the front door of his house to the delicious smell of garlic and baked chicken, the TV humming from the living room, he can’t stop the small smile that lights his features. It’s been nice having the house alive on Friday evenings, it almost feels like Sarah is back home on those nights, but the air is distinctly different.
Something much more akin to how he imagines it would be to have someone to come home to, but as soon as it appears he wipes that thought from his mind. Thoughts like that keep finding their way into the forefront of his mind, and it feels like spiders crawling under his skin. The wires in his brain cross every so often when it comes to you, and it’s been happening more and more lately. You’re not some woman to come home to, you’re his best friend's daughter, Sarah’s friend, and you will always be that. He really needs to get out more.
Joel walks quietly by the living room, seeing the back of your head as you recline against the couch. Normally he would announce his presence but he’s hoping he can get the cake he bought for you into the fridge without you seeing. He’s able to slip by unnoticed, and holding the box on one arm, he nudges the fridge open. He sets it down on the counter so he can rearrange things a bit. Unfortunately, even with your frequent stocking of the fridge, it’s relatively empty, so he’s only able to make a feeble attempt at hiding it behind a few items before giving up. Joel grabs a beer while he’s at it, and walks back towards the living room.
He sees the TV first, you’re watching what looks to be some sort of 80s slasher judging by the low quality, cheesy music, and large breasted woman running through the woods. He turns the corner of the couch, finally pulling his eyes away from the TV, and when his eyes land on you he freezes in his tracks.
You look — different.
Beautiful, if he’s honest. Your hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, a few strands hanging in loose waves, framing your face. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, a small crease between them that reminds him of faces he’s seen you make as a kid when you were concentrating on homework or reading a book on his back porch.
He then takes in the most jarring difference of all — you have makeup on.
It’s not that he’s never seen you wear makeup. He saw you before prom, graduation, parties, various dates; so it’s not exactly new. But he hasn’t seen you like this in a long time. Not since you’ve left adolescence behind, evolving into the woman now sitting on his couch.
When did she change so much? He swears in a flash you’ve gone from the gangly limbed tomboy, always covered in dirt and climbing in trees; to a breathtaking young woman filled with a quiet solemnity that is both alluring and heart wrenching.
Your eyes are lined dark, causing them to stand out even more than usual, making it near impossible for him to take his eyes off you. The freckles from your childhood have started to come back, spattering across your cheeks and shoulders.
Joel takes this all in during the briefest of pauses, your front facing eyes leading him to hope you didn’t notice. Joel clears his head before sitting next to you, groaning a bit when he sinks into the low couch.
“Sorry kiddo, I know I’m a bit late”, he says, rubbing his beard in his anxious habit. You still haven't said a word to him, and he gets the impression that he might need to do a bit of damage control. Birthday’s have always been important to you, no matter how much you’ve tried to pretend they aren’t. Your noncommittal response confirms his suspicions.
He turns slightly to face you, the sight of you even closer makes his jaw tick. “You look nice… This for your birthday or just for me?”
You finally turn to face him, and he holds his breath for the briefest moments when your eyes meet his. They really are hypnotising like this. You roll her eyes at his remark, reminding him of the kid he used to know, and he’s grateful for the temporary clarity, “It’s for me actually” you say, eyes looking from his quickly, “but thanks. It’s my birthday so I thought why not”.
He smiles at your shyness, you never were good with compliments. He lifts his beer up towards you, nodding his head in cheers. You reciprocate, and when you take a swig he can’t help but watch. Joel kicks himself for the moment of weakness, and leans his head back against the couch.
“Today was hell… but I’m lookin’ forward to that chicken parm you promised me” he says with a smile. “And I may ‘ave brought you a little somethin’ too…” he says, opening his eyes to glance over at you. You’ve always loved surprises, and the light that enters your face at the suggestion makes the stress of the day run off like summer rain.
“Oh? For me?? Why Joel you shouldn’t have” you say with an over dramatic flair, batting your lashes and placing a hand to your heart in mock surprise. Grinning you stand up quickly, his eyes following your movements, remembering when he was able to stand up that easily. Your hands move to tug down your top as your pants dip low to expose the top of lacey white panties. On top of it all your jeans hug your ass in a way that makes him feel disgusting for even noticing.
You’re almost halfway to the kitchen by the time he catches up, just in time to see you searching for whatever it is he brought. “Hey, I didn’t say I’d give it to you yet. You’ll have to wait” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. You roll your eyes and huff a melodramatic sigh, but concede.
Moments like this remind him of countless memories shared with you over the years. The same kind of memories that cause bile rise in his throat when he notices the fit of your pants, or the freckles on your shoulders. If he was smarter he would put a little distance between the two of you. The tangle of thoughts that constantly threaten to break through when he’s with you scares the hell out of him.
But that would be selfish of him. He knows you’ve been struggling. He can see it in the cracks of your facade, can see the hurt carefully hidden behind your eyes. He noticed the thinness to your frame when he first hugged you the day you came back. The dull look to your usually bright eyes, the slight inward curve of your shoulders indicating some unspoken weight. It hasn’t escaped his notice that you drink beer more now than he can remember when you used to visit home, but he reminds himself that it’s none of his business. He tries not to look too closely at all of it but he cares about you. He loves you as if you were his own. He can’t push you away because his own thoughts are muddled. It’s a problem he has to face on his own, he won’t isolate you further because he can’t keep himself in check.
“I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick,” he says over his shoulder, heading up stairs before he can hear your response. He walks to his bedroom, sitting on his bed to untie his work boots. He sits like that a moment, arms braced on his jean clad legs. He’s got to get a hold of himself. He can’t keep having these slip ups, brief moments where he sees you as something other than who you are — the daughter of his best friend. Are you beautiful? Of course, any man with eyes can see that. But you have more than that; you’re intelligent, witty, down-to-earth, creative, thoughtful. Any man would be lucky to have you, which makes Joel wonder how things have gone so wrong with that boyfriend of yours. Clearly the guy’s an idiot, and you deserve better. The thought of the son’ve bitch has Joel’s hand clenched in a fist.
He’s not entirely sure what’s happened between the two of you, not wanting to pry, and you have been purposefully vague on the subject – but the thought that this kid has may have caused you unhappiness makes him feel a fierce sense of protectiveness. No matter how conflicting things may get in Joel’s head, that fact will never change.
He flexes his hand, releasing the tension that has wound up in his arms and shoulders. He stands and walks into his bathroom, pulling the belt from his jeans and stripping from his dirty work clothes. He makes the shower quick, not wanting to keep you waiting any more than he already has. He manages to time things perfectly, because by the time he’s coming down the stairs, you’ve got everything ready.
Dinner is the usual affair of delicious food and good company. Joel had gotten used to eating on his own, even before Sarah moved out she more often than not she was either out with friends or he was coming home so late from work that she had already eaten – having to warm up his portion from its home in the fridge. He had never minded it, but it’s been a welcome change having you as company.
Joel’s never been an overly talkative person, so although it shouldn’t be, it’s surprising to him how easily the two of you coexist. During the natural lulls of conversation, you sit in comfortable silence; a stark difference from dinners with Sarah who would talk for the both of them.
Plate practically licked clean, Joel leans back in his chair, looking across the table at you as you finish the last few bites. Some more strands of hair have fallen around your face, and you brush them away with your free hand. The brown gloss that you’d had on earlier is gone now, leaving just the natural cool pink flush of your lips.
As beautiful as you look done up like this, he can’t help but think your bare face suits you more. Maybe because it’s familiar to him, it’s easier to see the girl behind the woman. It offers the same reprieve as reverting to your old childhood nicknames, putting that distance between you again; needing the familiar comfort of “kiddo” or “kid” to keep him grounded. Because there are whispers of moments where he almost forgets. Almost.
You must feel him looking, because your kohl lined eyes meet his, brow lifted in question. He holds your gaze, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, before he stands quickly, “Close your eyes”. You look at him, a slightly startled look on your face, her cheeks turning a light pink, “Why?”. Always gotta question everything, “Girl, just do it”. Your cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, but you comply, face cracking into a nervous smile. Joel waves his hand in front of your face to make sure you’re not peaking before going to grab the cake.
He sets the cake on the counter in front of him, a small smile coming to his lips. He’s glad he was able to find the perfect cake. Something simple and yet so distinctly you. He pulls out a small green candle and sets it right in the middle. He heads back to the dining room, and walking up behind you, he gently places the cake down. He leans over your shoulder, seeing your eyes still dutifully closed, “Alright, open up” he says softly.
He walks back around to sit down, avoiding looking at your reaction. He’s nervous. You’re turning 28 not 18, you could be too old for all this. You thank him for the cake and the emotion in your voice causes him to finally look up, and what he sees shatters his heart into tiny pieces.
The image of your smiling face he’d conjured up earlier has come to life before him and it takes his breath away. The corners of his lips lift, mirroring your own, and he feels a weight leave his chest. But his smile falls slightly when a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away as soon as it falls, averting your gaze, clearly embarrassed. Without a moment's hesitation he’s reaching out, taking your hand in his, “Hey, hey, you ‘lright kiddo?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m sorry. I’m fine this is just… really nice is all. Sorry, I’m just bein’ stupid”, you’re looking everywhere but at him, and he hates seeing you ashamed of your emotions. He wonders who made you feel like you had to hide them away.
“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that, darlin’. You ain’t bothern’ me at all, I just hate seein’ you cry.” He squeezes your hand, and finally your eyes lift to meet his. “You’ve seemed to be doin’ better lately, but I remembered you always enjoyed you’re birthday’s growin’ up and I know how easy it is to forget all that as you get older. But gettin’ older doesn’t mean you have to stop carin’ about the things you used to”.
You nod at his words, eyes lingering on his hand around yours, “Yeah, I know. I just can’t remember the last time I had a nice birthday, if I’m being honest. So this is just… it’s nice”. That makes his jaw tick. Some ugly emotion like anger twisting in his gut. You have a boyfriend back in Boston; one you live with and have been with for years, yet a simple cake is enough to have you in tears? He finds himself gripping his thigh beneath the table, and he wants more than anything to tell you how much you deserve so much better than that. That you deserve to be with a man who appreciates you, who is willing to make each day better than the next. A man who will give you the world. But he swallows down all of that, reminding himself it’s not his place.
He squeezes your hand once more before getting up, going to grab his favorite whiskey from its place. He can feel your eyes following his movements, and the look of relief on your face when he returns with the bottle is a welcome sight. You suggest watching a movie, and he concedes. The two of you go to rest on the couch, and he pours glasses for you both. You both take a swig, and the familiar burn of whiskey in his throat is welcome. Your features twist and your voice comes out choked, “Mmm delicious”.
“Hey this is the good shit, thank you. Chase it with some cake” he chuckles defensively, and he watches as you pick up your slice of cake, taking a bite. The look of surprise that comes across your face at the combination of flavors has him feeling smug, “Told you, whiskey and cake ‘re good together”.
“Alright old man, I won’t question your wisdom again”. Joel leans back into the couch, and you follow suit, curling into his side. The feeling of your body next to his has him finishing his whiskey, ready to pour another. He’s used to sitting like this with Sarah, and at this moment he is distinctly aware that you are not his daughter. But you seem comfortable and unbothered by the closeness, so he doesn’t react when you tuck your feet beneath his leg, leaning into him as you get comfortable. He lets out a breath, allowing himself to relax into you, this is fine.
He picks up the remote, and flips through countless movies before one finally catches your eye, what looks to be some chick flick. He looks over at you, but your expression tells him there is no changing your mind. The movie begins, and he resigns himself to a movie that will likely result in him falling asleep.
He doesn’t expect the movie to actually be, well, good. It’s more than good if he’s being honest, but he chooses to blame his investment on the unknown amount of whiskey he has had at this point. He can’t help his commentary throughout the film, the whiskey has loosened his tongue and these women keep making idiotic choices. He’s so caught up in their antics that he almost is able to forget about the warm body pressed into his side. At some point he put his arm on the back of the couch, his hand now resting on your shoulder, wisps of your hair brushing against his wrist.
The warmth of the whiskey is in his bloodstream now, and the heavy weight of his eyelids has him realizing he probably shouldn’t have another glass. He didn’t mean for y’all to drink this much, but he felt like you could use the relaxation and honestly so could he. He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to have more than two or three glasses, and the fire in his stomach is soothing.
Joel is pulled from the movie, when he feels your eyes on him. He had felt it a few times before, but was distracted enough to not notice. But this time the tingle on the back of his neck of being watched hasn’t gone away, and he finally looks over at you. Your eyelids are low, thick lashes almost hiding them, your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth.
The scene changes, lighting up your features, and he can see the flush that is blooming across your cheeks and neck. It reminds him of the night you came home after your graduation, drunk and giggly, caught red handed in the kitchen. It’s then he remembers what you had said to him that night, all those years ago, something about you finding him handsome. He hadn’t thought much of it then, the drunk babblings of a teenager. You’d still been a kid then, and the memory makes his whiskey-addled brain realize how different you look now. He has to look — really look — to see that girl before him. But in his current state, he doesn’t necessarily want to.
His senses are dulled, his control slackened, so just this once, he lets himself see the woman next to him. He breaks the silence, you both having lost interest in the film, his voice comes out hushed, rougher than he means for it to be, “You know it’s rude to stare”.
You don’t respond, you just keep looking at him, your eyes searching for something. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, and it draws his eyes. He watches, swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes move slowly back up your face, and when they meet yours, suddenly you’re unrecognizable.
You’re not Sarah’s friend, you’re not Daniel’s daughter — no, you’re a woman.
A breathtaking, undoubtedly sexy woman, sitting tucked into his side, staring at him in a way he hasn’t been looked at in years.
So when you start closing the distance between the two of you, Joel doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. This moment isn’t real, it can’t be. He must have fallen asleep during the movie, and the alcohol in his system is causing him to have the most hyperrealistic dream he’s ever had. His eyes watch as you move closer, roaming your face, falling to your perfect pout.
When your lips brush against his, his eyes fall closed, and for a moment, he falls. Into this moment, into this fantasy. His hands ache to move, to touch you; the arm draped around ghosts against the skin of your neck. Your lips are sweet, tasting of cake and whiskey, it’s intoxicating and he doesn’t want to wake up.
Joel’s lungs burn, unintentionally holding his breath, like deep down his body knows this is real, that he’s letting himself drown. Lungs burning and lips against yours he finally breathes you in and the familiar scent of you pulls him painfully back into reality. All at once it comes crashing back to him, and he can’t control the way his body reacts. One moment his lips are on yours, and the next he’s on the other side of the couch, as much distance as he can put between the two of you.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Jesus fucking christ Joel, Fuck– Joel’s mind is a mess of spiraling thoughts and he puts his head in his hands. He rubs at his face, his mouth, trying to undo whatever just happened. His heart is beating out of his chest, and his blood runs cold. We’re drunk, I’m drunk. Too much whiskey, that’s it, yeah. It’s just– I just fucked up that’s all, forgot where I was– who I was with, it ain’t nothin’. Yeah, it’s nothing at all, fuck she has to know that, I didn’t mean– But why? She kissed me, why– why would she do that? Did I–
Joel is too distracted to notice you stand abruptly, it isn’t until your voice pierces through the maelstrom of his thoughts that he realizes what you’re saying. You’re babbling, panicking, breath coming in short huffs, talking about leaving, driving home. His mind clears for a moment, his protective nature taking over, and he gets a hold of himself to grab ahold of your wrist as you move to leave.
“Hey, hey it’s- it’s okay”, he stands, his vision moving in slow motion. He can’t look you in the eyes, so he just keeps his hand on your wrist, the other on your shoulder, but enough distance between the two of you that it feels safe. “Hey, look at me, you can’t drive home like this. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, just- just take Sarah’s room”.
You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes looking everywhere but at him, chest heaving, “Look at me, I ain’t mad. ‘M not upset, we both just… had a lot okay. It’s alright, I promise. Just… please stay here for the night”. He’s not sure how much of his words he’s saying to you and how much is to himself. Everything is alright. You both just had a lot to drink. He just had a lot to drink. That’s the only reason this happened. The only reason you kissed him. The only reason he let you. Yes, it’s alright. You both just need to sleep it off and everything will be okay.
You finally concede, walking quickly down the hall to Sarah’s room, disappearing behind her door, leaving Joel at the scene of the crime. His legs feel like lead, his head is spinning, and his stomach is in knots and he wishes to god it was from the alcohol. He closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Desperately scrambling within his mind to lock everything that had escaped back into their carefully crafted cells. That’s all this was, a slip up, nothing more. He lost control for a single moment and this is what happens. This is why he keeps everything locked up.
He opens his eyes, and just like that he’s on autopilot — body moving without him. Everything tucked away neatly within himself. Joel Miller the immovable object.
Clean up. Drink water. Take Ibuprofen for hangover. Walk to bedroom. Brush teeth. Change clothes. Get in bed. Lie down. Close eyes. Go to sleep. And don’t think. Don’t think about what just happened. Don’t think about the woman down the hall. Don’t think about her body pressed into yours. Don’t think about the taste of her. Don’t think about the smell of her. Don’t think about the softness of her lips. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.
summary — it's your 28th birthday and you get to spend the evening with the only person you really want to see. joel has a surprise for you and you have a surprise for him.
word count — 7k
psa — this is not your usual dbf!joel fic. i got tired of seeing the same thing over and over with joel as a lowkey predator, so when i say this is slow burn i mean it. but i promise it will be worth it. x
content warnings — hefty age gap (reader late 20s/joel early 50s), dad's best friend, mentioned domestic violence (past), implied substance abuse (past), mentioned depression, eventual smut.
author’s note — i am sorry (but not really) about ending this so angstly, but ya girl loves some angst. but I promise i'll make it up to you because next chapter may or may not be a joel pov of the events of ch4 >⩊< i really hope you guys enjoy this one, it was a pain to write but i'm really happy with how it came out! like if you read! and reblogs are always appreciated. x ₊˚⊹ᰔ
I love him so much, it just turns to hate. / I fake it so real, I am beyond fake / And someday you will ache like I ache.
You couldn’t get Joel Miller out of your head if you wanted. He’s locked into your subconscious in a way that can only be removed with surgical tools or a good ol’ fashioned lobotomy. Not that you mind, it’s a welcome distraction, if you don’t look at it too long. Because if you do, it leaves the realm of your dreams and hopes - becomes corporeal, real. And that is something you know will destroy you in a way nothing else has.
“Hey kiddo.”
“You sure look pretty today, darlin’”
“What’s for dinner tonight, kid?”
“What’s the matter, baby? Come ‘ere.”
Real or imaginary, they all blend together at this point. So no, you don’t look at it too long. You’re afraid of what it might mean - for you, for him, for your life. Whether it means anything at all in the end.
Because it could never happen, you know that. He would never see you that way. Once you’ve seen someone learn to walk, helped them with their homework at the same table as your own daughter, taught them how to change a tire, - no, he could never see you as anything else.
And yet, there are moments. Glimpses, like shadow figures in your peripheral, where you almost think you see something. Lingering eyes, a twisted brow. But surely that’s all in your head, just like the words that echo in your mind that you know he’s never said.
In your weakest moments, lying in bed in the dark, you find yourself drifting back to them. Relishing them. Dark brown eyes on yours, lips around the same cigarette that had touched yours, hands on your shoulder, a flash of teeth as he laughs at something you’ve said. His forehead beaded with sweat, from the heat or something else? Corded forearms flexing, muscles tense. He’s just fixing your car, or is it you those hands are deftly working?
You’re ashamed of the amount of nights his name falls from your lips in soft moans and sinful pants. He’s in your head, but god you wish he was everywhere else.
You wake to the sound of your door creaking open, heavy boots on wood panel floors. A weight sinks into the bed behind you, a hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear.
“Happy birthday, hun”.
You stretch, groaning as you roll on your back, facing your dad and the almond croissant he has on a plate before you with a mug of coffee in his hand. A sad little candle sticking out of the top. “I know it ain’t a cake… I figured you’d feel a little too old for that now” he huffs a laugh.
“Thanks dad,” you say as you rub your eyes of sleep. You sit up, taking the plate and mug from him, “What time is it?”
“6:30. Sorry I know it’s early but I wanted to be able to tell ya’” he pauses, a guilty look on his face, and it’s then your sleep-addled brain realizes this is an apology.
“Ah, you have to work” you try not to sound disappointed, you do. You’re 28 as of today, way too old to care about birthdays, but still it stings. You’d at least hoped the two of you could do something special for the day, but to no one’s surprise your dad has more important things to do.
“I know hun, I’m sorry but Thomas called and I’ve gotta head down to Houston for a few days. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We’ll go see one of those theatre shows you love”, his voice is filled with genuine remorse, and you wish it made you feel any better.
“It’s okay Dad, really.” You force a smile on your face, “This looks great.”
He claps his hands on his thighs, before standing, “Well I’ve gotta hit the road, but I’ll let ya’ know when I get there” he leans down to kiss you on the forehead, and heads for the door but stops just short, “Oh! Why don’t you do something with some of your old friends, or maybe take a day trip into the city? I’ll leave some cash on the counter for you, treat yourself to a nice lunch. It’ll be better than spending the day with your old man anyway” he laughs.
He doesn’t wait for you to respond, the sound of his footfalls on the stairs echoing in your room. You look down at the croissant, realizing he didn’t even wait to see you blow out the candle. Well, here’s to the death of my 20s. You close your eyes and you definitely don’t make a wish that involves Joel, that would just be pathetic.
You put the candle on the table, and take a bite of the croissant. The flaky buttery pastry has you humming to yourself, at least it’s a good one. You look over at the coffee on your bedside table, and you contemplate for a moment trying to go back to sleep but you’re up now.
You decide to try and make the most of the morning, getting comfy with your book, coffee in hand. You waste a large chunk of the day away like that — rotting. You’re not moping, that would be childish and you’re beyond that. Plus, it’s not like you’re that surprised by your dad’s disappointment. It’s honestly to be expected at this point, you’re a little bereaved that you actually thought he wouldn’t.
There is one thought that keeps coming to your mind, in the midst of your not wallowing - your birthday has landed on a Friday this year, which means you have an excuse to spend your evening with the only person you can think of that might actually make it a good one.
Joel’s probably not expecting you to come over, likely assuming you have birthday plans, but you also know he won’t turn you down if you show up like always. He’s never been able to deny you or Sarah on your birthdays.
You actually feel yourself getting excited now that your mind has inevitably drifted back to Joel, so you finally decide to get out of bed. You walk into the bathroom, and turn on the shower, hopping in once the room is so full of steam you can no longer see your reflection in the mirror.
The water is soothing as it stings your skin, and you lose yourself in the sound of it roaring in your ears. It’s almost entracing, and you find yourself slipping into those familiar memories, both real and imaginary.
He’s looking at you, eyes heavy with something. You can tell he wants to move, every line of his body rigid and tense. His palms are flat on the table, like he’s afraid to put them anywhere else. You slide your hand, slowly, inching towards his. Your breath quickens, your heart fluttering in a way that makes you light-headed.
The tips of your fingers are a hair's breadth from his. His eyes never leave your face, even as his nostrils flare, his jaw muscle ticks, teeth clenching. Your own eyes are heavy, you feel drowsy like you’ve taken too much cold medicine. The moment your finger tip grazes his, your head is spinning.
Suddenly his chair is empty, you don’t know where he is and the loss feels catastrophic. Your breath halts, your eyes searching frantically around when you realize you can’t move. You’re panicking, when suddenly there’s hot breath on your neck. The weight of him is almost more than you can bear, his chest pressed into your back.
Still you can’t move, and your throat is getting tighter and tighter, you can’t breathe. His hands, large and rough, wrap around you, constricting you further. Slowly inching further south until he’s there, where you’ve always wanted him. A wave of euphoria crests over you, your chest burning from lack of oxygen. Your vision is spotting, and you hear low in your ear that familiar Texas drawl, “Yeah, that’s it babygirl. Let go for me”.
You’re pulled back to reality suddenly as your legs almost give out from beneath you, and you come back to your senses; the water’s gone cold, forcing you back into your body. You rest your head against the porcelain of the shower wall and catch your breath.
You turn off the water, and as you dry yourself off you try not to think about the twisted sick feeling in your gut at what you just did. In your bed in the dead of night is one thing, but in the light of day when you’re going to see him that evening? Shame twists its knife, slicing its way into the heart of you.
You dress quickly, compartmentalizing as you always do, and head downstairs. You see the small wad of cash your dad mentioned lying on the counter, and you huff a laugh, he doesn’t realize he just paid for you to spend the evening with his best friend.
The rest of the morning is fairly uneventful, spent cleaning up around the house and finally finishing your book. Really you’re just counting down the hours until you can head to the store to grab groceries before going over to Joel’s.
Just then, your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and your stomach lurches at the name on the screen: Joel Miller is calling… You grab the phone so quickly you drop it, and fumble to pick it up before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey birthday girl,” you can hear the smile on his lips and it makes your head spin.
“Hey Joel” you say, slightly out of breath. You straighten up in your chair, trying to get yourself in order. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I was just wantin’ to wish you Happy Birthday. You got any big plans for today?”
You’re biting on the skin of your thumb, an old anxious habit, but you manage to keep your voice unassuming, “Uh so actually about that, I was hoping I could still come over for dinner tonight, like usual…”
“Oh,” there’s genuine surprise in his voice, and you hear him shift in his seat. Instantly you feel yourself begin to back track, “Unless you don’t want to, I just thought, ya know it’s been kind of a nice routine, why break it”.
“Uh yeah no of course but you don’t have plans with your dad or some friends?” His voice sounds genuinely curious, but there’s also a hint of something else.
“Dad actually had to go to Houston this weekend, he left this morning and… well” you let out a dry laugh, “you’re kind of the only person I’ve spent time with since I’ve been back…” Joel huffs a quiet noise, it almost sounds like a swear under his breath. He’s quiet for a moment, just long enough to have you tearing the skin away on your thumb til you taste iron, when you hear his voice again.
“Well, if you really want to spend your birthday with a tired old man then by all means, you’re welcome to come by” you can hear the smile in his voice and it makes your heart skip. You stop your incessant assault on your thumb, a grin spreading across your face. “Yeah okay, I’ll make chicken parm, it’s my favorite.”
“‘Lright, whatever the birthday girl wishes is my command.” You try not to let that go to your head, but it’s too late - graphic images that Joel most assuredly did not mean flash to your mind.
You clear your throat, then because you’re either an idiot or clinically insane you say, “It’s a date!”. Luckily before you have time to kick yourself you hear him chuckle on the other end, “See you later kid”.
The line goes dead, and suddenly your mood has improved tenfold. You find yourself glad for your dad’s absence, because now instead of a possibly awkward dinner with him you’ll be spending your evening in the warm comfort of Joel’s home.
You immediately stand up and race upstairs to get ready - despite the fact it’s currently only barely past noon. You open up your closet, sifting through the clothes you packed, and suddenly nothing feels good enough. You want to dress cute, but not too cute that he’ll find it weird. Joel will inevitably be in either a plain cotton tee or a flannel, but you also have the excuse of your birthday as a valid reason to dress a little nicer than your usual band tees and baggy shorts.
You find an old pair of fitted low rise jeans from your senior year, and you’re curious if you’ll still fit in them. When you slip them on and are surprised at how snug they are, hugging the curves of your ass and hips. The regular meals you’ve been having since coming home is obviously paying off. You want to ditch the baggy clothing you usually wear, so you find a cute brown tube top to wear, paired with your trusty Docs, and your favorite rings and bracelets.
Hair down around your shoulders, you sit down at your desk that doubles as a vanity, and put on a bit of eyeliner and mascara, but not too much, just enough to make your eyes look even larger and really pop. Your last touch is a little brown lip gloss, and when you finally take in your full appearance you’re actually taken aback.
You can’t remember the last time in recent memory that you’ve felt attractive. You’ve had so much going on in your personal life and in your head that your physical appearance has definitely fallen to the wayside. The last time you can remember wearing makeup, or anything other than your same rotation of comfort outfits was almost a year ago now, on Andrew and your last anniversary.
The sudden reminder of your boyfriend floods your bloodstream with ice, and you realize you haven’t checked to see if you have any new messages from him in days.
You don’t want to look, but at the same time that part of you that has stayed loyal to him all these years, or maybe is just still conditioned by him, drags you out of your chair. The steps across the room to your phone feel much longer than you know the distance to be.
Hand hovering over the phone, you take a deep breath before picking it up and unlocking it in one swift movement. You swipe to your messages, and scroll down until you see his name lighting up the screen, the blue bubble of new messages glaring in your face. There’s so many since the last time you checked it’s hard to even process them. But the most recent is a missed call — today.
He called for your birthday.
You don’t know how that makes you feel, but whatever it is it results in suddenly the phone being to your ear. Muscle memory, you hear the line ringing on the other end, and before you even have a moment to process what you’ve just done, you hear his voice on the other end, “Hello? Baby, is that you?”
Your vision goes blurry, your head spinning. Your chest feels so tight you don’t know how you even manage to get enough air in your lungs to respond, “Hey” voice quiet and tight.
“God baby, it’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve been so worried, how are you?” His voice sounds genuinely concerned, strained with anxiety and emotion. But you know it doesn’t mean anything. Andrew has always been a good actor, so much so he believes his own act most of the time. You know your distance causes him distress, but more from possessiveness than any real concern for your well being.
In the recent months, you’ve realized you’re really nothing more than a glorified pet to Andrew - there to provide comfort, unconditional affection, and worship. He only hates you being away because it means he can’t keep you in his sights.
“I just wanted to return your call. I’m okay, just been busy helping my Dad with stuff.”
“Too busy to even answer my texts?” His tone is accusatory and you hear the poorly hidden anger in it. But just as quickly as it’s there he turns it off again, voice taking on its soothing coo, “Sorry, it doesn’t matter, I just wanted to tell you Happy Birthday. I miss you angel”.
You’re quiet in response, you don’t want to but your heart aches at the words. You don’t miss him, not really, but a part of you did love him once, and in spite of everything it’s still there, shrinking day by day but there none the less.
“I have to go, my Dad and I were about to go to lunch, I just wanted to call.. so you don’t worry”. The lie slips from your lips easily, but you’re not sure if he will believe it. Luckily for you, he takes the bait, clearly still trying to repent for what happened, “Okay, well I won’t keep you. Have a good birthday angel, I love you”. Those last three words feel weighted, like a test. Andrew has always loved his tests, and this one feels like a blade dangling above your head.
Your throat constricts so tightly it hurts, like trying to swallow down vomit. “I love you too”, the words slice into you like swallowing a razor blade. Before he can respond, you hang up the phone, your trembling hand slamming it down on your dresser.
Your vision spots, and you feel your knees giving out so you put trembling hands on the dresser, trying desperately to keep yourself afloat. You remember what one of your countless therapists said about breathing techniques, so you count slowly, holding each breath until your chest aches.
Breathe in, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10.
Exhale, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, and repeat.
You do this until your head is spinning and your arms feel light as air. When your mind is quiet because all you can focus on now is how dizzy you are.
When you finally open your eyes, they meet your clock in the mirror, and you see two hours have passed since you spoke with Joel about coming over, and it pulls you back into the present. You shake your arms, crack your neck, and make your way down the stairs.
Grabbing your keys from their spot on the counter and the wad of cash your dad left, you head for your car.
It’s almost 7pm by the time you hear Joel’s truck rumble into the driveway. You’ve been at his house for a couple hours now, and the chicken has been ready and kept warm in the oven for almost an hour. You can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed, he’s almost always home at a reasonable hour on your typical Friday night dinners - not wanting to keep you waiting - and with today being your birthday, you’re surprised he wasn’t home early.
You know it’s a little dumb for you to be hurt, it’s not like he’s your Dad — who isn’t here at all anyway, so he’s already doing more than that — but it still stings. When he comes in the door, you’re sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, legs tucked under you as you watch some horror movie that was on TNT. You hear him come in, and you don’t turn around to look at him, and even though it makes you feel a little petulant, you keep your head straight.
You hear him walk into the kitchen and open the fridge, and that he hasn’t called out to you like he usually does just further grates you. You take another big swig of your beer, hoping to calm emotions you know are irrational. When the heavy footfalls of his work boots finally come into the living room, you’ve managed to paint your features with a look of indifference.
You see him in your peripherals, holding a beer, and don’t miss the pause he takes as he circles the couch, taking in your appearance. You feel the corner of your lip want to lift — good, you’re no longer regretting dressing nicer than usual like you had fretted about multiple times over the past few hours you’ve spent waiting.
You still don’t turn to look at him, casually sipping your beer intent on the film, but you feel the weight of him as he plops down on to the couch next to you. He releases a heavy sigh, hand going to rub at his face. He takes a swig of his beer, before turning towards you, “Sorry kiddo, I know I’m a bit late”.
You hum, eyes still locked on the TV, “It’s fine” even though your tone very much conveys the opposite. You can feel his gaze on you, and then he startles you out of your pouting when he says, “You look nice. This for your birthday or just for me?”
That gets you to finally look over at him, your cheeks flushing at the rare compliment, and the implication to his words that you’re positive he means jokingly; but it stops your heart nonetheless.
You take in his appearance - the disheveled hair, worn Miller contracting shirt, tired brown eyes lingering on yours - and you swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “It’s for me actually” you let some of your earlier annoyance slip in to your voice to hide the butterflies currently rampaging in your stomach, “But thanks, it’s my birthday and I thought why not” you take another sip of beer, needing the alcohol to give you way more of a buzz than you currently feel.
The corner of his lip curls in a half smile, and he raises his beer towards you in a silent toast. “Today was hell,” he groans, rubbing his beard. “But I am lookin’ forward to that chicken parm you promised me. And I may have brought you a little something too…”, he raises his eyebrows as he glances sideways at you.
“Oh? For me?? Why Joel you shouldn’t have” you say sarcastically as you smile back. You get up and your low rise jeans dip, exposing your lower back and the slightest peak of your underwear. You’re suddenly very aware of this fact with Joel still sunk low in the old leather couch. Quickly you move to tug your shirt down slightly, and you feel his eyes on you. You turn to look just as you catch him glance away almost immediately, and your stomach flips.
You try not to let it go to your head, but it’s hard not to read into every little thing with him. You walk faster, not waiting for him to follow - though the slight grunt as he stands and the sound of his boots let you know he is. Turning into the kitchen, you look around for anything new but don’t see whatever it was that Joel was talking about. You look over to him, a slight pout to your lips and he chuckles, “I didn’t say I’d give it to you yet, you’ll have to wait”.
You roll your eyes, but smile all the same. You get to work cooking the pasta now that he’s finally home, and Joel goes upstairs to shower. Curious about what he might have gotten you, you start to snoop around the kitchen. Searching the cabinets and pantry to no avail, you sigh heavily about to give up, but when you open the fridge for another beer you freeze. Sitting on the top shelf, poorly hidden behind a milk jug and some juice, is a birthday cake. Nothing flashy, just a simple white cake with some light green ruffled icing along the edge - but it’s enough to cause a lump in your throat.
Your favorite color is light green, and it seems Joel remembered that. Even the idea of him buying you a cake makes your eyes begin to burn. Is that why he was late? Was he out trying to find you a birthday cake last minute? You close the door quickly, taking a step back and bumping into the island. Your mind is racing with images of past birthdays spent with Joel, and you can’t ever remember him getting you a cake before. Maybe it’s because your dad already did, but then again you definitely have spent birthdays with your dad where your “cake” was a pizza or a box of fried rice.
No, this feels special - pointed. The sound of sizzling on the stove pulls you from your thoughts and you see the water boiling over. You swear under your breath as you quickly turn the temperature down a bit before throwing the pasta in. You’re heating the sauce in a pan, mind still on the cake, when you hear Joel come back downstairs.
He comes up behind you, the warmth of him soaking into your side makes you suppress a shiver. You turn your head slightly, the warm smell of his sandalwood shampoo filling your nose so you miss him sticking his finger into the sauce. It’s only when he lifts it to his lips to try it that you realize what he’s done. “Hey!” you swat his shoulder, “Out of the kitchen!” you reprimand, and he grins as he turns away and heads to set the table, “Yes ma’am”.
You finish dinner, draining the pasta and tossing it into the pan with the sauce, making sure to mix it well and topping it off with some freshly shredded parmesan. You pull the chicken out of the oven, and coat it with the last bit of sauce. Once everything is plated you head over to the table to where Joel is waiting.
“This looks delicious, but I almost feel like I shoulda done the cookin’, it bein’ your day and all”, he says as he begins cutting into his meal.
You shrug, taking a sip of your drink, “It’s alright, I like cooking so I don’t mind. Plus you’ve been working all day”.
“Fair enough.”
You both busy yourselves eating and chatting about nothing. It’s always surprising that for two people who are decidedly not chatty, you’re able to carry a consistent conversation when you’re together. It feels comfortable, familiar, like spending time with a best friend, or a lover.
Joel leans back with a groan as he finishes his dinner, and he holds your gaze for a moment, contemplating something. It always makes you nervous when he does that, and you’re about to squirm out of your skin when he places his hands on the table top and pushes himself up. “Close your eyes,” his words catch you off guard, and you look at him quizzically.
It’s then you remember the surprise you’re not supposed to know about, so you question him like you usually would, “Why?”.
He looks down at you, brows low with typical fatherly annoyance, “Girl, just do it”.
You grin but comply, lightly shutting your lids as you wait for your next order. You hear him stepping back around into the kitchen, and the sound of the fridge opening. Then you feel more than hear him as he comes back to stand beside you, his voice almost startles you as he says softly from just over your shoulder, “Alright, open up”.
You open your eyes to the cake you discovered earlier, with a candle lit on top, and you don’t have to fake the emotion on your face. You feel your face split into a smile, and Joel slowly walks around to sit back down in front of you.
He looks… nervous. His expression is soft in a way you aren’t used to seeing.
He lifts a hand to rub his beard in a way you’re slowly beginning to realize coincides with nerves, and at your silence he starts to ramble, “I know it ain’t much but… well I figured it’d still be nice t’have a cake… I went after work to grab one but the first few stores I went to didn’t have anythin’ good and so that’s why I was a bit late”. He’s looking at the cake, avoiding your eyes and it’s so endearing you think you might cry. You quickly shake your head, “It’s perfect, Joel. Thank you”.
He finally looks up to meet your gaze, and at the genuine smile on your face you see his shoulders relax, the corners of his lips mirroring your own.
You feel your eyes start to burn - he looks so beautiful like this, filled with tenderness. For a moment, you don’t see him as the man you’ve grown so fond of, but as the loving father you know him to be. Realizing that this is the kind of care that Sarah grew up with makes your chest ache.
You don’t even realize a tear has slipped from your eye until you hear Joel, “Hey, hey, you ‘lright kiddo?” His hand slides across the table to cover your own, and more tears threaten to spill. You use your free had to dab at your eyes, not wanting to mess up your makeup, “Yeah, yeah I’m sorry. I’m fine this is just… really nice is all. Sorry, I’m just bein’ stupid”, you chastise yourself.
“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that, darlin’. You ain’t bothern’ me at all, I just hate seein’ you cry.” He squeezes your hand, and you meet his gaze. “You’ve seemed to be doin’ better lately, but I remembered you always enjoyed you’re birthday’s growin’ up and I know how easy it is to forget all that as you get older. But gettin’ older doesn’t mean you have to stop carin’ about the things you used to”.
You nod your head, sniffing as you wipe your nose. “Yeah, I know. I just can’t remember the last time I had a nice birthday, if I’m being honest. So this is just… it’s nice”. You see something register in his eyes at your words, but he must choose to ignore it for now.
“Now go on, dig in, I’ll grab us somethin’ better to drink with this”. He gets up, going to grab a nice bottle of whiskey from its spot in the kitchen. He comes back with two tumblers, and you look up at him with raised brows. “Whiskey and cake sounds good to me”, he grins and you huff a laugh.
Cutting you both a piece, you put them on napkins as he pours you both two fingers of whiskey. “Hey, you want to watch a movie?”, you ask.
“Like I said, whatever the birthday girl wants”.
The two of you walk into the living room, cake and whiskey in hand, and sink down into the couch. Joel groans as he sits, and looks over at your bemused face, “Just you wait, give it another twenty years and you’ll sound just the same”.
“Cheers” you say as you lift your glass to him, the clink of the crystal ringing in the room. You take a sip and the amber liquid burns your throat, the fumes making your nostrils flare. Your face twists, and you see Joel’s do the same. Your voice comes out slightly choked, “Mmm, delicious” you say sarcastically.
“Hey this is the good shit, thank you. Chase it with some cake” he chuckles, and you do exactly that. You use your fork to cut off a small bite, and when the sweet icing and moist cake hits your still burning tongue, the combination is actually surprisingly heavenly. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look over to Joel with eyes wide as he takes a bite of his cake as well. “Told you, whiskey and cake ‘re good together” he says around his bite.
“Alright old man, I won’t question your wisdom again”, you joke and take another sip. Joel leans back into the couch, legs spread comfortably, one arm on the back and the other resting on his lap. You follow suit, and maybe the tenderness of the night has you overly comfortable, or maybe it’s the expensive whiskey, but you lean back into his side on the couch.
You take another bite of cake, acting as casual as you can, waiting to see if he tries to create some distance again between your bodies. But he seems un-bothered by your closeness, if anything he almost seems more comfortable. Joel is a girl dad after all, and you imagine he’s probably quite used to this level of contact.
He picks up the remote, flipping on the TV and opening up a streaming service, “Okay what are we watching, your choice”. You watch as he swipes through a few movies before you see Practical Magic pop up and you gasp, “Oh that one! I love that movie!”
He looks at the TV quizzically, “What is this? You sure you don’t want to watch Curtis and Viper or somethin’ less….” He looks at you slightly pleading, but you return it with a wide smile, showing all your teeth, “Birthday girl picks, remember?”
He clicks his tongue but concedes, clicking on the familiar picture of Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. The movie begins, and after a half hour Joel is fully enraptured. You’ve both been through a few more glasses of whiskey at this point, and your body is warm, the back of your eyes fuzzy.
You look over at Joel periodically, finding his captivation in the film entirely more entertaining than the film itself. You’re not sure if he even notices how much whiskey you’ve both had at this point, but his eyes are heavier than usual, his tanned skin slightly flushed.
When Sandra and Nicole accidentally kill the latter’s ex boyfriend, Joel is commentating on their antics, “Aw come on they ain’t seriously ‘bout to bury him in their own yard?? Why the hell didn’t they just dump the car? Oh and now she wants to bring him back!? This is not what you should ever do if you kill some’ne. Hope you know that” he says shaking his head.
But at this point the movie is completely forgotten to you. All you can focus on is all the places your bodies are touching: his arm on the back of the sofa behind your head, his hand draped in a way his fingers just barely graze your shoulder. Your legs tucked up against your chest, feet borrowed beneath Joel’s thigh. Your shoulder perfectly nestled in the space beneath his arm, and in the moments you look over at him, your face is mere inches from the side of his jaw.
The lights of the TV flash across his face as he watches intently, periodically sipping whiskey and opening his mouth to make another comment on the movie.
His bottom lip is slightly fuller than his top, you notice. His beard patchy just on the cheeks, but in a way that works for him, grey interspersed through dark brown. His jaw is sharp, and his neck has this one prominent vein that sticks out, a small freckle too, both drawing your attention every time you turn your head.
Your eyes continue to soak him in, roaming in awe. His nose with the most perfect slope, giving him the side profile that reminds you of a marble statue. The stray curl on his forehead, the grey streaked through his dark hair, curling behind his ear and on the back of his neck, calling to you. You imagine running your fingers through them, what sounds he might make.
The wrinkles around his eyes whenever he winces at the burn of the whiskey, or smiles at something in the movie, are impossibly endearing and painfully attractive. Even the lines worn into his forehead are appealing.
Then there’s his eyes, those damn brown eyes. That bore into your soul at times - that warm your skin and prickle the back of your neck. Long dark lashes that perfectly frame them. The brown is so deep it almost appears black, his pupil barely visible in the low light. Your head is warm from your buzz and you can’t take your eyes off of them, off of him, so when his voice speaks low over the sound of the movie it startles you, “You know it’s rude to stare”.
His voice — amused but also there’s tension there — brings you back forcefully into the moment, making you realize you’ve been staring, are staring right at him, and he’s staring back. Your cheeks heat at being caught, but the whiskey is in your bloodstream and you’re drunker than you thought so you feel bold.
That and there’s something else. Something in his voice, something that calls to you. You realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of yours either, the move forgotten by you both now. You’re reminded again in this moment of just how close you are, his nose only a few inches from yours. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your mouth is suddenly painfully dry. Your tongue flicks out to try and wet your dry lips, and the movement draws his eyes down your face to your lips, before slowly dragging back up to meet your gaze.
And that does it.
Something takes over; some other woman, one stronger, bolder, other. You feel outside of your body, and yet also painfully present. Your body seems to move of its own accord, as you feel yourself lean in slow, painfully slow. Inch by inch closing the distance between you. The heat between your bodies is almost too much to bear, you feel sweat beading on the back of your neck. Your breath is mingling and still he hasn’t pulled away, his heavy lidded eyes are locked on you, and in that moment your body takes that as permission.
When your lips meet his, your heart stops. His lips are soft, softer than you imagined they would be. His beard scratches your face, and the juxtaposition of the two sends a white hot heat straight to your core. He tastes of whiskey that still clings to his lips, and something else. Something dark and saccharine and distinctly Joel. You put the slightest bit of pressure to his lips, wanting to drink in the intoxicating taste, needing more. Needing to take what you never imagined you would ever have. You're floating inside your own body, and the moment feels like eternity.
But just as suddenly as you transcend, you’re ripped painfully back into the present, when he pulls back abruptly. The force of his movement is so jarring it steals the breath from your lungs. And you’re back. Back in your body, back in the moment, back to yourself.
The room is cold, his body now a safe distance from yours, and you feel it sink into your bones, your blood, the fiber of your being. His eyes are on you, an expression you can’t read but that looks painfully like horror twisting his features. Then he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hand running over his face. And your stomach churns, suddenly all of the alcohol in your system feels like a curse.
You shoot up from your position on the couch, and your limbs are trembling, you try to speak but your voice is stuck in your throat, “J-Joel, I- I’m so- I’m so sorry I don’t know” but you can’t finish any of your sentences. The words are stuck in your throat and it feels so much like you’re going to be sick and he’s so quiet, and you’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined the one good thing you’ve got and he’s horrified by you. What have you done? Why did you do that? You’re disgusting, this man trusts you and cares for you and went out of his way to make this night special and you ruined it—
“I- I have to go. I’m gonna- I’m going home” you turn quickly, making for the door and your keys but before you can even step away Joel’s hand is tight on your wrist.
“Hey, hey it’s- it’s okay”, his voice is strained but he’s trying to calm you down. You can’t look at him. You feel like you’re going to be sick, your skin is uncomfortably warm, and you’re shaking uncontrollably, and you’ve ruined everything.
He stands then, hand still on your wrist but he keeps a distance between you two. “Hey, look at me, you can’t drive home like this. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, just- just take Sarah’s room”.
“No- no I have to go, I need to leav—”.
“Look,” his voice is firm now, more solid. “You ain’t drivin’ and I can’t drive cause I’ve had just as much, so just… stay. Sarah’s room is how she left it, just go lie down.”
You still can’t meet his eyes, you’re barely holding yourself together. “Look at me, I ain’t mad. ‘M not upset, we both just… had a lot okay. It’s alright, I promise. Just please stay here for the night”.
You finally meet his gaze, and any sign of shock is gone from his face, replaced only with concern and care. You nod slowly, and he lets his hand drop - the loss of contact feels like a blow. You turn then, not saying another word and walk the familiar path to Sarah’s room.
Once you’re behind the door, you completely fall apart. Your chest is heaving and your eyes are so blurry you can barely see the bed. But you don’t want Joel to hear, so you bite it back. Soak it in, rebuild the wall that’s saved you countless times before. Brick by brick, you put it back together, visualizing it in your mind until you can breathe again. You don’t bother to change, simply pulling the covers over yourself.
You don’t know how long it takes you to fall asleep, a few minutes or hours, it’s all the same to you. Your body is nothing. Your senses dulled. All you hear is the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears as it lulls you to sleep.
end note: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! THEY KISSED THEY KISSED THEY KISSED!!!! i made myself nervous writing that scene not gonna lie (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) i wanted to share with y'all the exact photo i was referencing when describing joel's profile because i'm still crashing out over this pic of pedro
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: Soon, you’ll be making new memories with Joel inside your shared home. What once was a temporary place to stay while you healed a broken man is now a comfortable and happy home full of love, getting ready to welcome a new, tiny feline life.
Chapter Warnings: smut, lap dance, riding, blow job, cum eating, domestic domestic domestic things, KITTEN, hints of a panic attack, suicide attempt mention, sarah memories, MOVIES!
Words: 4,800
A/N: My "can never be happy with what I made" self thinks this chapter is boring but @for-a-longlongtime read through this and let me know it's okay if Joel and Doc have a nice and calm cozy chapter. Anyways, welcome to another entry of Mallory Puts Too Much Pressure On Her Hobby & Will Never Know Peace. Hope you enjoy.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Lonesome Dove lies atop the bookshelf in the bedroom. Only a hundred pages left, and yet, it still sits unfinished. Joel picks it up, feeling the heaviness of the book, the pages that chart the progression of his recovery, the growth of his feelings for you. He sits in the chair with his reading glasses on and opens the book, flipping through the first few chapters; he doesn’t recall much about them, just the sweet lilt of your voice as you’d read to him, the only thing keeping him going those first scary weeks.
Many upper corners of the pages are dog-eared, reflecting your care and dedication to not only healing his body, but also his heart. Your kindness, reading to him night after night, sometimes falling asleep in the chair beside his bed, the book open on your lap. Once he could finally see you, since he first saw your beautiful face, he could never look away.
There’s a frayed edge on the cover. He remembers the sight of it lying on the floor that morning after he first knew the taste of your lips and the feel of your body on top of his.
With every turn of the page, every chapter read, he fell for you harder and harder. You came into his life and saved it, turning death and despair into a future and love. People used to talk about silver linings, about good coming from bad, but he stopped believing in that kind of optimism long ago. Yet now, with you in his life and his home, planning a future, he's starting to think maybe there's something to it after all.
"Are we ever going to finish that?" you ask, walking into the bedroom.
"One day,” he says, “but I already got my happy ending."
"Aww," you say, rolling your eyes and sauntering over to him. "I can give you a really happy ending if you'd like."
Joel can't answer; he just nods and grunts.
"Sit back," you say, untying your robe with a tantalizing smile that lifts your lips. “No touching.”
He obeys, his body already burning with desire for you as you stand before him. The robe drops down your arms to the floor as your hips sway slightly. You lean forward, resting your hands on his thighs, his eyes instantly focus on your breasts, his mouth waters when he thinks about licking his way across the curve of them.
You run your hands up your sides, fingers trailing across your skin. He groans, his hungry eyes devouring the way your gorgeous body moves. His jaw tics, the temptation to touch you tightens every muscle and nerve in his body, and when you straddle his lap, hovering over him, knees bracketing his thighs, his back straightens, and his hands grip the armrests, refusing to give in to the temptation to touch you.
You lean in to ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. “Just relax,” you purr.
He grunts, nodding as you drop your center over him and begin to grind against his cock, his robe barely concealing his hardness. You lean away, arching your back, dragging your hands down your chest, fingers circling your nipples. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. He’s being so disciplined, so still, save for the slight tremble of need radiating out of him.
“Christ baby,” he growls, “you’re killin’ me.”
Your fingers slide down between your legs. He bites his lip, the sight of you touching yourself while perched on his lap is almost too much.
“Oh yeah?” you ask. “You want a taste?”
“Please,” he whimpers. He doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds. For you and only you, he’d beg.
You smirk as you bring your fingers up to his mouth. “Open,” you command.
He obeys, and you stick two of your fingers in his mouth, his cheeks hollow around them, sucking the slick off of them. Fuck, you taste so sweet. He sighs happily at the taste of you, his eyes focused on you, needing to see your face, and the way your lips part as you watch him.
“Good?” you whisper, slowly withdrawing your fingers that he chases with his mouth, desperate for more. You pull back with a teasing smile. “Greedy, aren’t we, Mr. Miller?”
Every muscle in his body is coiled tightly, and he almost cums right there at the sound of your voice. He hisses a growl when you swirl your hips against him, grinding down against his cock, standing hard for you.
To everyone else, you’re the calming and caring doctor, a steadfast medic—but behind the doors of his home, you’re something else, something tantalizing, a vixen.
“Sweetheart,” he manages, “I don’t know how long I can go without feeling your pussy wrapped around m’cock.” He’s ready to beg for your cunt. You don’t give him time to plead. You reach down, untying his robe and parting it, tugging at his cock before you position your pussy perfectly over him. He can’t even take a breath or prepare himself before you sink down, taking him fully inside you.
“Fuck!” he gasps loudly, his hands breaking free from the armrests to grip your hips as your heat encompasses him. Your body rolls against his, fucking him fast and hard, your breasts bouncing before his eyes. He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving against it as his fingers dig into your flesh tighter, guiding you up and down his cock.
“Joel,” you groan. “I’m so close.”
He looks up at you, watching as you take what you need from him, his hand snaking between your legs to press swirls against your clit that take you over the edge. He watches you get lost in everything he gives you, his cock, his heart, his sounds of devotion grunting into the air as you ride him. Your body tenses as your head falls back, the sound of his name echoes across the room as your pussy pulses around his cock, your orgasm rolling through you, squeezing him tight.
You’re still quivering with aftershocks when you climb off his lap and settle between his legs. You hum a sweet sound as your tongue darts out to lick the taste of yourself left against the head of his cock before you take him into your mouth. His body tightens as he watches you take him deeper, eyes locked on his as the wet heat of your mouth welcomes him completely.
“Jesus, baby, you look so good,” he moans.
Your tongue swirls around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck. He’s so fucking close, just the sight of your pretty mouth with his cock in it makes him already feel the tingles shoot across his body.
“Baby, gonna cum,” he grits, hips bucking up to meet your mouth.
You moan around him, the vibrations bringing him even closer until it’s too much for him to take, and he cums. You don’t pull your mouth away, you suck harder, making him feel almost dizzy as he quakes underneath you. He watches, transfixed, as you swallow everything he gives you, his cock pulsing down your throat. He’s barely catching his breath when you pull away with a smile and open wide, sticking your tongue out to show him your empty mouth.
You’re such a temptress, he can hardly believe it.
“Fuck, I love you,” he says, his voice between a chuckle and a groan. “C’mere.”
He pulls you up, your naked body settling against his in the chair. It’s not lost on him that this bedroom used to feel so lonely. Now, it always feels like you’ve been here with him. You truly did give him a happy ending.
—-
There’s now a cat tree sitting in the living room, perfectly centered in front of the front window. You know Joel is a talented craftsman, but you’re shocked at how beautiful the cat tower has come out. The platforms are sanded smooth with rounded edges and a branch of the aspen wrapped in rope for scratching.
You place the knitted mat on top of the highest platform, with a few nails and a hammer, Joel secures it to the tower. You specifically chose the bright green yarn because it reminds you of Jefferson’s eyes.
“It’s perfect,” you smile as you stand back. “You might have a new job making everyone cat trees.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, wrapping his arm around you. “Don’t think I’ll be taking any special orders. This one’s just for Jefferson.”
“Don’t forget Sally’s tree,” you note.
“As if Ellie could ever let me forget.”
“Is it weird I’m so excited?” you ask, looking up at Joel.
“Not at all,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’ve been talking about this cat for weeks.”
You lean into him, imagining Jefferson perched on his new tower, surveying his domain through the front window. Soon, you’ll be making new memories with Joel inside your shared home. What once was a temporary place to stay while you healed a broken man is now a comfortable and happy home full of love, getting ready to welcome a new, tiny feline life.
—-
Jackson has their foreman back, with Joel’s return after almost nine months, the biggest town project is nearly done. His leg only throbs lightly as he stretches up on the stepladder and installs a new light over the library’s front entrance. It’s a good pain, one that he used to get after long hours of building and work in his younger days. Now, the aches appear sooner and take longer to subside, but he’s noticed that, with your healing hands and love, the pain doesn’t last as long.
“Hi,” he hears your voice behind him. He smiles as he turns, looking over his shoulder to see you standing there with a tote bag on your shoulder. Every ache he holds in his body already begins to melt away when he sees you.
"Hey, baby," he greets as he steps down the ladder, a little surprised to see you.
"Slow day. Dr. V told me to get out and start my vacation early," you say, stepping up onto the porch. “Figured you’d like some lunch. I grabbed some sandwiches from The Bison.”
“Nobody’s ever brought me lunch,” he muses, carefully settling next to you and stretching his leg out as you unwrap the sandwiches.
“Well, I’ve never brought anybody lunch, so this works well,” you say, handing him his sandwich. “Venison for you, tomato for me.”
He can’t stop looking at you… the slight smile on your lips as you chew, your eyes scanning the construction site, your skin shining under the bright sunlight. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, having suffered in so many ways before being able to build a happy life with you in Jackson.
“You’re staring,” you say, turning to him, snapping him out of his reverie.
“How was the clinic?" he asks, trying to make conversation instead of continuing to stare at you like a lovesick teenager.
“Quiet. Not a lot going on. Dr. V said he and Steven could handle the rounds for the rest of the day, and he assured me they’ll be just fine without me for the next few days.”
“S’nice of him.”
He can hardly wait, four full days of no work, just you, him, and Jefferson after you pick him up tomorrow. A vacation seems so foreign after living in survival mode for so long.
Joel looks up to see Dina approaching, her customary clipboard in hand.
“Framing in the back is done,” she reports. “Ran into some rot and had to replace more than we thought.”
Joel nods. “Figured as much,” he responds. “Make sure everything is dry before they drywall.”
"Got it," she says, nodding before her face lights with a mischievous grin. "Hey, I won't tell the foreman if you leave early."
Joel raises an eyebrow. "I am the foreman.”
"I know, that's why I won't tell you that you left early," she says, already walking away.
Joel shakes his head, turning his head to find you watching him. "What?" he asks.
"I dunno, you're just so... authoritative, it's kinda hot.”
He chuckles, standing and offering his hand. "Come on, the boss said I can leave early."
You hold hands the whole way home, as you both walk down Main Street, Joel can feel the eyes of fellow residents on the two of you. Some send a friendly nod, some small smiles. It still surprises him sometimes how easily everyone has accepted him and you as a couple.
When you reach the porch, there’s a wagon sitting in front of the front door holding a small TV with a built-in VCR and a stack of VHS tapes beside it. On top lies a folded note.
“Enjoy your vacation and new addition. Jane and I figured you could use a little entertainment. Thanks for all that you do for us at the clinic.“ You read aloud with a wide smile. “It's from Dr. V."
Joel looks up to see small, happy tears welling in your eyes as you hold the note. It’s so obvious how special you are to everyone in this town. They value you.
"Guess we've got our evening planned," he whispers in your ear.
"Guess we do."
—-
You're nestled against Joel's side on the couch, both of you only in your robes, your legs tucked beneath you while his stretch out toward the coffee table. The color on the TV Dr. V gifted you might be a little washed out, and the sound occasionally warbles, but it still plays Raiders of the Lost Ark without a hitch.
“I loved this movie as a kid,” Joel quietly muses to you.
You look up at him, watching the lights of the movie flickering across his handsome face as he seems lost in thought.
"My daughter loved it too," he says quietly, after a moment.
Your heart constricts at the rare mention of Sarah. He so seldom speaks of her, keeping her close against his heart. You do the math in your head, realizing she would be in her mid-thirties now if she had lived. She might have had a career, maybe children of her own. Joel would have been a grandfather, living a normal life, with normal milestones.
But time isn't normal anymore, and that future for him was stolen that fateful night all those years ago. You mourn all of those lost memories right alongside him, because in a way, his grief is now yours.
You crawl into his lap, your chest meeting his, looking into his brown eyes, clouded with grief.
"You don't talk about her much. But I always love to hear more about her."
Joel stares into your eyes, and you see the pain he holds, always there, when he thinks of his Sarah.
"I know, baby," he says. He takes your hand, placing it against his temple, where the silver scar you’ve wondered about sits. Your finger brushes against it, feeling the slight raised edges of it, tracing the mark. “It was almost too much. I tried to… I tried.”
Your heart sinks, drowning in the sorrow he’s been holding. “Baby,” you whisper, tears beginning to fill your eyes.
“I thought I had lost everything when she left me. I didn’t think I had anything,” his voice cracks. “But I did… ‘n I do. Especially now.”
“Joel,” his name escapes with a sob.
“I know, baby, I know,” a tear sheds from his eye as you nestle your head into the crook of his neck. “Just because I don’t talk about her with you, doesn’t mean I don’t think about how much she’d love you.”
“Yeah?”
"Yeah. She was a good judge of character. Strong-willed ‘n compassionate, just like you."
“I know I would have loved her because she was a part of you. In fact, I already do love her.”
He holds you tighter, and you feel his body shudder with a quiet sob.
"She's always with you," you whisper. "In all the good things you do, in how you take care of people. In how you love Ellie.”
“In how I love you,” he adds.
You feel the weight of his love and grief right there on the couch as the credits begin to roll. You kiss him gently and reassuringly.
“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth.
“I love you, too.”
“What was her favorite thing in the world?”
“Butterflies,” he answers simply with a small smile.
An idea lights in your mind. “I could plant a garden for her right outside the front window. Butterfly bushes, lavender, marigolds.”
His eyes brighten, surprise and wonder lifting his lips. “You’d do that?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
He pulls you closer, arms tightening around you. “Sarah’s garden,” he quietly says.
“Sarah’s garden,” you repeat, relishing in the warmth of Joel and the love you hold for him and his daughter.
—-
“Mornin’,” Joel’s deep voice rumbles against your ear. The mattress dips behind you as he sits down, rousing you from your slumber. You groan, turning over and opening your eyes to find him holding his customary owl mug. “Coffee?”
You nod, stretching to sit up and take a drink. “Morning,” you respond. The sweetness of Joel sharing his precious coffee with you always overshadows the bitter taste of it.
"Big day for us," he says.
"It is," you say, returning his smile.
Today, Jefferson comes home.
You make eggs and biscuits for breakfast, sitting in front of the TV, watching a well-worn copy of Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead. Your eyes keep darting to the clock ticking on the mantle, waiting for 11 AM. By the time the movie credits roll, it’s almost time to leave to pick him up.
At precisely 10:45, Joel stands. "Might as well head over now," he says casually, as if he, too, has been waiting all morning.
You hold hands the whole way to Amy and Jacqui’s; it's a perfect day to bring Jefferson home. Your steps quicken as their house comes into view. Joel squeezes your hand once before you knock on their door.
Jacqui answers with a smile. "Right on time. Come in, come in."
You follow Jacqui through to the living room, where a small pen has been set up.
"Your parents are here," Jacqui calls, kneeling beside the pen to reach in and gently scoop up the black and white kitten to hand to you. You cradle Jefferson’s fluffy body against your chest. A tear sheds, rolling down your cheek before you can stop it.
"Hey, little guy," Joel says softly, leaning over you with a smile on his face. He carefully reaches his finger out, gently stroking Jefferson's head. It’s striking to see Joel's callused and work-creased hand against Jefferson's tiny, soft body.
"He likes you," you say, smiling up at Joel.
"Reckon he knows he's going to a good home."
Jacqui disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small bag tied with twine. "Some food," she says, handing it to Joel. "The recipe's stapled on it—it's what we've been feeding them. You can transition him to whatever you prefer, but this'll help for the first few days."
Joel takes the bag with a nod of thanks.
"You're always welcome to bring Jefferson over to visit," she adds. "We're happy he and his sister will be neighbors. Ellie's coming to get her this evening."
"That's perfect," you say. “Thank you for everything, Jacqui."
You hold Jefferson against your chest and say your goodbyes before making your way back home. The walk almost feels different somehow—more meaningful. Jefferson against your heart and Joel's hand in yours as you now take home your shared commitment.
When you finally reach home, you settle on the couch with Jefferson, letting him explore the cushions, watching as he tests his new surroundings.
"What movie tonight?" Joel asks after a while, nodding toward the TV and the stack of tapes.
"Mm, I feel like Lord of the Rings."
"That's a long movie.”
"And we have a lot of time," you respond.
—-
Joel looks down, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as you sleep on the couch, only wearing his t-shirt, head resting on his lap, Jefferson curled on top of you. You barely made it halfway through the movie before you fell asleep. He had watched both of you drift off, unwilling to disturb the sight of you and Jefferson resting peacefully. The Fellowship of the Ring plays quietly in the background. He watches the soft glow of the TV cast across your peaceful face. Your hand rests atop Jefferson’s sleeping body, curled on top of you; the sight fills Joel with a feeling that a life he never thought possible is finally falling into place.
He sits and tries to memorize this moment… your cheek on his thigh, Jefferson on your chest, his hand against your shoulder brushing back and forth against your skin. He tells himself this will last forever, but there’s still a bitterness held inside him that refuses to believe it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head imagining him alone in this house, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. The fear comes on him fast and hard. He has to look away from you, shutting his eyes and steadying his breath, fighting against the panic that’s rising in him.
He used to be good at losing things. At ignoring the all-encompassing pain and realization, then retreating. But he can’t do that anymore. He can’t even imagine it.
He reaches down, petting Jefferson, grounding himself to the feel of his soft fur and the short breaths the tiny kitten makes. He takes slow, even breaths, counting them out.
He opens his eyes, watching your even and slow breathing, the same soft patterned cadence he wakes up to every morning.
“Baby,” he gently says, “let’s go to bed.”
Your eyes flutter open, and you smile up at him. His heart stutters at the sight of you stretching before looking down at Jefferson. “Whoops, I fell asleep.”
“S’okay, just don’t want to sleep on the couch all night, it’ll kill my back.”
“I know,” you say, sitting up with a yawn, gently cradling a still sleeping Jefferson against your chest.
He stands, stretching the slight ache from his knees, shuffling up the stairs to the bedroom as you follow, kitten pressed against your collarbone.
In the bedroom, Joel watches you nestle Jefferson into a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. He doesn’t even stir, your touch is that gentle.
When you climb into bed beside him, burrowing yourself into him, he wraps his arm around you with a contented sigh.
This is his home. He tries to remind himself that he deserves this life as he drifts off to sleep.
—-
When you wake, your body warmed by the sunlight shining in through the window, Joel is already up, propped up against the headboard, hunched over a paperback with his reading glasses on. Jefferson lies on his lap, curled and sleeping.
“Mornin’ baby,” Joel greets, gravelly and still husking with sleep.
You scoot closer to him, resting your head on his thigh.
“What do you want to do today?” he asks.
“Nothing,” you say. “Absolutely nothing.”
He smiles, setting the book on the nightstand. You reach over to pet Jefferson as Joel’s hand glides up your arm in a lazy, slow pattern. You two stay like that for a long time. Not saying anything at all, just cocooned together in the warmth of the sunlight and each other.
You used to count the hours until the next day, telling yourself that Joel had survived another 24 hours. Time used to be measured in the progression of his recovery, working through the fear and stress of healing him… now, time is measured differently. There are no hours to count, no days to make it through; now, time is counted in happy events, kisses, and lazy mornings in bed.
Jefferson stalks across the kitchen when you finally pull yourself out of bed. You fry the eggs and toast the bread, Joel sets the table, and feeds Jefferson.
Your feet rest on his lap as you sit across the table from him and enjoy your late breakfast, splitting a cup of coffee between the two of you.
After the dishes are cleaned, you spread out on the couch, Joel’s legs resting on the coffee table, your body stretched across the couch with your head against his chest. Joel’s choice of Spaceballs won over your choice of Bridget Jones’s Diary with a coin flip.
The blue text of the Spaceballs opening scroll begins as Jefferson investigates his cat tower, before climbing onto the top platform. He sits, observing the outside as you cuddle close against Joel, feeling the rumble of his quiet chuckles.
It’s all so cozy and domestic, a perfect, lazy day with your perfect man and kitten.
—-
You’re sitting on the floor playing with Jefferson, moving the makeshift cat toy you made across the hardwood. Jefferson chases it, his little paws trying to catch the tassel. He loves watching you interact with him, the softness and sweetness that seems to exude from you.
It’s already 4 PM, and the two of you have done nothing today except cuddle on the couch and watch movies. He can’t remember the last day he’s had that’s been as easy as this.
He sits on the couch, a smile plastered on his face as you urge Jefferson to chase the toy.
“So, I was thinking,” you say, “maybe tomorrow Maria and Tommy want to come over? Introduce Benji to the cat. We can ask Ellie if she wants to bring Sally over.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll make dinner, we’ll have a little party.”
“I’d like that,” Joel says, genuinely meaning it. He’s never been a get-together hosting type, but there’s something to the idea of you and him welcoming those he’s closest to into the home you share.
You scoop Jefferson up from the floor and join Joel on the couch, settling beside him. He immediately wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him. It always amazes him how well you fit against him.
“What movie tonight?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.
"Hm, let's go classic. Alien?"
"Oh god," you sigh. "I haven't seen it. I heard it's terrifying."
"Mm, it is. But don't worry," he whispers, "I'll protect you."
You giggle. "Aww, my hero.”
His heart always swells at the sound of your joy.
—-
So, everyone was right, Alien is terrifying. You’re curled up on the couch, hiding your face against Joel’s body, practically sitting in his lap. Jefferson sleeps peacefully on the back of the couch, completely oblivious to the terror on the screen.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, burying your face against his shoulder.
He chuckles, pulling you into his lap, cocooning you between his broad chest and strong arms.
"I got you, baby," he says, his lips pressing against the top of your head.
There’s a quieter moment when the ship crew gathers for dinner, and you decide now to muster the courage and watch. "I know I've seen far scarier literally in real life. I know that, but oh my god, I can't deal with this."
You force yourself to watch, determined to make it through the film, but then Kane starts convulsing on the table and an alien bursts from his chest.
"Nope!" you scream, turning to nuzzle your face against Joel's strong, warm chest.
You decided instead to just watch Joel watch the movie, a far more entertaining option for you.
He catches you ogling him. "Enjoying the movie?" he asks.
"Very much," you joke. "This might just be my favorite movie. A very handsome movie, in fact."
You stay in his arms, watching him watch the movie as the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, and his warmth lulls you to sleep.
“Baby,” Joel whispers. You open your eyes to find him looking down at you. “You can’t even make it through a full movie at night, can you?” he teases as you sit up.
You stretch. “You’re too comfortable.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, nodding towards the back of the couch. “Jefferson didn’t make it either.”
You both get up, Joel picks up Jefferson, and the three of you head to bed, another perfect day of your vacation coming to a close.
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon
summary: 5.9k words. It starts with seeing him alone at the dance, nursing a drink like he’s half there, half somewhere else.
rating: E. Praise Kink. Old Man Joel. Unspecified age gap. Reader wears a dress. Oral (m & f receiving). Gentle to Rough Sex. Joel is tender and intense. Creampie.
a/n: I miss Joel and I will forever be super horny for older Joel. I don't feel guilty about that and never will be.
You’d seen him before, around Jackson. Everybody had.
Joel Miller was the kind of man you noticed, even when he was doing his best to disappear. Tall. Broad. Grizzled in a way that didn’t make him look old so much as worn-in—like something that had survived a fire, all scorched edges and bone-deep quiet.
He didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile either. You’d never seen him dance, never seen him drunk, never even seen him laugh. Just watched him pass through town like he was only borrowing space. A shadow in flannel. A man-shaped warning sign.
You knew better than to want someone like that.
But that didn’t stop you from looking.
Not when you saw him fixing the east gate with Tommy, sleeves rolled up and veins flexing along his forearms. Not when you passed him in the cold storage shed and caught a whiff of sawdust and leather, the scent sticking to your clothes like it meant something. Not when you heard that voice—low, cracked, Southern-soft around the edges—muttering something in passing.
You’d tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Just a dry spell. Just curiosity. Just loneliness.
Until the dance.
You hadn’t planned to go. These things made you itchy—too many strangers pretending the world hadn’t ended. But you’d been convinced to show your face, put on something soft instead of tactical. You wore a dress that hugged your hips and sipped something sweet and flat, standing along the wall like an outsider at your own party.
And then you saw him.
Off to the side, where the light didn’t quite reach. Sitting on a bench with one leg cocked, elbow braced on his knee, a bottle of whiskey hanging loose in his grip. He watched the crowd with a face carved in stone—tired, unreadable. The kind of quiet that wasn’t asking to be filled.
His eyes lifted and caught you.
You should’ve looked away, pretended not to care, but his gaze held you, and before you could think better of it, your feet were moving.
He straightened a little when you stopped in front of him, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. His expression didn’t change much, but something behind his eyes flickered—surprise, maybe. Curiosity.
You sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of him. The scent of whiskey and cedar and something darker.
“You always sit alone like this?”
His eyes dragged slowly over you, and when he spoke, his voice was like worn gravel. “Ain’t much of a dancer.”
You smiled faintly, looking back at the crowd. “Me neither.”
Silence settled again. Not awkward. Just thick.
He drank. You watched his throat move.
“You look nice,” he said, rough and quiet, like the words had been pulled from him.
You turned toward him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He cut his eyes at you, cautious. “You flirtin’ with me?”
“Maybe,” you said. “Would that be a problem?”
He paused. Swallowed again.
“…No,” he said. “Don’t reckon it would.”
You shifted slightly on the bench, resting your forearms on your thighs, mimicking his posture. It felt easier that way. Like maybe he’d meet you in the middle if you didn’t ask him to come all the way.
His gaze stayed on the crowd, but you could tell he was aware of you. Aware of how close your knee was to his. How your voice sat low in your throat, casual but edged in something warmer.
“You here alone?” he asked, like it only just occurred to him to ask.
You shrugged. “Came with someone, but not like that. Friend thing.” You let the pause linger. “Left early.”
He nodded, once. He didn’t look at you, but he shifted just enough to make room for the possibility.
You looked over at him, taking your time. The faint glow from the dance hall lights caught in his hair, picking out the silver. He looked tired. More handsome for it, somehow.
“You?”
A flick of his eyebrows. “Me what?”
“Are you here alone?”
He made a soft noise in his chest, something close to a laugh. “Always.”
You liked the way he said that—dry and dismissive, like he didn’t want pity. Like he was just stating fact.
Another beat passed.
“Don’t usually see you at these things,” you said.
“Don’t usually come.”
“So what changed your mind?”
His lips twitched. He glanced your way, finally meeting your eyes. “Not sure yet.”
The corner of your mouth lifted. “Maybe I’m the reason.”
He exhaled slowly, long and steady. “That what you’re hopin’?”
You watched him. Watched the way his hands flexed against the neck of the bottle. How his jaw tensed under the beard.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” you murmured. “You’ve been looking at me all night.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You that sure of yourself?”
You tilted your head. “You gonna deny it?”
Joel didn’t answer right away. He turned the bottle in his hands, watching the whiskey catch the light. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges.
“You lookin’ for something?”
It was an honest question. Guarded, yes, but not cold. Like he was trying to decide what you were made of. Whether you were playing a game he didn’t know the rules to.
You leaned back slightly, tilting your head to meet his gaze full-on.
“I think I’ve already found something,” you said. “Just trying to figure out what happens next.”
That got him. You saw it—the way he blinked, slow and deliberate, like your words had landed somewhere deeper than he meant to let you reach.
But he didn’t pull away.
He just looked at you for a long, long moment. Like he was reading something on your face that he didn’t expect to find.
“…I don’t do casual,” he said finally. Low and hoarse. “Not good at it. Not lookin’ to mess with anyone’s head.”
You gave him a small smile. “Good thing I’ve got my head on straight.”
“You sure?” he asked.
The question wasn’t teasing. Not even a little. It came out quiet, weighted. Like it mattered to him. Like he wanted the answer to be yes, but couldn’t quite trust it.
You didn’t look away. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
His eyes searched your face, not hungrily—just carefully. Like he was still trying to work out what kind of person you were. Whether you’d flinch if he showed his teeth. Whether you were real.
“I’m not young,” he said eventually, voice low and gruff. “Not soft. Don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“Good,” you said. “I’m not interested in soft.”
His mouth tugged to the side, like he almost smiled. Then he looked down at his hands again. Big hands. Veined. Strong. He turned the bottle in slow circles against his knee.
“You don’t know me.”
You shrugged gently. “I know you kill chickens in one blow. I know you say thank you when people hand you tools. I know you bring Ellie snacks from the stockroom and pretend it wasn’t you.”
He blinked, like that caught him off guard.
“I’ve been watching,” you said, softer now. “Same way you’ve been watching me.”
Joel exhaled, slow and steady. A breeze passed through the open door, lifting the edge of your dress. You smoothed it down absently, aware of his eyes there now too.
“Doesn’t mean I’m a good idea.”
You gave a quiet laugh. “I’m not lookin’ for a good idea. I’m looking for something that feels like it matters.”
His gaze sharpened. That hit somewhere. You could see it.
“Just want honesty,” you added, your voice slower now, almost shy. “And maybe a reason to stop pretending I don’t notice how you look at me.”
That silence again. Full of static.
He looked at you then. Really looked. Not just at your mouth or your legs or the line of your dress—but at you.
“I look at you,” he said finally, barely more than a rasp. “Because I can’t help it.”
Your breath caught a little, and he must’ve heard it. You watched his throat work around a swallow, his eyes flicking to your lips for just a second too long.
“But I don’t want to break anything,” he murmured. “Don’t want to ruin what’s good.”
You nodded. “Neither do I.”
More silence. Only now it didn’t feel like waiting—it felt like something opening.
“I should take you home,” he said.
Your pulse stuttered. “Are you offering?”
“I’m askin’,” he said. Then, quieter: “Can I walk you?”
You stood up slowly. Smoothed your dress. Looked down at him with a curl in your lips.
“You can.”
He rose beside you, slow and solid, and didn’t touch you—didn’t even reach for you. But he walked beside you all the way home, like you were something worth guarding.
You walked beside him in silence.
Not awkward. Not stiff. Just… aware. Every step in sync. Every brush of fabric had sparks.
You could hear the thud of your boots on the dirt path, the crunch of his heavier steps. Jackson was quiet at this hour—music still fading from the dance hall, chatter thinning behind you.
The wind was cool. You felt it on your skin where your dress dipped low. You wondered if he noticed. Wondered if it was driving him as crazy as it was you.
He didn’t speak until you reached the edge of your street. Then, he cleared his throat.
“I’m older than you,” he said.
You didn’t answer right away.
You turned to look at him—really look. The hard lines of his jaw. The streaks of gray in his beard. The way his eyes stayed on the ground as he said it, like he expected that to end things right there.
“I figured,” you said, voice soft. “What gave it away—the knees or the grumbling?”
He huffed, almost smiled. Almost. “Most people don’t take kindly to bein’ reminded of death.”
“Maybe,” you said. “But you don’t remind me of death.”
He looked up at that.
You stopped walking.
“You remind me of something that lasts,” you said. “Something that’s still here. Still kicking.”
His eyes searched your face again, same way he had back on the bench. Only now you saw something else flicker in them—something unguarded.
“You’re not a warning sign, Joel. You’re a goddamn billboard.”
That almost made him laugh. You could feel the breath of it when he shook his head.
“You think I’m kidding,” you added, stepping a little closer. “But truth is… I didn’t realize it did it for me until I got here.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Men like you,” you said. “Strong. Scarred. Quiet. Stubborn as hell. Built like a brick wall. Bit of a temper. Walk around like they’ve got nothing left to give but still show up when it counts.”
He blinked.
You smiled, just a little. “You’re exactly my type.”
Joel looked like he didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. His mouth opened, then closed again. His brows pulled together, like he was trying to decide whether you were fucking with him.
You reached for the doorknob behind you. The porch creaked beneath your feet.
“I don’t invite just anybody inside,” you said.
Joel hesitated. Then stepped closer, onto the first stair. He looked up at you from beneath the brim of his brows.
“You sure about this?”
You held his gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “I’ve been sure.”
You opened the door. Stepped back.
He walked past you slowly, and still didn’t touch you. But when you shut the door behind him and the latch clicked into place—
The air between you changed.
You hadn't even made it three steps inside before he turned to face you.
No words. No rush. Just a long, steady look.
You stood still under it. Let it warm you from the chest out. The door was shut, the night locked away behind it. The only light came from the little lamp on the counter, casting everything in a low, amber haze.
Then he reached for you.
Not all at once—he didn’t grab or push. Just lifted his hand, slow and deliberate, and wrapped his fingers around yours.
The calluses rasped over your knuckles, thick and dry and warm. He held you like he was holding something breakable, but still his. Then, without a word, he turned your hand over in his. Examined it.
Ran his thumb down the line of your lifeline. Touched the pads of your fingers.
You swallowed. “What are you doing?”
He looked up at you through those thick lashes, quiet.
“Just tryin’ to remember how this feels.”
Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say to that.
So you tried to break the tension. “I could make us coffee,” you said, voice soft and a little shaky. “If you want.”
He let out a low breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
“I don’t want coffee.”
You waited.
“I wanna fuck you.”
The words hit you like a wave. No hesitation. No build-up. Just a raw, unvarnished truth in that voice of his, deep and hoarse and thick with restraint.
Heat surged low in your belly. Your fingers flexed in his.
“That so?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
That was all it took.
You stepped in and kissed him, hard. Fisted your free hand in the front of his shirt, rising up on your toes to press your mouth against his. He kissed you back immediately—hungry, rough, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.
His hand moved to your waist, fingers curling tight around the curve of it. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the heat of his body crowding into yours.
Your lips parted and he groaned into your mouth, pulling you closer. He kissed you like he needed to taste you before he could believe you were real.
There was nothing polite about it. No careful step-by-step. Just tongues, teeth, gasps—your bodies locking together like you’d already dreamed this a hundred times over.
He kissed like a man with history. Like someone who’d been starved of touch.
And you kissed him like you wanted to make up for all the years he’d gone without.
When you finally pulled back for breath, your forehead leaned into his.
“I meant it,” you whispered.
“So did I,” he said, voice rough. “Still do.”
Your lips were still damp from the kiss when you whispered it, breath warm against his cheek.
“What do you need?”
Joel’s hand flexed on your waist. His breath hitched.
You shifted back just enough to look at him—really look. His eyes were dark, clouded with heat, but underneath that was something deeper. Something tired and aching and full of hunger that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being wanted.
You lifted your hand, brushing it along the seam of his jaw, your thumb grazing the grayed hair just beneath his ear. “How do you want me?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. You saw his throat work. Felt the tremble in his fingers where they still clutched your waist.
When he answered, it was barely a voice at all.
“Close.”
That was all. Just one word. But it broke something open in you.
You pressed into him again, your chest against his, your thighs brushing his jeans. You brought both your hands up to cup his face and kissed him slow this time, not soft, not gentle, just slow—like you had time.
He let you. Let you guide him. His mouth opened under yours, patient and hungry, letting you taste him. Letting you feel how much he wanted this—wanted you.
Then he pulled back, just enough to whisper: “Turn around.”
Your pulse fluttered, sharp and bright.
“Yeah?” you breathed.
He nodded. “Want to see you. All of you. Take it slow.”
Your hands slipped from his shirt. You turned without a word, facing the nearest wall—just a few feet from the kitchen table, the old floorboards creaking faintly under your feet.
You heard him step behind you. Felt the heat of his body close. He didn’t touch you yet. Just looked.
Then—fingers light at first—he ran one hand up your spine, tracing the zipper of your dress. He caught it and tugged, slow, inch by inch, the metal teeth parting with the softest sound in the room.
You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.
You let the straps fall from your shoulders. Let the fabric slip down your body, pooling at your feet.
A sound came from behind you—low, broken. Joel breathing through his nose, holding himself in place.
You stood there in nothing but your underwear, hands resting at your sides, the soft glow from the kitchen lamp warming your bare skin.
“Is this close enough?” you asked, voice like smoke.
Behind you, his hands finally touched your hips. Firm. Unshaking.
“Not even close,” he said.
He kissed the back of your neck—just once, hot and open-mouthed—and pressed the weight of himself along your spine—slow, firm, steady.
You felt it instantly. Hard against your ass, hot even through the denim.
You choked out a laugh before you could stop yourself.
“Jesus Christ,” you said, head tipping forward against the wall. “You’re hard.”
Behind you, Joel let out a low groan that almost sounded like a laugh too, if he weren’t so clearly straining to hold himself together.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That part, uh… definitely still works.”
You laughed harder, breathless now, grinning even as your skin flushed. “No shit.”
He leaned into you then, arms bracketing your waist. You could feel the rumble of his chest against your back.
“You tryin’ to kill me?” he asked, voice pitched low beside your ear. “Laughin’ while I’m like this?”
You wriggled back against him just enough to feel him pulse in his jeans. “You think this is funny?”
His mouth brushed your shoulder, his breath hot. “No. Think it’s fuckin’ torture.”
“Want me to stop?”
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “Don’t you dare.”
You smiled again, slower now, biting your lip. Then you reached behind yourself and slipped your fingers along the waistband of his jeans. “Then maybe you should do something about it.”
Joel’s breath caught. His lips ghosted along the back of your neck.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
You felt him move—rough fingers sliding down to unbutton his jeans, the rasp of denim and zipper filling the space between your shallow breaths. Then his hand was back on you, under your panties, squeezing the curve of your ass like he needed to feel you, full-palmed, skin on skin.
You arched into him with a soft gasp.
“I’ve wanted this,” he said into your shoulder. “Since the first time I saw you.”
You swallowed. “And now?”
He kissed your spine. Once. Twice.
“Now I’m gonna take my time.”
He let go of you just long enough to step back, the heat of his body peeling away like sun slipping behind clouds. You almost whined at the loss.
You turned to face him.
Joel stood in the amber glow of your kitchen lamp, jeans hanging low on his hips, shirt wrinkled and half untucked. His hair was mussed, jaw shadowed thick, and there was something raw in his eyes—like this wasn’t just lust, not just a need. Like this was something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time.
You stepped closer.
He met you there, hands returning to your waist, calloused palms skimming the sides of your thighs. His touch was firm but slow, reverent even. When he slid your panties down your legs, he knelt to follow them. His fingers dragged down the backs of your thighs, and he stayed crouched for a beat longer, just looking up at you.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. Quiet.
Your chest tightened.
“Stand up,” you said, voice gentler now.
He did, and you tugged at the hem of his shirt. He let you undress him, arms lifting as you peeled the fabric over his head. Beneath it, he was all muscle and scars—hard-won strength etched into skin that had seen too much. You smoothed your palms over his chest, drinking in every inch.
He reached for his waistband next, pushing jeans and briefs down in one motion. His cock was thick, flushed, already glistening at the tip.
You licked your lips before you could help it.
He didn’t move toward you. Just stood there, letting you look. Letting you want.
You reached for his hand instead.
He blinked, surprised, and let you take it.
You brought his fingers to your lips, kissed the tips, then slipped two into your mouth.
The growl he let out was sharp and quiet, barely audible, like it scraped against the inside of his throat.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
You sucked gently, tongue gliding over rough pads and calloused edges, slow and warm and dirty just for him. You wanted him to feel it—to see what it’d be like to have you wrapped around more than just his hand.
He was breathing harder now. Cock twitching between you. You pulled off with a soft pop and met his gaze.
“You want me to stop?” you teased.
Joel swallowed hard. “No,” he said. Then, rougher: “Where’s your bedroom?”
You didn’t answer right away. Just reached for his other hand, curling your fingers through his.
“Come on,” you said.
And led him down the dark hallway, step by step, until the two of you crossed that threshold together.
The bedroom was dark, the door clicking shut behind you with a quiet finality.
You didn’t bother turning on the light. The glow from the hallway was enough to see the outline of him—bare-chested, cock hanging hard and heavy, eyes still fixed on you like you might vanish if he blinked.
He didn’t expect what you did next.
You dropped to your knees.
“Wait—” he said, voice gone gravel-thick with surprise, but your hands were already curling around his thighs, steady and sure.
“Let me,” you said softly. “I want to.”
He stopped breathing.
Your hands slid up the backs of his legs, slow and deliberate, and then you took him in hand—felt the heat of him, the weight, the way he twitched under your palm. You leaned in and pressed your lips to the tip, just a kiss. Then your tongue flicked out, tasting him, teasing.
Joel’s breath shuddered out of him. One hand hit the wall behind you. The other found your shoulder, holding—not pushing, not guiding, just holding.
“Goddamn,” he rasped. “Jesus, sweetheart…”
You took him into your mouth, slow and steady, your lips stretching around him, your jaw aching in the best way. You felt the tremble in his thighs, heard the low groan he tried to swallow down.
“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “That mouth… shit.”
He was big. Thick enough to make your eyes water, and you loved it—loved the weight, the stretch, the way he pulsed against your tongue.
But before you could take him all the way, he pulled back—gently, firmly, both hands cupping your face as he looked down at you.
“Enough,” he said. Not harsh. Not breathless. Just… solid.
You blinked up at him. “You didn’t like it?”
“I fuckin’ loved it,” he said. “Which is why I need you on the bed. Now.”
He hauled you up with a strength that made your knees weak, hands big and sure on your waist as he backed you toward the mattress. You fell back onto it, breathless and grinning, and he followed—settling between your thighs like it was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.
He kissed the inside of your knee first. Then your thigh. Then the other. He took his time, lips dragging over your skin like he wanted to learn every inch.
By the time his mouth reached you, you were already slick and aching.
He groaned when he tasted you. “Fuck...”
He set to work. Languid. Unrushed. His mouth was patient, lips parting you, tongue stroking soft and deep. He sucked your clit only when you were already close, never too soon, never too sharp.
He held your thighs open, kissed you through the first orgasm, coaxed you through the second—his voice murmuring praise against your skin.
“Good girl. That’s it. Let me have it, baby.”
And only when your thighs were shaking, your breath stuttering, did he finally lift his head.
“Now,” he said, voice dark and thick, “I’m gonna fuck you.”
You were still catching your breath when he moved—rising from between your legs, mouth shining, beard damp with you.
You reached for him, half-dazed. Ready to feel him above you, finally heavy and full inside, pinning you down. But instead of climbing over you, Joel sat back on the bed, broad legs spread and shoulders slack. He reached for you.
“C’mere.”
You blinked, dazed. “What?”
He nodded toward his lap, voice low and steady. “Come sit on it, baby.”
You flushed all over. The raw want in his tone made you ache. You crawled forward and climbed onto him, knees bracketing his hips, your thighs still trembling.
The head of his cock dragged between your folds, hot and slick and perfect. You rocked instinctively and gasped when the tip caught on your entrance.
Joel growled softly. “You feel that?”
You nodded, dazed.
He leaned back slightly, watching you like it was killing him to keep still. “Take it slow. Sink down on me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”
You reached between your bodies and held him steady, your hand small against the thickness of him. And then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto his cock.
You both moaned—his hands gripping your hips hard, your mouth falling open as he stretched you, inch by inch.
“Fuck,” you whispered. “You’re—Jesus, Joel—”
“Shh,” he rasped, panting through his nose. “You’re takin’ me so good.”
You rocked once you had him buried to the hilt, hips shifting instinctively. The fullness made your whole body tense. Your muscles clenched around him and he groaned.
“That’s it,” he said. “Ride me. Show me how bad you needed this.”
You moved slowly at first, lifting and sinking onto him, but it didn’t stay slow for long. He met you halfway with every thrust, hips punching up into yours. His hands guided your rhythm—one wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your ass, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet. It was rough, a push and pull that felt like it could tear you open and still wouldn’t be enough.
You kissed him like you couldn’t breathe without it—messy and open-mouthed, tongues dragging, teeth clacking. Your fingers dug into his hair, gripping tight, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, moaning into your mouth.
You broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to his. “You feel so fucking good—”
“Yeah?” Joel grunted, slamming up into you. “You love ridin’ this old man’s cock?”
You whimpered. “Yes, Joel, fuck, I love it—”
He shifted under you, pulling you forward, closer—until your chest was pressed to his, sweat-slick skin against skin. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other braced between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he fucked up into you, deep and relentless.
You clung to him—arms looped around his shoulders, your mouth pressed to the side of his neck. You felt him everywhere now. Inside you. Against you. Beneath you. Around you.
The thrusts weren’t graceful anymore. They were desperate. Messy. Wet sounds filled the room—your soaked cunt taking him over and over, your bodies slapping together. Every time he slammed up, you gasped, your breath catching hard in your throat.
You could feel the way his muscles bunched under your hands. Could hear his breath ragged in your ear, the low, broken sounds he made when your pussy clenched around him.
“Fuck—baby—you’re so tight,” he groaned, voice torn and breathless. “You’re gonna make me come—”
You kissed him blindly, teeth clashing, and moaned into his mouth. Your hips rocked erratically, your thighs burning, and all of it—his cock, his mouth, the way he held you like he needed to fuse your bodies together—was pushing you right to the edge.
Joel felt it. He could feel the way you started to tremble. He leaned in, lips at your ear now. “That’s it,” he rasped. “Give it to me. I want to feel it.”
You shook your head, like it was too much. You were too full, too stretched, too fucked to handle one more second of it.
But then he fucked up hard—once, twice—and wrapped both arms tight around your body, burying his face in your neck.
You shattered.
It hit like a wave slamming into a seawall—violent, unstoppable. You came with a sharp cry, back arched, nails clawing into his shoulders as you convulsed around him.
Joel held on. Fucked you through it, groaning into your throat.
“Jesus, fuck—there you go, baby, there you go—”
You came hard, loud, legs shaking in his lap, mouth falling open in a raw yell that cracked at the edges.
Joel didn’t stop. Not until you collapsed against him, trembling, soaking, gasping for air.
Only then did he slow down. Pulling you tighter against him, one big hand smoothing along your spine.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
You nodded into his neck. Still wrapped around him. Still full of him. Still pulsing with aftershocks.
You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want him to, either.
So he stayed there—cock still buried inside you, heart pounding against yours—and let you breathe together.
Joel shifted under you with a quiet grunt. One hand splayed across your back, the other gripping your hip as he rolled you both onto your sides. You landed with your face buried in his neck, your legs tangled with his, his cock still hard and still buried deep inside you.
You gasped at the movement—still sensitive, still twitching from the last wave of pleasure. His hands gentled instantly, rubbing soft circles into your spine.
“You okay?” he murmured, lips brushing your hair.
You nodded, breath catching as his hips rolled, just slightly, nudging deeper. “Too good.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, his breath warm on your cheek.
But he was still inside you. Still thick and pulsing.
You felt it now—the way he was holding himself back. The strain in his arms, the tightness in his jaw. His body was shuddering with restraint, his cock twitching inside you every time you clenched around him.
“You haven’t come,” you whispered.
Joel’s jaw flexed. He didn’t deny it.
You lifted your head, lips brushing his. “Why’re you holding back?”
His voice came out ragged. “You came so hard, baby. Felt you shake all over me. Just… wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Your heart fluttered, warm and aching. But you weren’t finished with him. Not like this.
You rolled your hips, slow, grinding your slick heat down over his cock. He hissed through his teeth.
“I’m not glass, Joel,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back.”
He groaned—low and wrecked—and kissed you.
It was slower this time, but no less intense. His mouth claimed yours in long, deep drags, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as he started to move again.
You moaned into his mouth as he thrust. Still tight from your orgasm, your cunt clung to him with each stroke, slick and hot and perfect.
He fucked you slow, chest to chest, breath mingling, bodies sliding together in the dark.
“Christ,” he muttered. “You’re still squeezin’ me like that.”
Your arms curled around his shoulders. “I want you to come,” you said against his mouth. “Want to feel it.”
His hips snapped harder, rhythm faltering, every thrust heavier now. You kissed his jaw, his throat, anything you could reach.
Joel buried his face in your neck and groaned—loud, raw, the sound of a man losing his grip.
And then he was there.
He growled your name like a prayer and shoved in deep, holding you flush as he came—hot and thick, pulsing inside you with a low, broken moan.
You held him through it, stroking his back, whispering, “There you go. That’s it.”
He trembled. He kissed you again, slower now, panting between breaths.
When he finally stopped moving, both of you a tangle of sweat and skin and breath, he stayed right where he was—inside you, heart pounding against yours.
Joel didn’t move at first.
He stayed deep inside you, chest to chest, limbs tangled up like ivy. Your legs around his hips, your arms looped around his shoulders. His breathing was still rough in your ear, his cock twitching in the slick heat of you—spent but still buried, still wanting to stay where it was warm and safe.
You could feel the thump of his heartbeat, steadying slowly against yours. His fingers brushed up and down your spine, more of a reflex now than anything else. Like he needed the contact to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.
Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t a need.
Eventually—eventually—Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound lazy and half-exhausted. He kissed your jaw, your temple, then finally lifted himself just enough to look at you.
“Alright?” he murmured.
You nodded, eyes still half-lidded. “Better than.”
He leaned in and kissed you one more time—soft and lingering—before his hips eased back.
He pulled out slowly. You both gasped at the drag, the loss of warmth. A wet heat followed immediately, thick and unmistakable, sliding down your thighs.
The air shifted. Joel caught sight of the mess soaking the sheets beneath you—your combined slick, his come leaking from where you’d been joined.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed.
Something about his voice—gravel and reverence, wrapped in that low Southern drawl—made you smile.
You rolled onto your stomach without thinking, cheek pressed to the pillow, your back arched in a long, lazy stretch. Limbs limp. Skin damp. Sated.
You exhaled softly, content and open, your bare ass high and warm in the soft light. The wet patch cooled beneath your belly, sticky and raw, but you didn’t care.
Joel let out another quiet groan behind you—half appreciation, half disbelief.
“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Look at you.”
You wriggled your hips playfully, just enough to hear the low curse that followed.
“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he said.
“Mm,” you hummed, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t blame me. You’re the one who did all the damage.”
You felt the bed dip as he knelt beside you, large hands smoothing along the back of your thigh, then your lower back. Gentle, slow touches, not for arousal—just touch.
His fingers paused where your legs were still slick, and you felt him rub his thumb through the mess there, slow and soft.
“You want me to clean you up?” he asked.
Your eyes stayed closed. “Not yet.”
He kissed the small of your back, breath warm. “Okay.”
Then he lay down beside you, pulling you close, wrapping one arm around your waist from behind, his chest to your spine. You stayed there together in the dark, the air warm with sweat and sex and something deeper neither of you dared name just yet.
Summary: When jackson is thriving, growing and improving, it shouldn’t be a surprise to you when contagious conditions embrace you too. But it does. And it scares the shit out of you.
tags/includes 🏷️: pregnancy, sneaking around, jackson joel, dina & ellie relationship, agegap (joel is 56, reader is 34), angst, happy ending, domestic joel, arguments, mention of sarah and childloss, not proofread, sorry
—
“Dina’s pregnant.” Ellie blurts out at the dinner table.
The silence that fills the room is inescapable. You’re sitting at the dinner table, Joel’s right next to you and Tommy and Maria are across from you both. Every Sunday you got together to have dinner together, usually with Dina and Jessie present too but now you knew why they weren’t here.
The looks exchanged between Ellie and everyone else at the table are unforgettable. The only one who doesn’t seem to react is Joel. He picks up his beer and takes a sip of it before returning to his plate.
“Don’t think it works like that, kiddo.” He grumbles before scooping up some rice.
Your eyes flash wide as you snap your head around at him and Ellie sighs. Tommy hides his smirk by looking down at his lap and Maria elbows him for that.
“I know that. Dina and Jessie—they were still on and off before she and I got together so…yeah,” Ellie mumbles and by the weight you can see she carriers on her shoulders, it’s clear they intend on raising this baby together.
Maria and Tommy exchange a glance with smiles, strangely enough. Maria reaches over and puts her hand on top of Ellies, you’re just sitting there absolutely stunned.
“Guess that makes two of us, huh?” Maria smiles and this time, Joel stops eating and looks up from his plate.
“You and Tommy are having another baby?” You’re the first to speak as Ellie’s eyes light up.
“I’m five weeks, today…just about,” she nods with a warm smile.
Before you say anything else, you let Maria comfort Ellie the way she meant to in announcing the pregnancy.
“Holy shit,” Ellie whispers before Maria smiles at her.
“Dina wont be alone in this…don’t worry,” she assures affectionately.
You look over at Joel with a smile on your face, you can only imagine how excited he must be feeling to be an uncle again and somewhat of a grandpa all at once. Without a single word, he sets his fork down and gets up, leaving without so much as a “goodbye”.
The table falls silent again, before you can even apologize on his behalf you’re up and chasing after him with shouts of his name. He walks through the snow, unmoved by you calling after him.
That was about two months ago. Joel hadn’t spoken about it since, you’d brought it up for a week after it happened and he shut you down every time. You’d dropped it after a few weeks but that didn’t mean the curiosity wasn’t eating you alive.
Clearly, he’d worked things out with Ellie and Maria after his reaction but you weren’t sure what was said. All you knew is that they seemed to be interacting a lot better. Things were finally settling back down, Joel was as normal as Joel can be.
It was decent, everything was, until March 3rd, 10:45 PM.
Here you were standing on Tommy and Maria’s porch, sobbing into the cold. You knocked lightly your hands too cold to do much more than that but Maria heard you. The living room light flicked out and Maria came walking up slow, her eyes still tired and squinting as she opened the door.
“What on earth could be wrong at this hour?” She groaned, slightly annoyed until she rubbed her eye and realized that you were sobbing.
“Shit—come in, come in! What the hell happened??” She stepped out the way with a hand keeping her robe closed before shutting the door after you.
You knew Tommy wasn’t here, he and Joel were out patrolling after the evening group reported strange activity coming from the east. They left about two hours ago and in two hours you’d managed to lose your mind.
You couldn’t even speak, you just reached into your pocket and held up the positive pregnancy test that you’d been staring at for over an hour.
“I didn’t…know w-where else to come,” you sucked in sharp breaths, unable to get a decent consistency in your breathing.
Her eyes went wide, nearly as wide as yours when you took the test. Her brows curled up at the sight of the two lines and then she looked back over at you, she put her hand on your shoulder and pulled you in for a hug.
“It’s okay…I’m glad you came here. Everything will be alright,” she shushed and you shook your head.
“He’s gonna be so pissed,” you whispered while holding her back.
“What? Why would you say that?”
“You saw how he reacted to Dina and your pregnancy…he doesn’t want this.” You sobbed harder at the thought and Maria guided you to sit down on the couch next to her.
“That was different…it’d not his kid. This is,” she motioned towards your stomach and you just kept shaking your head.
“He’s gonna think I’m trying to replace…Sarah. He won’t forgive me for this, Maria…he’s never once mentioned having kids and neither have I! I don’t—I don’t how to feel…I just…I can’t tell him.” You rambled on and Maria put a hand on yours to try and calm you down.
“No…no, he won’t think that. I think you’re getting in over your head about this. Yes it’s scary…but Joel loves you—that, you cannot deny. He’ll understand—hell he might even be excited. So take a breath…okay?” She consoled and as sweet as her words were the thoughts that flooded your mind were just too sour.
“Can I stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch…I just—I can’t face him right now,” you asked and even though she sighed at you not telling Joel, she nodded.
“Of course. I’ll make you some tea to warm you up,” she rubs your arm before getting up.
You spend that night on her couch, hardly sleeping at that. When Tommy comes back from patrol, Maria tells him to tell Joel that you fell asleep on the couch. Joel knew you were a light sleeper so it wasn’t strange that he didn’t come over and pick you up.
The next day you’re out of their house at first light, before any of them are up. You go out to get fresh air, walking around the empty streets since everyone is still inside and bundled up. You’re freezing but it’s better than facing Joel right now so you head off to the stables for some comfort.
When you reach the stables, instead of going to your own horse, you meet with Joel's. Thing's have gotten rough in your relationship before, healthy and some unhealthy arguments over things that didn't even matter but everytime, after every argument, you always went to his horse. In a way it felt like you we're able to communicate your own grivences while also being able to understand Joel a bit more through his horse.
You don't know how but it worked like a charm everytime. Your hopes for it working this time were not high in the slightest. Your relationship with Joel was far from complicated, at least from your standpoint. Your love for each other was quite simple, nobody understood you the way Joel did. Nobody. You rubbed your hands over his horses face, Willow, frowning at her slightly as you tried to think of what you were going to do.
Willow ducked her head down, nudging you back slightly with her nose against your stomach and you could help but let out a breathy laugh.
It's no secret for the horses, you thought.
Your skin burned with every breath, your lungs aflame at the million different things going through your mind. One of those being Sarah, not just how you thought Joel would feel like this baby would be an attempt at replacing her but what happened to her. You couldn't help but duck your head down against Willow at the thought of having to grieve your unborn child.
Joel had opened up more about Sarah as your years together progressed, though it was so long ago that didn't change how badly it hurt him. Sometimes he was vulnerable enough that after a patrol, he'd just talk to you about her, what she was like when she was a baby, how smart and funny she was. It made you smile and even him, though he would often be smiling through the few streaks of tears that would fall when he spoke of her.
You couldn't bear the idea of bringing up the bad memories for him with this news. Hell, you didn't even think you wanted kids but for the split second you we're panicking about the pregnancy, there was a big part of you that was a little excited. That fizzled out, of course. Now you we're just standing in front of Willow sobbing like a crazy person to anyone who might've walked by.
The way he stormed out from the dinner two months ago just kept replaying in your mind. Instead of being hopeful for his reaction, you spent an hour with Willow mentally preparing to deal with the sight of him walking out on you.
After that hour was up, you began to hear people walking the streets so you wiped your face and straightened up. It was time. You had to tell him, there was no way you'd be able to keep this a secret without feeling like you we're going to explode or walking on eggshells.
So you walked yourself out of the stables and back home, you saw Joel's work boots by the front door so you knew he was still home. Every breath hurt more than the last, you unlocked and opened the door to the smell of a fresh pot of coffee. Unknowingly, you began chewing the skin on your lip, picking at it as you walked towards the kitchen.
Joel was looking out the window in a grey shirt and plaid pajama pants, in one hand was his cup of coffee and the other hand was across his chest. His hair was a little messy from sleep, he looked away from the falling snow to you standing there in your clothes from yesterday.
"Mornin'," he greeted, his voice deeper than usual since he'd just woken up.
You completely blanked out, just stood there as still as a statue staring at him. The guilt was already eating you alive, the naeusea you felt wasn't from being pregnant it was from being so nervous and utterly distraught at the sight of him. When you don't reply, he raises a brow and blows gently over his steaming coffee.
"I..." you choked on your words and put your hand over the mouth while turning around, trying to gather yourself.
You were panting like a dog, your chest rising and sinking like crazy. You reached into your pocket, realizing that there's no way you'll be able to speak. Just as you're about to pull the test out of your pocket, Joel stops you with his hand on your arm.
"I know." he blurts cooly, his coffee being set down on the counter next to him.
"What?" you bite out, slowly turning around before your chance to reveal the test.
"I know that you're pregnant." he clarified and it felt like you'd been punched dead center in the chest.
"Maria...she—" before you can ask what he already knows, he shakes his head and reaches on the counter, grabbing something.
He lifts up a pregnancy test box, one of the two you took. Inside the test rattles, the positive test. You forgot that you'd taken two, just to be sure, and when you rushed out to go to Maria you only grabbed one of them, leaving the other in the bathroom. Your eyes flicker wide as you look from the box to him and back to the box again.
Now you're really sure you might collapse, or hurl, or both. You stumble backwards a bit, reaching for whatever you can grab onto to steady yourself and that ends up being the chair to the dining room table. Now you're waiting, waiting for the explosion of anger or the silent ager of him just storming out in an instant.
But both of those are wrong.
He simply sets the box down and picks up his cup of hot coffee again, bringing it to his lips for a calm sip as he looks out the window again. This baffles you, you're waiting....and waiting...and waiting but nothing. He simply drank his coffee with his arm firm across his chest.
"Do you...want me to get my things?" you asked meekly and to your surprise that gets a reaction out of him.
He whips his head around, his nose crinkled with the furrowing of his brows. His sigh is loud and sharp, you can't tell if it's because of you or something else, something more internal.
"Why would I want you to get your things?" he asked roughly, stepping towards you in the process.
"Because...I'm pregnant," saying it outloud gave you a sharp pain in your chest everytime.
Joel's standing there, shaking his head slightly while blinking rapidly. He rubs his hand over his face in distress before stopping and looking right at you.
"You're angry...I get it, this wasn't planned and...I'm not trying to replace Sarah but I get it if you think that I am and—"
"You think I'm angry because you're pregnant?!" he snaps slightly at you, cutting you off into silence.
"Well—"
"No...no, sweetheart. I'm angry because you're pregnant and you went to Maria instead of me. I'm angry because you didn't feel like you could trust me with one of the greatest blessings life has to give," his hand his firm on his hip, as firm as his voice is with his gaze locked on you.
You stand there together for a minute, just looking at each other. You're caught off guard completely, his reaction is not what you expected in the slightest and you made no metal prep of how you should react for this.
"But...when you heard that Maria and Dina are pregnant you...you left, Joel. You left angry...like it was an insult to you," you reminded him sharply and he rubs both his hands over his face, the veins in his arm and hands peek out at that.
"That...that wasn't about them, it was about you. It was about us!" he raises his voice and you feel that yoiur fears were confirmed just then and there.
But you'd never been more wrong.
"I thought I couldn't give you that...a family, a life like that....I was pissed because I thought it wasn't in the cards for me to give you. I saw how you happy you were at the idea of families expanding and I—it killed me to know that I couldn't do that for you but now...." he raises his hands in what looks like defeat as he crushes your fears one by one.
Jealous was the last thing you thought Joel was on that night. But it was eating him alive the same way your guilt was but you'd both been wrong. Wrong in the most perfect ways, wrong in the most simple ways because that was how your love flourished. Your love thrived on simplicity and tripped on complexity and right now, everything could be so simple.
"But now?" you inquired softly, hoping that this was going where you think it was.
"Now...now you're pregnant. It is in the cards for us and I...I feel like the luckiest man alive," he confesses with a heavy exhale, the corner of his mouth cracking into a bit of a smile.
He steps towards you after a moment, slow and controlled.
"I'm sorry...I thought—" before you can finish, he's already got his arms wrapped around you.
He kisses your temple repeatedly as he pulls your head onto his chest warmly, his big firm arms holding you tight to him.
"I know what you thought, baby. But you couldn't be more wrong...I'm happy about this, I am." he whispers reassuringly while placing a kiss to the top of your head.
"I'm not trying to...replace Sarah, I just..." your voice faltered and you could feel his heartbeat speed up at the sound of her name.
"I know you aren't...I'd never think you were trying to just because you're pregnant," he loosened his grasp on you a little so you could lift your head to look up at him.
"She'll be a good big sister...she's watching over our baby, I know it." you whispered nervously only for Joel to look down at you, glossy eyed.
His adams apple bobbed and he let out a short breath, he was fighting tears but you didn't care if he let it out, you've never felt so close to him before.
"Yeah...yeah, she is," his voice is shaky but certain in what he's saying.
You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. He can't help but crack a smile for you, holding onto you as the two of you embrace this moment with open arms. Your life is going to change and so is his but it's all for the better, moving forward is what's best for you both and this baby will do just that. You've never been as sure about your future with Joel as you are not. This moment only confirms that you truly intend on spending every moment for the rest of your life with him and your little growing family.
SUMMARY : Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommy’s wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didn’t expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?
WARNINGS : 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak AU, no ellie, no y/n, slight age gap, oral m! recieving, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), creampie, praise, pet names, so many innuendos, teasing, sexual tension, slightly insecure! Joel, fluff, slight inappropriate behaviour from reader but let’s close our eyes pls.
A/N: I wanted to write something from Joel’s POV this time, so this started as a quick oneshot & of course it ended up being much longer than I intended. Sorry not sorry about that! And because men in suits get me all hot and bothered here we are.... Full disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about tailoring beyond what Google has taught me for this fic, so apologies in advance for anything inaccurate!
Here on AO3 | 18 k (I dont know what came over me)
Joel definitely needed a new suit.
He knew it before he even looked in the mirror. Felt it the second he pulled the damn thing on. The jacket was too short for his arms. The shoulders hugged too tight. The fabric strained across his chest like it was begging for mercy. And the buttons? He couldn’t get a single one to close.
A puff of laughter came from behind him.
“When’s the last time you wore that thing?” Tommy asked, smirking from where he sat perched on the edge of Joel’s bed, watching his brother with far too much interest.
“Years ago,” Joel muttered with annoyance, tossing the jacket somewhere in his room.
The answer was vague, but he knew exactly when it was. Almost two decades ago, the day he and Sarah’s mother said yes in a courthouse. Too young and too rushed. The suit had been bought just days before, off the rack and not even altered. Even then, he hadn’t cared about the suit itself. It was just something he had to wear.
He never bought another one. Never needed to.
Joel lived in work pants, worn-in T-shirts and if you asked his daughter, way too many flannels. Suits were for men with office jobs or lives that required polishing. He didn’t have either. And they weren’t cheap, anyway. Raising a daughter on his own meant every extra dollar went to more important things: shoes she’d outgrow in a month, school supplies, dinners that didn’t come from a can.
Spending money on something as useless as a suit? Not a chance.
He’d kept this one tucked away in the back of the closet, thinking naively that it would still fit if he ever needed it. That time hadn’t changed him that much. But years of hard living, heavier lifting, and broader shoulders had reshaped him. And the suit hadn’t gotten the memo.
Tommy leaned back on his palms, eyebrows raised. “And you were plannin’ on wearin’ that to my wedding ?”
Joel shot him a look. “Didn’t figure it’d be this bad.”
“Joel… you couldn’t button it if your life depended on it.”
Joel grunted. “Didn’t ask for your commentary.”
Tommy just smirked. “Well, I can’t have my best man standin’ next to me at the altar lookin’ like that. Sure, it’d make me stand out more, but still.”
“I’ll find somethin’,” Joel said simply.
“I’m gettin’ married in two weeks,” Tommy said pointedly. “You should’ve figured out weeks ago that thing wasn’t gonna cut it.”
Joel didn’t have much of a defence. Truth was, Tommy was right. He’d had plenty of time, but between long hours at work, planning the bachelor party, helping out with wedding errands, and just… life, it had fallen to the bottom of the list. He wasn’t proud of it.
“You need a proper suit,” Tommy continued, standing now. He looked at Joel through the mirror, their reflections side by side. “Not somethin’ off the same rack you buy your flannels from. A real one. Somethin’ that fits. Tailored.”
“I got no need for that,” Joel muttered, already unbuttoning his shirt, eager to change into something comfortable.
“You do,” Tommy said, folding his arms. “For my wedding. For Sarah’s middle school graduation in a few years. Hell, for your own funeral if Maria sees you without a proper suit at our wedding.”
Joel barked a dry laugh despite himself. “That’s a threat?”
“It’s a guarantee,” Tommy said, grinning. “And Maria’ll back me up.”
Finally in something more comfortable, a soft cotton T-shirt and old jeans, Joel turned fully to his brother.
“And where the hell am I supposed to get a proper suit,” he echoed, dragging out the word with emphasis, “in two weeks?”
“Give me a sec,” Tommy said, already pulling his phone from his pocket.
Joel watched as his brother tapped out a quick text, thumbs flying. Probably to Maria. Who else? Tommy was hopeless over her — had been from the jump — and far as Joel could tell, he didn’t make a single decision without her blessing. Not that Joel minded. She was sharp, the kind of woman who always had a plan.
He glanced at his reflection again, at the man staring back in the quiet morning light.
A new suit ?
It wasn’t like ten years ago. Hell, it wasn’t even like five. Joel had built something since then. Built it from the ground up, with his own two hands. A good life. He and Tommy ran a solid contracting business. He had a two-story house with an actual yard. Sarah had everything she needed and more.
And for once, he had a little room to think about himself, not just what was necessary. He could afford it. A real suit. Something that wasn’t just practical or durable or bought on clearance. Something that might actually make him feel… good. Confident. Hell, maybe even a little handsome. Not that Joel thought he was an ugly man, never had. He knew how he came across. Rugged, solid. That quiet, hard-working edge that some women seemed to like. He didn’t have the easy charm Tommy had, but he held his own. But it had been a long time since he felt it for himself. Since he’d looked in a mirror and seen someone worth dressing up. Worth the effort.
“Maria’s got a place,” Tommy said, cutting through Joel’s thoughts. “Tailor shop over near East 6th. She says if you tell them you’re comin’ on her word, they’ll squeeze you in. Deadline and all.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Joel gave him a look. “What else did Maria say?”
A grin spread across Tommy’s face. “That you better be the world’s most polite client. Or she’ll personally kick your ass.”
Joel huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
That’s how, later that day, with the sun dipping low behind the buildings, Joel found himself standing in front of a little shop he’d never noticed before. Not that he drove this stretch of road often, but still, he’d lived in Austin his whole damn life. He liked to think he knew the city pretty well.
Then again, there’d never been a reason to notice it before.
Frank & Co. Tailoring.
The lettering on the sign was neat, understated. Just enough to catch the eye if you were searching for it. The place was classy, but not showy. The wood-panelled front had a warm, worn-in charm, the kind that said the shop had been around a while, quietly doing good work. In the window, a few sharp-looking jackets stood on mannequins, their fabrics catching the last of the afternoon light. Below them, a neat rack of ties and bow ties added colour, from deep blues to muted reds and subtle patterns, all carefully arranged to invite a second look.
Joel leaned closer, peering through the glass. His brow furrowed; the place looked empty. He wondered, for a beat, if he was too late. He’d meant to get there earlier, but work, as it often did, had dragged longer than planned. He hadn’t even changed out of his slightly dusty clothes. Not the worst shape he’d ever been in after a day on site, but still… it felt like he should’ve made more of an effort.
But the lights were still on, and the little sign hanging on the door clearly read Open . So after brushing some dust off his pants like that was gonna make any real difference, Joel stepped inside.
A bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and a voice called from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be there in a sec!”
He stood there a moment, hands at his sides, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt. The shop was smaller than he expected, but not in a bad way. Just… personal, he’d say. Wood tones, soft lighting, rows of folded shirts and fabric samples displayed with care. A few mannequins stood off to the side, dressed in sharp, clean lines, everything neatly arranged: charcoal suits, earth-toned linens, deep navy wools. All of it well-made and tasteful.
Joel moved toward the front counter, his eyes drifting as he walked. Off to the side, he spotted what had to be the fitting area: a tall mirror framed in dark wood, a low platform in front of it, a tape measure draped over a nearby stool like someone had just stepped away mid-task. Private enough that someone standing there wouldn’t be seen from the front window. Toward the back, through an open doorway, he could make out what had to be the workroom: bolts of fabric, half-finished pieces on hangers and the low buzz of a machine humming somewhere out of sight.
Almost without thinking, his fingers brushed over the sleeve of a red velvet jacket. Bold. Not his style in the slightest, but even he could tell it was quality. The fabric was soft under his fingertips. It made him wonder for a second what kind of man wore something like that and didn’t feel like a damn fool doing it.
“Hi! Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”
Joel turned toward the voice. And stopped. You weren’t what he expected.
Maybe it was the movies' fault, but when he thought of a tailor, he pictured an older man, probably bald, Italian for some reason, with a measuring tape around his neck and a heavy accent like the place doubled as a front for some mafia. He didn’t expect a woman, younger than him by maybe ten years, hair a little tousled, like you hadn’t planned on more clients tonight. An easy, professional smile. Warm eyes.
Pretty . That was the word that struck him first, clear and fast.
He cleared his throat, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “I, uh... I need a suit.”
You gave him another smile and slid behind the counter, setting the folded fabric you’d been holding onto the back of a nearby chair. “Well, you’re in the right place, then. What’s the occasion?”
“A wedding,”
“Oh, lovely.” You reached for the small notebook resting near the register and flipped it open, pen already in hand. “When’s the big day?”
“In two weeks.”
You froze mid-scribble. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his. “Two weeks?” you repeated, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right — or hoped you hadn’t.
He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Yeah.”
You blinked once. The edge of a smile was tugging at his mouth. You were looking at him like he’d just told you he’d shown up for brain surgery with a pocketknife.
“Maria sent me,” he added, as if that might help.
That earned a very different reaction.
“Did she now?” you sighed, setting your notebook down a little harder than necessary. Joel noticed the way your brows pinched in what looked like familiar frustration. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath.
But Joel heard it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.
You spun back around a second later, as if remembering he was still there. “Sorry. That wasn’t very professional.”
“S’all right. I know this isn’t exactly a normal request.”
You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Making a full suit in two weeks is…”
“Impossible?”
You gave a tired, dry laugh. “Definitely difficult.”
There was a pause, and Joel figured this was the part where you told him no. And fair enough, he wouldn’t blame you. Two weeks was damn near impossible, and he’d left it too late. A suit off the rack would do. Not great, not impressive, but it would do. Tommy might roll his eyes, but I'll be too busy at his wedding to do anything about it. He didn't want to think about what Maria might say to him, or the way she might scold him like he was a child. Sarah… well, he could already imagine the look on her sweet face. Disappointed, but trying not to show it.
But then, instead of sending him away, you pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, nodding toward the other one across from you.
“Have a seat.”
Joel hesitated, just for a second, then did as told.
“Do you know what kind of suit you’re looking for?” you asked, reaching for your notebook again.
“What kind?” he echoed, brow furrowed.
“There’s classic, slim fit, modern fit, double-breasted, three-piece, tuxedo, unstructured—” you rattled them off quickly, like someone who didn’t have time to waste.
Joel held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa…slow down.”
You laughed, soft but amused, and Joel found himself leaning just slightly toward the sound.
“Sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. “Tight deadline. If we’re doing this, I need to get started tonight.”
“Right. Sorry.”
You shook your head, more gently this time. “Don’t apologise. It’s my job. Just trying to get a read on what we’re working with.” You clicked your pen. “Have you ever had a tailored suit before?”
“Never,” he admitted, like it was something he maybe should’ve been embarrassed about.
But you just nodded, unfazed. “That’s totally fine. Do you at least know what you like?”
The look in his eyes told you everything. You didn’t wait for him to fumble for an answer.
“Take a look around,” you offered, gesturing to the space. “Is there anything here that stands out to you? Something close to what you're picturing for yourself?”
Joel turned his head, taking his time as his eyes moved across the room. He glanced at a few mannequins before his gaze landed on one near the back.
“That one,” he said, nodding toward it. “I guess.”
You followed his gaze and gave a thoughtful little hum. “Alright. Clean cut, traditional silhouette.” You tapped your pen lightly against the notebook. “Are we talking black? Or are we open to a little colour?”
“Black,” he said, and the amused lift of your eyebrow made him wonder if you’d already guessed that would be his answer.
“Can’t go wrong with that,” you murmured with a small nod as you flipped to a new page. “Any want for the fabric?”
Joel hesitated, searching for the right words. “I want somethin’ that lasts. Somethin’ I can wear again if I ever need to.”
You smiled softly, like that was the right answer. “Timeless, then.”
Turning to one of the nearby shelves, you pulled a few fabric samples from a wooden tray and laid them out in front of him. You explained each one — worsted wool, twill and more — pointing out the subtle differences. How some were softer, others more durable. How they caught light differently. How some aged beautifully, and others needed a little more care. Your fingers moved over each fabric with ease, and Joel found himself watching your hands more than the cloth.
He listened more intently than he expected to. Maybe it was the calm certainty in your voice, or the way you clearly knew what you were talking about without making him feel dumb for not knowing it himself. You spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from being good at what you did, and caring about it.
It was… nice, he thought. Watching someone be good at something. Watching you.
After a few more questions, things about budget, lapel preferences, if he wanted anything embroidered (he didn’t), you moved on, your pen scratching notes across the page. You asked about accessories next.
“Do you need coordinated pieces? Tie, bow tie?”
“A bow tie,” Joel said, watching the way your lips twitched into the faintest smile.
You nodded. “Pocket square? Always a good way to add a little pop of color.”
He gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”
“Perfect way to match with your wife’s dress, for example,” you added, smiling.
“No wife,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly?
You looked up at that, and Joel noticed the brief flick of your eyes to his hand, confirming the absence of a ring. He felt his gaze drop to yours in return. Also no ring. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe you didn’t wear one at work. Maybe you weren’t married. Maybe you were.
“No one to match with, then?” you asked, tone casual, but there was something in the way you said it. A thread of curiosity woven in, just enough for him to notice.
Was that just good customer service? Or something more? A subtle way of asking if he was spoken for? He couldn’t be sure.
Joel shifted slightly. “I’ll check with the groom. See if there’s a color I need to match. If not…” He hesitated, just for a moment. “Might match with my daughter instead.”
Your face softened. “That’s sweet,” you said, and meant it. “Well, no rush on that. You let me know when you find out.”
You glanced down at your notes, flipping back through the pages as if checking your list, making sure you had everything you needed.
“Well,” you said after a moment, “the good news is you’re not asking for anything too over-the-top.”
“I’m not exactly known for my bold fashion sense,” Joel replied dryly.
You shrugged lightly, not even looking up. “Good-looking men don’t need a loud suit to stand out anyway.”
It was offhand, almost dismissive, like it wasn’t meant to land as a compliment. But it did. Joel’s eyes widened a little, not expecting that. You were already back on your notes, like you hadn’t just called him good-looking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to you, it was. Still, the words settled in him. A flicker of something quiet and pleased. It wasn’t vanity exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about knowing that you looked at him and saw a man worth noticing. That the interest wasn’t entirely one-sided.
You were focused again, pen gliding across the page as you started drafting the order summary: measurements, fabric, deadlines, deposit terms. But midway through, your hand paused. You looked up at him, eyes meeting his again. You had pretty eyes.
“I forgot to ask your name,” you realised.
“I’m Joel,” he replied, reaching out his hand automatically. “Joel Miller.”
There was a flicker in your expression at the name. Something small, but noticeable. Recognition, maybe? Or something else he couldn’t quite place. But before he could dwell on it, you were already offering your own name along with your hand. The handshake was brief and professional, but something about it lingered. The warmth of your skin, the subtle firmness of your grip. When you let go and his hand dropped back to his side, Joel felt his fingers twitch slightly.
Once you were done, you slid the document across the counter, letting Joel skim through it. Everything looked in order. He picked up the pen, signed with a steady hand, and passed it back to you.
As you stood, he did the same, instinctively mirroring your movement. When you walked around the front desk, he assumed it was to politely see him out, and turned toward the door.
But he’d barely taken a few steps when your voice came from behind him.
“Where are you going?”
Joel paused, half-turning back. You weren’t following. You were standing near the fitting area, head tilted slightly like you were trying not to laugh.
He blinked. “I thought we were done for now?” he offered, glancing toward the shop window, where the sun had all but slipped beneath the horizon. “Didn’t mean to keep you. It’s almost night out.”
“Well, Miller,” you said, tone light but pointed as you crossed your arms, “if you want that suit ready for this wedding, I need to take those measurements tonight.”
“Measurements?”
You gave him another look, amused, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “Yes, measurements,” you said, drawing the word out like he was being deliberately slow. “I know I’m very good at what I do, but I haven’t quite figured out how to make a custom suit without them.”
Right. Yeah. That tracked. He hadn’t expected it to happen tonight, though. He figured you’d give him an appointment, send him on his way, and get to it sometime in the next few days.
“And… you’re the one taking them?” he asked, and he knew the moment the words left his mouth that you caught the flicker of surprise in his tone. It wasn’t about your skill. He had no doubt you were very capable. Hell, he just spent less than twenty minutes with you, and he already thought you were excellent. It was the realisation that you were going to be the one putting hands on him. He’d assumed there was someone else. Frank — that was the name on the shop window, wasn’t it? An older man in the back room with a measuring tape around his neck, doing this part of the job.
Not you.
You tilted your head, that same teasing glint in your eyes. “My uncle usually handles the men’s measurements,” you explained, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had to say it. Men either got awkward or a little too enthusiastic once they realised that this was also part of your job. “But he’s on vacation until next week. If you’re uncomfortable, I can reschedule you for when he’s back. But...” You didn’t need to finish that sentence.
Joel did it for you. “I’ve got a deadline.”
Your smile deepened. “Then I’m all you’ve got, Miller.”
There was a beat of silence. Joel cleared his throat, the sound a little rougher than it needed to be. “Okay then,” he said finally. “Guess I’m in your hands.”
“Lucky you.”
Joel walked back the few steps he’d taken. “Where do you want me?”
The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly, like you were holding back an answer. Instead, you tilted your head toward the raised platform near the large mirror, tucked in the corner of the shop. “Over there.”
He followed your gesture, noting how the soft, golden lighting of the room caught in your hair, making it glow. He tried not to notice, but he did.
“Take off your jacket for me, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,”
You let out a quiet hum as you turned away to retrieve your measuring tape. When you turned back, he was already standing tall on the platform, his jacket draped over a nearby chair.
Your gaze moved over him. It was quick. Professional. Measured. But not entirely detached. The subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Joel told himself not to read into it. He reminded himself this was just part of the process. That you weren’t really looking. Not like that.
Even if, for a second, it felt like maybe you were.
“Well,” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over him one last time, “you’re a lot broader than I expected.”
Joel blinked, not sure what to make of that. It could’ve been a purely professional observation but the way you said it made it land differently. Or maybe that was just him, reading too much into everything.
“Is that a bad thing?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Not in my opinion.”
Was it a compliment? Just a statement of fact?
You stepped closer, measuring tape in hand, and gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Alright, Miller. I’m gonna need to get my hands on you,” you said, voice smooth with amusement. “Hope that’s not a problem.”
Joel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure how to answer that without sounding like a teenager. Because no, it definitely wasn’t a problem. Quite the opposite. So he cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”
You gave a knowing little smile, as if you’d heard what he didn’t say, and moved into his space. “I’ll start with your neck circumference,” you said, raising your hands, measuring tape between your fingers.
Joel stood still as you moved, watching as you rose onto your toes to loop the tape around his neck. He was quite taller than you, and the platform added just enough height to make the reach difficult for you.
“You want me to crouch or somethin’?” he asked, brow lifting as he glanced down.
You just smiled. “It’s alright. I’ve handled bigger.”
Joel breathed a little heavier. He wasn’t sure if you meant it to sound that way. You didn’t seem to register what you’d just said, or maybe you did, and you were very good at pretending otherwise. Either way, you carried on.
Joel said nothing. He couldn’t trust his mouth not to betray what his brain was doing, which, at the moment, was a mess of thoughts he had no business entertaining. His jaw tightened slightly as your fingers brushed the side of his throat, the tape snug against his skin. You stood so close now, barely a breath between you. He could feel the warmth of you, could smell something faint and clean on your skin, your perfume or shampoo probably, something sweet that made his chest tighten for no good reason.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when you stepped back a second later, noting the number with a little nod before writing it in your notebook, he swore the air felt colder without your touch.
“Shoulders,” you murmured.
Your fingers brushed over the top of his shirt, finding one shoulder seam, then carefully extending the tape across to the other. Joel held still, jaw tense. He was looking at your face again before he could stop himself. The subtle crease between your brows, the way your bottom lip caught briefly between your teeth as you made sure the tape sat just right.
“Chest now,” you said softly after noting the new number down.
You stepped back in, close enough that the brush of your arms sent a pulse straight through him. You wrapped the tape around his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt with just enough pressure to make him notice. Your hands lingered a second longer than they strictly needed to. You hummed, pleased, maybe even appreciative, and Joel couldn’t stop the subtle inhale that followed, chest rising just slightly under your hands. His pulse kicked harder. You didn’t comment. Just shifted lower, sliding the tape down around his waist.
“Hold still.”
You worked methodically, adjusting the tape around his midsection with firm, careful movements. Your knuckles grazed over his belt as you adjusted the measurement, and Joel had to lock his hands at his sides, fingers curling into his palms to keep from reacting. He could feel the warmth of your body near his, the brush of your wrist, the ghost of touch through his shirt. He was sure you weren’t doing anything intentionally; you were just doing your job, but Christ, his body didn’t know the difference.
Next came sleeve length and arm circumference, and still you didn’t rush. Your touch was feather-light, barely there, the backs of your fingers grazing his forearm as you measured from shoulder to wrist, then wrapped around the thickest part of his bicep.
“You go to the gym, Miller?” you suddenly asked with just enough edge to make him wonder if you were teasing.
“No?” he replied quickly, trying not to let his voice betray anything he was feeling at the moment.
You glanced up at him, one brow raised. “Could have fooled me”
He didn’t have time to respond or think about what, exactly, you were implying before you stepped around him again and moved on. You crouched slightly, measuring his wrist, your fingers circling his skin with quiet precision. Then you stepped around him to measure his hips. Joel locked his jaw and focused on breathing. Every touch made him feel self conscious. And he knew you weren’t trying to fluster him. You were just doing your job. But every so often, he caught a look: a glint in your eyes, a hint of knowing in your smile, and wondered if you weren’t enjoying this just a little.
He swallowed hard. If you were, you hid it well.
He tried to focus on anything else. The soft scratch of your pen as you paused to jot down another number. The sound of distant traffic beyond the shop window. The quiet hum of jazz drifted from a speaker in the corner of the shop. Anything but the heat crawling up the back of his neck.
But then your eyes lifted to his, a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Spread your legs for me, Miller.”
His breath caught, sharp in his throat. “...Sorry?”
You gave him an entirely innocent look, but the sparkle in your eyes told a different story. “For your inseam. I need to measure it. You know… for the pants?”
Right. Of course.
He shifted, clearing his throat as he obeyed, feet spreading slightly apart. This was normal. Routine. You probably did this a dozen times a week.
Still, Joel’s body didn’t seem to care about that fact. You crouched in front of him, and he tried, really tried, not to think about anything he shouldn’t. Not about how close your face was to his zipper. Not about how your fingers moved with quiet precision along his inner thigh. Not about what it might feel like if this were a different kind of situation entirely. Fewer clothes. A lot more touching.
He absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about the shape of your mouth. Or how those lips might feel wrapped around his—
Jesus.
Your voice broke the spiral, smooth and steady. “Open your legs just a little more…”
He hesitated, just a beat too long, and then you glanced up at him with a sly little smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him.
“Come on, Miller,” you teased. “Don’t be shy. I need every inch .”
Okay. There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.
Joel stood frozen for half a second, caught between disbelief and the slow burn building under his skin. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to laugh, clear his throat, or just walk straight out the door and into the cool night air until his head stopped spinning. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He clenched his jaw. He had to use every single ounce of willpower not to let the image settle exactly where it wanted to. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he forced them to stay there, not to fist in your hair, not to drag you closer, and do everything his mind was thinking about. But his body wasn’t listening. Not when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh to adjust the tape. Not when you looked up through your lashes with that smile like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
And maybe you did. Maybe you meant for him to stand here, rigid and barely breathing, fighting the very real, very telling reaction threatening to make this whole thing impossible to ignore.
This was dangerous. You were dangerous.
You tilted your head, smiling just enough to make him feel like you’d noticed every one of his reactions and were choosing not to comment on any of them.
Joel shifted slightly, widening his stance as you’d asked. And just like that, you went back to work, cool and composed, as if the heat crawling under his skin wasn’t radiating off him in waves. As if none of this affected you. Like you weren’t kneeling between his thighs with your hands so goddamn close, and your voice still lingering in his head.
He stayed quiet, letting you move around him, your hands efficient. What if you weren’t trying to rile him up? What if this wasn’t anything more than routine to you? Just another suit fitting, another client? God, maybe you said the exact same things to everyone?
Something twisted in his chest. What if all of this, the touch, the look, the low voice, was just him seeing what he wanted to see? Reading into nothing because he was just… starved. For something as small as a look, a smile, a moment of attention from a beautiful woman like you? What if he was just a tired, lonely man letting his body betray him in a tailor shop because someone had been kind? The thought lodged like a stone in his throat.
The shame crept in slowly but sharply; hot behind his ears, down his neck. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, grounding himself with the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The mere idea of you looking at him with disgust, of realizing what was going through his mind, was enough to make him freeze. Enough to shame him into stillness, into silence.
He forced himself to breathe, to think of anything else. The old woman across his street with too many cats and a porch full of junk. That goddamn client who changed his mind every damn week and left him redoing work for free. Maria’s face if she ever found out what he was thinking right now. The disappointment in her eyes. Her fury. He’d never hear the end of it.
This was nothing. A fitting. Just fabric and numbers and tape. That’s all it was supposed to be.
Joel let you finish your work in silence. You moved around him with practiced ease, measuring his thigh, then the circumference of his knees efficiently. He appreciated that you didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the space with small talk or more of those comments he couldn’t quite figure out. Just a quick glance now and then, probably to make sure he was standing right. He kept his eyes forward, staring at a fixed point on the far wall, like it might anchor him.
“Alright,” you finally said, straightening up with a soft stretch. “That’s all I need. Thank you for your patience. You can step down.”
He gave a short nod and stepped off the platform, reaching for his jacket without a word. As he pulled it back on, you were already making your way to the front desk, flipping open your notebook and jotting another thing down. Joel followed, slower this time, careful not to walk too close behind you, careful not to let his thoughts wander again.
You looked up and offered him a smile that was all business now, but still warm.
“Well,” you said, “I think I’ve got everything I need to get started. Would you be able to come back in… let’s say, a week?” You tapped your pen thoughtfully against your lip. “I should have the base of your suit ready for the first fitting by then. If we’re lucky, one fitting will be enough.”
“Sure. What time should I come back?”
“Same time works if it does for you,” you replied, eyes flicking up to meet his again. “I don’t mind late nights.”
That last part lingered in the air a half-second too long.
“Fine by me,” he said, grateful that it wouldn’t pull him away from work.
You scribbled something final into your notes, then shut the notebook with a quiet snap. “Perfect, then,” you said, and looked up again. This time, your gaze lingered on his for a second, mouth parting like you were about to say something else, but then you didn’t. He took that as his cue to leave.
Joel tapped a knuckle lightly against the desk. “Thanks again… for takin’ this on. Appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” You smiled softly. “See you next week, Miller.”
“Yeah,” he said, backing toward the door with a short nod. “See you then.”
The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped out. The evening air hit him square in the chest, and he still felt warm, more than he should’ve. Like your voice was still curling in his ear, your fingertips still ghosting over his skin.
He walked toward his truck with his jacket half-zipped, hands shoved into his pockets. Trying not to think too hard. He told himself he was being stupid. Reading into things that weren’t there. He really shouldn't think about you.
But later that night, when his cock was hard and aching in his hand, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about. The way you’d looked up at him from your knees, lips slightly parted, like you were ready to taste him the second he let you. He imagined the soft, desperate sounds you might make with his hand tangled in your hair. The way you'd moan if he’d bent you over that front desk. And when he finally came, spilling over his knuckles and stomach, it was your name that slipped out of his lips.
The week passed both too slowly and far too quickly for Joel.
He would’ve lied if he’d said he hadn’t thought about you. In truth, your face crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. Stupid things stuck with him: the tilt of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the soft way your fingers had brushed his skin when you took his measurements. He’d spent less than an hour with you, and yet he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind.
Even Tommy had noticed something was off. His younger brother kept shooting him looks every time Joel was deep in thought. When one morning Tommy asked, “How’s that suit comin’ along?” Joel barely looked up from his cup of coffee.
“Fine,” he said simply. He didn’t trust himself to say more. Tommy knew him too well. One extra word, and he’d start digging. And Joel really didn't want to explain he was like that over what was basically a crush . Christ. A crush. He was pushing forty for godamn sake. He wasn’t some daydreaming kid anymore; he was a grown man who really shouldn't be thinking so much about you.
But here he was, exactly a week later, parked in front of the shop, leaning against his truck, wondering if he looked like a fool.
Because this time, he had made an effort. He’d left work early just to shower, change into a clean shirt that didn’t smell like drywall and sweat, and even put on cologne. Not just deodorant. Cologne . The one Sarah got him last Christmas, the nice kind.
His hand raked through his hair for what had to be the tenth time. He’d tried to slick it back before leaving, but on the drive over, his nerves had undone most of the effort. Now it just looked tousled and unruly, and he hoped it didn’t give the impression he’d just got out of bed.
He let out a heavy breath. He shouldn't be so nervous for a fitting. One last glance in the truck’s side mirror. One last adjustment to his shirt collar. Then he finally stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling as he did.
This time, someone else was in the shop. A man, a bit older than Joel, was adjusting a jacket on one of the mannequins near the window. He looked up immediately at the sound, turning toward him with a practised smile.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice warm and professional. “What can I help you with today?”
“Hi, I’m Joel Miller,” he said as the door shut softly behind him. “I’m here for a fitting?” His eyes flicked around, instinctively searching for you. But you weren’t out front.
At the sound of Joel’s name, something shifted in the man’s expression. His smile widened, like he knew something Joel didn’t. He turned toward the back of the shop and called your name.
“Your appointment’s here!”
A muffled response floated from the workroom: “Coming!” At the sound of your voice, Joel stood just a little straighter.
The man turned back to him, his eyes gave Joel a once-over, just enough to feel like he noticed the neat collar, the fresh shirt, the clean shave. His smile grew just a little bit wider, and he offered his hand. “I’m Frank. This is my shop.”
Joel shook it politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“Come on, she’ll be right out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the fitting area. “She’s been working pretty hard on your suit, you know? You’re gonna look sharp.”
“Sorry if I made too much work for her,” Joel muttered, adjusting the strap of his watch.
Frank waved it off. “Don’t be. She doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her this invested in a piece.” He paused, glancing toward the back room again, then added with a hint of amusement, “Especially for something as simple as a classic suit…You’d think she was tailoring for a celebrity the way she’s been fussing over it.”
Joel shifted his weight, not quite sure what to do with Frank’s comment. Surely, you were just passionate about your work?
Before Frank could say anything else, you appeared from the back, brushing your hands on your hips. “Sorry! Just had to finish a last detail,” and then your eyes landed on him. “Hey,” you said softly, your smile warm, which Joel couldn’t help but mirror immediately.
“Hi.”
Frank cleared his throat politely, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Unless you need me to stay and supervise?”
“I think I can handle it,” you replied smoothly, without looking at him.
Frank only chuckled, grabbing a few papers from behind the counter. “I’m sure.” His voice was teasing, and Joel caught the way you rolled your eyes at him without missing a beat. The older man moved toward the door, lifting a hand in farewell. “Call me if you need anything. And Miller?” He gave Joel a quick, almost conspiratorial smile. “I hope you like the suit.”
“I’m sure I will,” Joel said, offering a polite nod as Frank stepped out, the bell above the door jingling as he disappeared into the street.
You watched the door for a moment, then turned back to Joel, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, let’s get to it… unless you’re planning on staying the night.”
Joel blinked. Just an harmless joke, but the image of what a night with you would look like hit him fast and uninvited. He pushed it away before it could settle.
“Hope I didn’t give you too much trouble,” he said, clearing his throat as you gestured toward the fitting area.
You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t lie, my sleep schedule’s seen better days.”
“Sorry,” he offered genuinely. But you looked over your shoulder with an easy smile.
“Don’t be. I liked working on it.”
Joel smiled faintly. “So I heard.”
You shot him a puzzled look. “How so ?”
“Frank.”
You groaned softly, and Joel couldn’t help but smile at the mix of affection and annoyance in your expression.
You disappeared into the back room for a moment and returned with the suit folded neatly in your arms. You nodded toward the small changing alcove at the far end of the room, separated from the rest by a simple curtain.
“Here,” you said, offering the suit to him. “Go ahead and change into it.”
Joel took it from you, careful as his fingers brushed yours. His jaw tightened at the touch. Christ, he really, really , needed to stop reacting like a teenager with a school crush.
“Call me if you need help putting it on,” you added with a small, playful smile.
He didn’t know if you were joking. He hoped you were joking. But there was something in your tone that made it hard to tell, just like last time. You gave him another smile as he stepped behind the curtain and tugged it shut.
The suit felt soft beneath his fingers. Smoother and heavier than anything he owned. He could already tell it was quality. He started undressing, taking off his jacket, then his shirt. His fingers worked quickly over his belt, and soon he was down to nothing but his boxers and socks. He stood there for a moment in the quiet of the curtained alcove, his hands paused at his hips.
Outside, he could hear you humming softly, some tune he didn’t recognise. Probably working on a mannequin while you waited. He turned toward the mirror, catching his reflection, and he hesitated.
What would you think if you saw him like this?
It was a stupid question, but it was still rooted in his mind. He looked at himself longer than he meant to. He wasn’t soft, not exactly, but he wasn’t built like the kind of man who hit the gym five days a week either. His body wasn’t bad. Broad shoulders, thick arms from years of heavy lifting and construction work, strong legs that could still carry their weight. But the soft curve of his stomach reminded him that he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He didn’t have the abs the guys in magazines did. Never had. His muscles were earned, not sculpted. His stomach was softer now than it was in his twenties, curved slightly under the line of his ribs. A bit of age. A bit of life. A bit of beer and second helpings.
He wondered if that would matter to someone like you. Someone younger, with sharp eyes, surrounded by beautiful things all day. Maybe that’s what you liked in people, too.
He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. He began to get dressed, pulling on the tailored trousers with care, then slipping his arms into the dark dress shirt. With the jacket on, he took a breath and turned to the mirror again to finally see himself. Dressed in all black. Clean lines. The structure emphasised his shoulders, slimmed his waist, and lengthened the line of his legs. The fit wasn’t perfect yet; he could feel it. A slight pull at the chest when he shifted his arms, the pants still a bit too long at the ankle. Even with that, it already looked very nice.
He stepped out from behind the curtain. You turned at the sound, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't speak, just looked him over, taking your time, top to bottom. Your eyes were focused, not just admiring but evaluating. Joel felt himself stand just a little bit straighter under your watchful eyes. Then you met his gaze and smiled, proud and a little pleased with yourself.
“Looking good Miller.”
He gave a small huff, not quite a laugh, and ran a hand down the front of the jacket, adjusting it more out of instinct than need. “That right?”
You crossed your arms, eyes lingering a second too long. “Mm-hmm. You fill it out nicely. Not every man can.”
He met your gaze, and a part of him wanted to ask: What makes me different, then? But he didn’t.
“How does the suit feel?” you asked, stepping a little closer.
“Feels good,” he said honestly. “I like it.”
Your smile in response was warm and unguarded, a look he really liked on you. “I’m glad.” You gestured toward the small raised platform. “Can you step up? I want to see you better.”
Joel nodded and moved into place, the soft creak of the wood under his feet the only sound for a moment. You circled him slowly, your practised eye sweeping over every seam and line, noting where the fabric hugged him right and where it didn’t.
You stepped in front of him again, pulling a small cushion of pins from your wrist. “Alright. I’ll need to mark some spots for adjustment. Don’t worry,” you added with a small grin, “I’ll be gentle.”
Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Hope so.”
You started at his shoulders, gently tugging at the fabric there, smoothing it, fingertips dragging just enough to feel the weight of him beneath. Joel stood still, solid as a statue, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened when your hand brushed the curve of his bicep.
You tugged gently on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Feels tight here?” you asked, brushing your fingers over the fabric along his upper arm.
Joel flexed just slightly. “A little. Not much.”
You nodded, pinching the seam to mark the alteration. “I’ll let it out a quarter inch. Should give you enough room to move.”
You stepped around him again, the scent of your perfume brushing past him as you moved behind. Sweet, like last time.
“Arms up,” you instructed gently.
He did, and you took that moment to tug at the fabric under the arms, smoothing it again against his body. Your fingers brushed lightly across the fabric at his back, marking something near his shoulder blade.
“Gonna open the jacket now,” you said, already reaching for the buttons. Your fingers worked them open one by one, and Joel didn’t move, just watched you, half entranced by the quiet focus on your face and the way your hands moved. He couldn't help but enjoy the sight of you. Couldn't help but think about how many times this week he'd imagined you late at night, undressing him slowly just like that.
You peeled the jacket back over his shoulders, and he slipped his arms free without a word. He passed it to you, and you handled it with care, folding it across one arm before setting it down neatly on the chair nearby. Then your eyes returned to him, checking how the shirt sat against his chest. You touched the buttons next, fingers sliding down the centre of his torso as if to test for tightness. You stopped near his belt line, fingers still resting there, the pressure light but still too heavy for Joel.
“Shirt fits pretty well already,” you said, glancing up at him again. “Though I might have to tighten the waist just a little.”
Joel’s voice came out low. “Whatever you think’s best.”
His hands itched to move, to adjust his watch, run a hand through his hair. Maybe even touch your waist. Just lightly, just once . But he kept them clenched at his sides.
“Alright,” you said, stepping back. “Let’s talk pants. How do they feel?”
“A little tight,” he admitted. “Mostly around the knees.”
“Okay… Take a few steps for me please? I want to see how they sit when you move.”
He nodded and stepped down from the wooden platform. He took a few slow steps toward you, then turned, walking away so you could assess the fit from behind.
You clicked your tongue softly. “Little extra fabric here. I’ll smooth it out for a cleaner line across the back.” You looked back at him with a smile. “Thank you. Go ahead and step back up.”
Joel obeyed without a word, and he barely had time to settle before you crouched in front of him. His breath caught in his throat, same as last time. Maybe worse.
Don’t move. Don’t think .
He stayed still, eyes anywhere but on you, barely breathing, as you pressed your fingers to the end of the pants, checking how the length sat around his ankles. “Little loose,” you murmured, half to yourself, before reaching for a pin.
You moved slowly, your hands travelling from the bottom hem upward. Fingertips smoothed fabric over his shins, then over his knees. You adjusted a small fold and pinned it, working with quiet concentration. When your fingers skimmed over the inside of his thigh, flattening the fabric there, he clenched his jaw.
“Fabric pulls here when you walk,” you said. “I’ll let it out just a bit.”
He nodded, stiff, afraid his voice would betray him if he opened his mouth.
“You alright?” you asked lightly, as if your fingers weren't getting closer to the most sensitive parts of him.
“Yeah,” he managed. “Just standin’ real still.”
“Mmh,” you hummed. “You’re doing great.”
And as your hands reached the top of his inseam, fussing with a pin just inches from his growing problem, Joel squeezed his eyes shut. He could already feel the unmistakable pressure building beneath his waistband. Half hard and rising, despite his best efforts to stay grounded. He just prayed you wouldn’t notice.
But of course you did.
“This part needs a bit of letting out,” you murmured, fingers brushing along the inseam. “Seems a bit tight here.”
Joel couldn’t help the low grunt in response. You looked up at him from where you knelt, chin tilted just slightly. Jesus, that view was killing him. How were you so pretty?
“Too tight?”
He cleared his throat, gaze snapping to some vague point across the room. Anywhere but you. “It’s fine.”
You smiled then, devastatingly slow, your fingertip resting right on the metal pull of his zipper. “Are you sure?” you teased. “That’s…quite a bulge.”
Your name slipped from his lips, rough, strained, close to a warning. “Don’t—”
You tilted your head, still kneeling before him, eyes full of feigned innocence that didn’t fool either of you. “Should I take that as a compliment to my work? Or…?”
“You…” he ground his teeth together, pulse pounding in his throat. “You need to stop sayin’ things like that…”
“Like what?”.
He let out a low, shaky breath, fists clenched so hard at his sides he could feel his nails dig into his palms. “You know damn well what.”
“Why?” you murmured, fingertips still teasingly close to the bulge straining against the front of the pants. You traced just a whisper of touch along the zipper line, and Joel felt his knees nearly give. He was getting painfully hard now. There was no denying it.
“Because,” he ground out, voice rough, “I’m gonna get ideas. Bad ones. I’m gonna start thinkin’…” He hesitated, almost embarrassed to let the words leave his mouth. “That you’re hittin’ on me or somethin’.”
You couldn’t help it; you laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound that made his cheeks flush hot, the tips of his ears burning, thinking you were mocking him. But then you looked up at him again, your smile still there but your eyes warm and serious. “Miller…” you breathed, half amused, half exasperated. “I am hitting on you.”
For a beat, Joel couldn’t breathe. The words hit him square in the chest. You were? It wasn’t just in his head? He wasn’t just some starved old man seeing what he wanted to see? Hearing what he wished to hear?
“Really ?” That was all he managed to say, as if he needed another confirmation.
Your smile deepened, and you shook your head, incredulous. “Oh my god, Miller. It’s not like i’m being subtle about it. I’ve been laying it on so thick I’m surprised you didn’t call me out sooner. I don’t think I’ve ever been less subtle in my damn life.”
He stared at you, still kneeling in front of him, one hand resting so casually on his thigh, the other one too close to his crotch and yet not close enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like confirming his wildest thoughts wasn’t shaking him to his core. It made him dizzy, made his mind go blank.
“Why?” he finally managed to ask, voice hoarse.
You tilted your head, studying him like you couldn’t believe he needed to ask. “Why am I hitting on you?” you repeated, and when he nodded, you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Have you seen yourself?”
He couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his lips, a faint, disbelieving grin breaking through. The way you looked at him, he saw it clearly now. Openly, hungrily, with the same wanting he’d tried so hard to bury, made him feel like a fool for ever doubting it. You’d been eyeing him, just like he’d been eyeing you. And now that he knew for sure, it was almost a relief, like a tension snapping loose in his chest.
“You told me you were single,” you went on. “And I just…I couldn’t help it. You bit your lip for a moment, then sighed. “Not the most professional thing I’ve ever done, I admit. I was worried last time I’d made you uncomfortable since you were so damn quiet… If it wasn’t for this ,” you let your eyes flick down pointedly to where the fabric of his pants was still straining against him. “I would’ve thought you weren’t interested.”
Joel gave a rough laugh, low in his chest. “Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” He loved the way your smile widened. How you could be even prettier, he had no idea. He wasn’t complaining, though.
“Mmm, I know. I can feel it.”
There was no pretence now, no false professionalism. Your hand slowly palmed him over the fabric, and Joel grunted, low and unfiltered, finally not having to refrain his reactions. His eyes slipped closed. He was so hard it hurt. So hard for you.
“These pants,” you said with a teasing hum, “are definitely too tight now.”
Joel let out something between a groan and a laugh, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch, searching for more friction, needing more friction.
But then, you took your hand away.
He opened his eyes, chest rising and falling a little faster now, searching your face for a reason. That voice in his head, the one that second-guessed everything, wondered if he’d misstepped, if he was being too eager, going too quick, too soon.
“I’m gonna need you to take off those pants,” you said, reaching for his zipper again. “Can’t risk you staining them.”
And just like that, the voice went quiet.
“Can't have that”, Joel agreed, his tone low and amused. He didn't need to be asked twice.
It was the right decision; he could feel the front of his boxer already stained from his leaking precum. He was almost surprised at his restraint, at how carefully he was slipping out of the pants, mindful not to damage your work. You helped guide the trousers off, taking the pants away when he was finally out of them, leaving him in his boxer where his aching cock was waiting diligently. You tossed the pants aside near the jacket, not even looking when they landed, never leaving your spot on your knees. Joel blinked at that, at how quickly you discarded them, as if your work was less important than what was in front of you. He grinned at your eagerness, as if your work was just an annoying barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. He liked this look on you, hunger mirroring his own. You looked up to him, your lips pursed a little, and he so wanted to kiss you. He was just about to ask if he could when you spoke first.
“Can I suck you off?” You asked then, and Joel felt like he could come right there. On your knees, your eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, asking him so sweetly was better than any dreams he could have.
“You don't have to–”
“I want to. I really want to. Please?”
Oh, he could definitely get used to the way you asked, the way you looked at him as if not being able to taste him right now would truly ruin your night.
“Of course. Fuck– Of course you can.”
Before he could say anything more, you pulled down the last remaining barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. Joel cock sprang free, throbbing against his stomach. You looked at his hard, thick length, the tip of it glistening with precum. There was something smug in your expression, something deeply satisfied, proud of having drawn that kind of reaction from him. Your eyes found his again, steady and unashamed, and the smile that curved your lips was so soft, so achingly pretty, Joel knew he’d be thinking about it for months. And then, without a word, you finally closed the distance.
Joel inhaled sharply as your lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, teasing his slit. A low growl slipped from his throat, and his hand instinctively tangled in your hair, both for balance and because he could finally touch you. He felt you hum against him in quiet approval, the sound sending a subtle shiver through him. You started bobbing your head, taking more and more of him in your warm, wet mouth. One hand still resting on his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit.
“That’s it… Yes, just like that…” Joel panted through heavy breaths.
The feeling of you was so fucking good, better than anything he could have fantasised. He kept his gaze on you, watching you through hooded eyes as you worked him. The sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sounds of your mouth with every thrust, it was almost too much for him to handle. When he felt you taking him a bit further, he rocked his hips slightly, feeling the back of your throat. It felt like heaven. Your nose was pressed against the dark patch of hair around the base of his cock, taking in his scent, your tongue playing around him. After a good moment choking on his length, you took him out of your mouth, catching your breath for a second, your hand never stopping pumping him.
“Taste better than I imagined,” you whispered, your eyes shining as you appreciated the dazed look on Joel's face before taking him back into your mouth.
Fuck. You’d imagined this too. You’d thought about tasting him, about doing exactly this. Had it crossed your mind last time, the same moment it crossed his? What else had you thought about? He wanted to know everything. Wanted to take those thoughts and make them a reality.
But then he felt your other hand palming his balls, applying just the right kind of pressure, and it was too perfect. Too close. He said your name in a low, rough growl, using every ounce of restraint he had to gently pull you back. You looked up at him, his hand still tangled in your hair, your lips swollen from working his length, a soft pout forming as you began to part them, to ask why. But before a single word escaped, he lowered himself toward you.
“If you keep going…I’m gonna cum like a freakin’ teenager,” Joel confessed, his voice strained. “And I really, really want to feel you come around my cock.”
And oh , if he could frame the way your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, the way your breath caught and grew heavier with each word he spoke. It was intoxicating, watching you unravel just from the sound of him.
“You want that?” He teased, voice low. “Want me to fuck you?”
“Miller, I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a knowing smile.
He scoffed, moving to join you on the floor, until you raised a finger to stop him.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Is that so I don’t ruin your work, or because you just want me naked for yourself?”
“Both, but mostly the latter,” you replied as he obeyed, peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his boxer and tossing them casually toward the pile of clothes.
He looked down at you, leaning back on the floor with your weight supported by your elbows, eyes locked on him. You were still fully dressed, and there he was, towering over you, as naked as one man can be.
“Well, I definitely feel underdressed now.”
You arched an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Are you? Kinda like this look on you.”
“I’m sure you do. You should try it too,” he said in the same playful tone as you. Then, lowering himself to the floor, he settled over you, his bare knees on the side of your still-clothed legs. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, tracing a path from your knee all the way to the buttons of your jeans. His finger lingered on the zipper, just like you had done earlier, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I can even help.”
“Such a gentleman,” you teased, sliding the soft cotton sweater you were wearing over your head and letting it fall away. Beneath it, you wore a delicate, lacy bra, the kind of lingerie that felt too intricate for an ordinary day, as if you’d picked it knowing someone special would see it today. Maybe you knew damn well what was going to happen. His eyes drifted over the curve of your breasts, a flicker of appreciation lighting up his gaze.
“Doing what I can now,” he murmured, leaning closer to you, “because I can’t promise I’ll be as much of a gentleman once I feel you around me.”
His fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was completely absorbed in every subtle reaction he could get from you, the way your breath hitched, the slight parting of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. At the same moment, you unclasped your bra, letting it slip off your shoulders and fall softly beside your sweater.
He felt his cock throbbing at the sight of your nipples perking for him, begging him to touch them, pinch them, bite them. He would do all that soon.
“Don’t want you to be,” you said at last.
Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling there with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat in his eyes. And then he pulled you to him with no hesitation, no second-guessing, and kissed you like he’d been holding back to do. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Certain. All the want and need for you crashing into that single moment. His lips pressed to yours, firm and consuming, and you met him just as fiercely, kissing him back like you’d been waiting for it just as long. Maybe you did. He hoped you did.
His hand cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, pulling a soft moan from you directly into his mouth. Such a pretty sound. He needed a thousand more of them.
His other hand slipped to the waistband of your open jeans, fingers curling around the edge. He glanced up at you, waiting for permission, but you were already nodding before he could ask. The two of you shared a quiet laugh at that same urgency mirrored in each other’s eyes. You lifted your hips, and he made quick work of pulling them down, your panties sliding off with them in one fluid motion.
Finally, you were as naked as he was. Joel took a moment, a full, reverent breath, to drink you in. The beauty of your body. The way heat seemed to radiate from your skin, all of it in response to him. A faint sheen of sweat kissed your collarbone, and it made him wonder how sweet you’d taste, how you’d shiver under his mouth.
His gaze dropped, lingering between your thighs. You followed his gaze, parting them for him, unashamed, the glisten of arousal right where you needed him most catching his eyes. He loved that. That confidence of yours. Loved how you showed him exactly where you wanted him, without any ounce of embarrassment. He needed to touch you. To taste you. To fuck you.
“The door?” he asked suddenly, the thought breaking through the haze. You weren’t exactly in a bedroom where he could do everything he wanted without caring about the outside world. The fitting area was tucked away from view, but still, Joel wasn’t in any rush to have a client , or worse, Frank, walk in on this.
“Closed it when you were changing,” you murmured against his neck, your lips trailing soft, warm kisses along his skin.
He let out a low chuckle. “Had everythin’ planned, didn’t you?”
You answered without words, just a playful nip at his bottom lip, pulling it gently between your teeth before letting go. Then you kissed him again, deeper this time, and when he opened his mouth to you, your tongue met his in a way that made Joel wonder if he had ever liked kissing someone more.
Two of his fingers went to your cunt, parting your glistening folds, and he exhaled shakily when he felt how wet you were. It was something to see it, it was something else to feel it. To feel the concrete evidence of how much you wanted this. How much you wanted him.
“All that just from havin’ me in your mouth ?” He murmured against your lips.
Your hand found his hair, fingers curling in deep before giving a playful tug, breaking the kiss for just a second.
“Was wet for you from the moment I saw you at the door.”
Joel couldn't help a half-choked breath. Eyes never leaving yours, His thumb found your clit immediately, pulling out a more than appreciative whimper out of you. His two fingers easily slid into your dripping cunt. He gave you a second to accommodate the intrusion of his fingers, kissing that spot just under your ear, before he started to pump them in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside of you.
“Feels good? He asked, even though the soft moans that kept escaping your soft lips were confirmation enough.
You nodded fervently, your hips moving in rhythm against his hand to feel his fingers deeper in you. You didn't have time to ask him; he gave in to you, circling your clit harder with his thumb as he picked up the pace. At the same time, his mouth explored your body, hungry to taste every inch of you. He trailed soft kisses to your jaw, under your ear, to your neck. His other hand went to your back, bringing you closer to him as his mouth met your hardened nipple, biting it, his teeth grazing perfectly. He drank in every sound you gave him, every breathy moan guiding his touch, telling him just how to please you. He could feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in ragged gasps, getting more and more shaky from his touch.
“Come on, beautiful… let go. I’ve got you.”
With a final thrust of his fingers, Joel sent you over the edge. You closed your eyes as the sensation overwhelmed you, white spots blurring your vision. Your pussy clamping around his digits, pulsing and contracting as you let out the most beautiful sound. Joel kept his thumb circling your clit, applying just enough pressure to let you ride out your orgasm. He held you there, his other hand still on your back, as you came down from your high.
When your breathing finally slowed down, His fingers left your cunt, and you whimpered at the sensation, already missing the feeling of fullness they brought you. You opened your eyes, as Joel's lips found yours, gently kissing you.
“Good ?” He whispered, holding you close.
You laughed sweetly, a sound he already knew he could never forget. “Perfect.”
Your hand found his cock, still as hard as before, just enough to pull a low moan deep in Joel’s throat. He needed to be inside you now.
“Fuck,” he realised at the same time, “I don't have a condom.”
Even though it was hardly the time to think about his brother, Joel couldn’t help but remember all the times Tommy told him to keep one in his wallet. In case you remember how to get your dick wet, brother! Fucking Tommy and his damn advice. But for once in his life, Joel really should’ve listened to him.
He felt your hand gently trace the line of his jaw, fingers brushing over his scratchy beard. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill…” You hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes. “If you want…”
He gulped. “Are you sure?”
“I really want you to fuck me, Miller”
He kissed you again, deeper and more urgently than before. He leaned over you, hands braced on either side of your head on the floor, pinning you gently beneath the weight of his broad frame. You brought his cock against your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit, a shared moan escaping from both of you at the sensation. Joel looked down at where he was nestled against your folds, your arousal coating his length. He couldn't look away as he started to push forward, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance.
“God, you're so tight… Just relax, beautiful.. Let me in.” He coaxed, one hand cupping your face tenderly.
He pressed his lips to yours, as if he couldn't stay away from you for too long, distracting you as you accommodated to his size. His other hand came up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound, his fingers teasing your nipple. Slowly, as if he were afraid to break you, he pressed deeper, feeling how perfectly you were taking him, your walls gripping his cock.
“Fuck– You're so–” You were a breathless mess beneath him, words tumbling out in fragments. “You're so big…”
“I know Baby… I know.”
He felt the way you tightened around him at the petname, and his lips curled into a knowing smile against yours. Finally, he hilted himself entirely inside you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. He had to wait a second before he could move again, waiting for you to relax and for him to take a second to breathe, or he would be coming undone too quickly. You just felt so good around him, so tight and perfect. When he felt both your breathing steadying, he slowly withdrew his cock until only his tip was still inside you. You whimpered under him, your hips begging him to come back. He kept you there for a second, his hands grabbing your hips hard, fingers digging so tightly it wouldn't be surprising if you bruised there tomorrow. Joel liked the idea of you having a reminder of this, of him.
“What’s it that you said last week, uh?” He taunted, your eyes fluttering open to watch him. “When you were riling me up and I was doing everythin’ to be good?”
You mumbled something incoherent, too focused on trying to get more of him inside of you, to feel that delicious stretch again. You didn't care about last week; you cared about him, right now, but Joel's grin grew wider.
“Oh yeah, I remember… I need every inch.” he cooed, imitating your voice. “Yeah, you fucking do.”
And then he slammed back in you, his cock hitting the deepest part of you. You let out a cry as the sensation, your arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders to bring him closer to you. He gripped your hips with a low growl, pulling you flush against him as he pounded in you, wanting to go deeper with each thrusts.
“Joel–” you mewled between whines. “Oh fuck!”.
He wasn’t sure his name had ever sounded that good on anyone’s lips.
“Again.”
You blinked up at him, dazed. “Uh?”
“My name. Say it again.”
So you did, singing his name like it was the only word that you could remember as he kept snapping his hips against yours. His name a desperate plea, a prayer. Joel Joel Joel.
For a moment, the shop was nothing but the sound of your voice crying out his name, the raw slap of skin against skin, and the rough, reverent praise he growled into your ear.
Doin’ so good for me, baby.
You feel incredible… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful
Sweet pussy so tight for me, so perfect..
Joel leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling the sensitive bud. His pace didn't falter, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.
“I'm.. Joel–” You gasped under him. “ Fuck Joel– I'm close…”
He could feel you tightening around him, your body tensing as you got closer to your release. His own orgasm was building, threatening to overcome with every sound you made for him, but he was holding back, determined to make you come first, to give you the pleasure you deserved. His hand travelled to your clit, his thumb moving in half circles, making your whole body shake with pleasure.
“Come for me, baby, please,” Joel said in a choked exhale. “I want– I need to feel you come on my cock.”
Your cunt clutched around him at his words, your sweet moans filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Joel swore he was brought to this earth to hear those sounds. The sensation of you, fluttering around him, his name escaping your lips as you did, was his undoing. He couldn't hold himself any longer. He knew you could feel it too, your eyes opening to watch him, your hand grabbing his arm instinctively.
“Baby…” Joel started, but he didn't have time to ask.
“Inside. Please, come inside me.”
And if Joel were a better man, he might have refused. But in this moment, all he could feel was you, so tight, so perfectly made for him. So he wasn’t a better man, and honestly, he’d already made his peace with that if it meant having you. He buried himself deep with a final slap of his hips, his cock pulsing as he came hard inside you, your name leaving his lips as his hips jerked with each spurt of his release. He kept grinding against you, working his cock in and out of you as long as he could, prolonging both your orgasms. He could feel your mixed come seeping out of you around his cock with every movement. It was filthy. You both loved it.
You grabbed his hair, pulling him down to capture his lips in an eager kiss as both your orgasms started to subside. His thrusts finally slowed down to a stop. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and glistening with sweat. You looked at each other, both with a satisfied smile on your lips.
“That was–”
“Fucking amazing,” you finished for him, and the two of you laughed gently.
He finally pulled out of you with a satisfied grin, not without appreciating the sight of his cum slowly making its way out of you. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, noticing how you watched him do it with appreciative eyes. Finally, he rolled on his back next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other on the wooden floor of the shop.
He turned his face toward you, only to find you already watching him, your body instinctively angled in his direction. Your eyes met his in a shared, dazed gaze as his chest finally slowed down. A strand of hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat, and he gently brushed it back, tucking it away. When his hand lingered to cup your cheek, you leaned into his touch without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I…” Joel paused, unsure what the hell he was supposed to say now. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Me neither,” you said, brushing a quick kiss to his lips, too quick for his liking. “Believe me, Miller, you’re the only client I’ve ever crossed the line with. The only one I’ve ever wanted to.”
“You’re gonna make me blush,” he muttered, meaning it as a joke, but it landed closer to the truth than he expected.
Because knowing you found him attractive enough to make a move, multiples even, to risk the usual boundaries, to toss professionalism aside just to see if the attraction was mutual? It set something warm in his gut, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was sure it wouldn't go away for a long time, didn't want it to.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you teased, reaching for a nearby scrap of fabric nearby to clean the mess between your legs. Joel briefly wondered if the small cloth was something expensive, but you didn’t seem to care, and he didn’t ask. His attention was caught instead by the way the fabric darkened with your shared release, the evidence of how deep he was inside you just moments before.
“I never blushed,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to your face, though the spark in your eyes told him you were just as affected as he was by the sight.
“Don’t go all shy on me now. I liked watching you try to keep it together. You were cute, trying so hard to hide it.”
“I thought I was being subtle,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed.
“Oh, sure,” you smiled, shifting closer and letting your fingers trail lightly over his chest as you tilted your head toward his. “ So subtle. You know, most clients don’t moan when I measure their inseam.”
His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing on you. “I didn’t moan.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Did he? God, he wasn't sure.
You gave him a wicked little smile, and he couldn’t help but pull you closer, guiding you fully onto him. The warm press of your still bare skin against his made something in him settle, his thoughts only focused on how good you felt. He kissed you again, slower this time, unrushed simply because he could. Because you were there, perfect and fitting against him as if you were meant to.
“Fuck,” Joel cursed softly between two kisses, “If I’d known a proper suit would lead to this, to you… I would have come sooner.”
You giggled softly against his lips before turning your head toward the scattered pile of clothes on the floor, just a few feet away. Joel felt you shift slightly against him, and his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back.
“I really hope we didn’t ruin the suit,” you said, glancing back at him with a hint of concern. “Should’ve been more careful with it. I seriously don’t have time to fix any major damage.”
“‘S my fault. Gave you an awful deadline, and then here I am keeping you away from your work. I’m a terrible client.”
He gave you a sheepish smile, and you let out a quiet laugh. “Then I must be a terrible tailor,” you replied, “because I really, really like when you keep me away.”
Joel felt something tighten in his chest. Did you even know what you were doing to him? He wondered if you could feel the way his heart beat harder beneath your hand, like it was answering only to you. You were funny, kind, ridiculously talented, and so damn beautiful. Was it foolish of him to think this felt like more than a simple moment of pleasure? To hope this wasn’t just a one-time thing? He wanted more. To see you again, outside this shop. Somewhere he could be the one to make you blush.
You were saying something about the deadline, about how the wedding was creeping closer when Joel cut you off.
“You should come with me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“To the weddin’. You should come with me.”
“You want me to… come to the wedding? With you?”
Joel shifted, sitting up and taking you with him, guiding you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He pressed a slow kiss to the curve of your neck. He couldn’t help himself, not with your skin so close and inviting.
“I do,” he murmured against your skin, then pulled back, needing to see your face, to gauge what you were thinking. The look you gave him was unreadable, and it made his stomach twist just a little. “I mean–yeah, I probably got the order a little backwards. Should’ve taken you out first, done this right,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “But better late than never, right? And… I do have a plus one.”
There was a beat of silence where you just looked at Joel, expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too far and ruined whatever moment you were having. But then you gave him a curious smile.
“You want to take me on a first date to a wedding?”
He tensed, trying to sound casual. “Too weird?”
“Between that and the suit,” you teased, “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for rushing things.”
He let out a quiet breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Forget the weddin’, then. Just…let me take you out. A real date. Please,” he added, the word slipping out faster than he meant to, a flash of uncertainty creeping in. Maybe this was just a one-time thing for you?
You didn’t answer right away, and Joel braced himself for the gentle letdown. But then you said, “Once your suit’s done… I should have some time for a real date.”
Joel smiled instantly. A real, full smile. The kind he rarely gave. The kind that pulled out that faint dimple Sarah always teased him about. You couldn't help but smile back, warmed by the sight of it.
“By the way,” you said, shifting slightly on top of him, “I think you should come get your suit the morning of the wedding if that’s okay with you? I know it’s a little last minute, but I really want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”
Joel nodded as he leaned back on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you spoke. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore, but looking at you, naked and perched over his waist, your tits rising slightly with each breath, your pussy still wet from and for him, he knew it wouldn’t take him long to be ready for another round. His hands itched to reach for you again, to be inside you one more time.
But before he could entertain the idea, the familiar sound of his ringtone cut through the moment. You glanced toward the sound with a knowing smile still on your lips — the same lips he hadn’t finished kissing yet.
Joel let out a low groan as he stood, dragging himself away from the warmth of your body. He stepped back toward the pile of clothing, finding his discarded jeans and fishing out his phone. Tommy’s name lit up the screen.
Of course it was his brother.
Joel shot you an apologetic look before answering. “What’s up Tommy?” he said, his eyes still trained on you. You were propped on your elbows, unabashedly ogling his nakedness without any shame. He liked this look on you.
“Hey Joel. Sorry to bother, I know you're at your appointment,” Tommy started, “but when do you think you'll be headin' home?
Joel’s stomach dropped. Tommy was at his place, keeping an eye on Sarah. His brother never called when he was babysitting. Never needed to. “Why?” he asked sharply, already reaching for his jeans. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is Sarah okay?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you rising to your feet, your expression shifting. You were gathering your clothes quietly, understanding without needing to ask that whatever you’d just shared had been cut short. He hated that, almost as much as the panic twisting in his chest.
“She’s okay,” Tommy said on the other end, his voice calm but laced with that careful tone people used when they didn’t want you to panic. “She’s got a bit of a fever. Nothin’ serious, I swear. Gave her some medicine, but she’s restless…won’t go to sleep.”
Joel’s chest tightened. He pictured Sarah, his sweet girl, curled up under a blanket, cheeks flushed, sniffling and tossing in bed. She needed him. She always had, and he needed to be there, to hold her hand, stroke her hair, whisper that everything was going to be alright.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, already tugging on his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be home in twenty.”
After a quick see you soon from his brother, Joel ended the call, patting his pocket to make sure his car keys were still there and not lost somewhere on the floor, before grabbing his jacket. When he turned around, you were already dressed just like him, but barely put back together. Anyone walking in could tell what had happened between you. Both of you were flushed, your hair a mess, lips still swollen from kissing, skins still glistening and carrying the scent of each other... God, he didn’t want to leave. Not when all he could think about was pulling you close again, hearing those filthy little sounds you made, and finally bending you over that damn counter the way he’d imagined since he first walked in. But reality tugged at him harder. He had to go: Sarah was waiting.
And somehow, like you could hear every unspoken thought racing through his head, you gave him a soft, knowing smile.
“Go. It’s okay,” you said softly, stepping closer and resting your hand over his chest for just a moment.
“I’m sorry–” Joel murmured, but you were already shaking your head.
“Don’t be. You’ve got important things to do… and so do I.” You nodded toward the half-finished suit waiting on the floor. “Need to make sure we didn’t pop any stitches. The deadline’s already tight enough.”
A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. “Can’t have that.”
He lingered for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a brief but meaningful kiss to your lips.
“See you the day of the weddin’?”
You hummed against his mouth, smiling. “Yes. Now go,” you said, stepping back from him like it took as much willpower for you to leave this moment as it did for him.
He never hated the sound of the bell above the door more than that night.
The wedding was nothing short of beautiful. Tommy and Maria exchanged their vows in a rustic, converted barn just south of Austin, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends. Sarah served as the flower girl, her laughter ringing out as she gracefully walked down the aisle in a beautiful purple dress. Standing beside his brother as best man, Joel felt his chest swell with a fierce, tender love watching his daughter so carefree and happy. He caught every word Tommy spoke, his little brother’s voice usually so steady and confident, cracking just slightly with emotion as he vowed his love to his now wife. Many wiped away tears as the couple finally said "I do" beneath a canopy of flowers and fading sunlight.
It might have been the perfect day, if not for one thing. Or rather, the absence of one person. Yours.
Joel never saw you that morning. He’d thought about you all week, a constant pull deep in his chest, forcing himself not to swing by the shop just for a glimpse of you. Instead, he threw himself into work and wedding prep, trying to dull the itch of missing you. He cursed himself daily for not asking for your number. One night, when the longing twisted too sharply in his chest, he searched online and found the shop’s listed phone, but the thought of Frank picking up stopped him cold. He didn’t want to seem overeager, didn’t want to scare you off with his restlessness. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, since wanting someone had felt this easy and this terrifying. He missed your voice. Your laugh. The press of your body against his. And though he was certain Tommy had picked up on the shift in his mood, for once his brother didn’t tease, too focused on the biggest day of his life fast approaching.
So to say Joel had been eager to get to the shop that morning would’ve been a massive understatement. The nice cologne had been used again and he looked more put together than he had the week before, groomed for the wedding later that day but thinking only of you. He wanted to see your eyes on him again. Wanted to know if you’d look at him like you had last time, to know if you wanted him just as much.
It was the only thing on his mind as he pushed open the shop door. But instead of finding you behind the counter, he saw Frank. Joel’s heart sank a little, though he tried not to show it. Still, he asked, as casually as he could, if you were in the back, maybe finishing up the final touches. But the look on Frank’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth.
You weren’t there.
Joel’s stomach dropped. You hadn’t kept your word. Well… "word" was a bit of a stretch, you hadn’t promised exactly, but he’d clung to that moment, to your smile and the softness in your voice when you said you’d see him on the morning of the wedding. He’d replayed it more times than he cared to admit.
He must not have hidden the disappointment well, because Frank cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice more gentle than Joel expected.
“She was working on it ‘til late this morning,” he said. “Pushed herself too hard, I think. Took the day off to rest. But it was worth it… the suit looks incredible. One of her best, if you ask me.”
So that was it. You weren’t here because of him. The irony of it twisted something in his chest.
Frank disappeared into the back to retrieve the suit, leaving Joel alone with the silence of the shop. His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the spot on the floor where just days ago your bodies had been tangled together, breathless and blissful.
Would he see you again? Should he wait for you to reach out? Or come back in a few days with some excuses in hope of catching you?
Maybe this was your way of letting him down easy, skipping this morning to avoid saying it out loud. Maybe agreeing to the date was something you said in the moment to smooth the goodbye. Joel wasn’t sure which version stung worse: the possibility that you didn’t mean it, or that you had… but changed your mind.
Still, he tried to tell himself he was lucky. That if this was the end, at least it ended on a high note, one that had kept him awake in bed most nights this week, haunted him in the shower, followed him even in his truck one morning when the memory of you was getting too much.
Frank reappeared, the suit neatly encased in a protective garment bag. After settling the payment, Joel took it with equal care. Hands steady, heart anything but. There was a strange mix bubbling in his chest: anticipation to see the final product you’d worked so hard on… and the quiet ache of knowing you weren’t here to show it to him.
He was about to thank Frank and say goodbye when the older man stopped him, reaching behind the counter.
“Hold on,” Frank said, offering a small box with a knowing smile. “She picked this out for you. Took her time with it.”
Joel’s brows drew together in confusion as he gently opened the box. Inside was an elegant, perfectly folded green pocket square. He stared at it for a moment, thinking back to the first appointment with you. That made his throat tighten. With everything going on, he had never told you what colour he wanted. This choice, this detail, was all yours.
You'd thought of him.
Perhaps you meant what you said, and maybe you’d been thinking about him just like he’d been thinking about you. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d be coming back, there was no question about it now. He wasn’t going to let this — you — become a fleeting moment. Not when it could be something more.
He looked around the shop one last time, his gaze lingering on the space where he’d kissed you last, a moment he had replayed more times than he’d admit. With a soft exhale, he nodded to Frank.
“Tell her thank you… for everything,” Joel said quietly.
“Will do,” Frank replied with a knowing look.
The bell above the door jingled as Joel stepped out into the sunlight, suit in one hand, pocket square in the other.
When he put it on the suit later that day, standing in front of a mirror in Tommy’s room, he allowed himself to smile. The final suit was beautiful, more than Joel could have imagined. Every stitch was precise, every seam perfectly aligned. He could feel the care you'd poured into it, the way it moulded to him like it had been made by someone who knew him intimately. And, in some ways, you did.
He looked good, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Tommy let out a low whistle when he caught sight of him. “Well, damn,” he laughed, clapping a hand on Joel’s back. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this good.”
Then came Sarah, who gasped the moment she saw him. “You look so handsome, Dad!” she giggled, running into his arms. He picked her up easily, heart swelling as she beamed at him so wide in her pretty flower girl dress.
Throughout the reception, a few other guests surprised Joel with compliments. Some people he knew, some others he didn't. A few words on the quality of the suit, or just telling him how handsome he looked tonight. He wasn't used to this kind of attention; he was a man usually more at home in jeans and work boots, and felt a rare heat rise to his cheeks with each kind word. It was a strange thing, being the centre of attention, but beneath the initial awkwardness was something deeper. Some kind of pride. Not just in himself, but in you . People were admiring your work, and by extension, they were seeing him the way you had.
Joel was leaning against the bar, his eyes on the dance floor where Tommy and Sarah were spinning in tight little circles. His daughter stood on her uncle’s feet, clinging to his hands as she laughed with that bright, unfiltered joy only kids could muster. Her giggles rose above the music, and Joel couldn’t help but smile into his glass as he took another sip of whiskey. He wondered how long he had before Sarah would come barreling back to pull him out for another dance. At least now, in this new suit, he wouldn’t look like a wrinkled mess doing it. The thought of the old thing made him grimace; he would’ve been sweating through it by now.
He adjusted that deep green pocket square you'd picked for him as his mind drifted again. To you. It kept happening every time someone complimented him tonight, when a couple swayed close together, and he imagined you in his arms instead. When he caught sight of that guy across the room, who looked vaguely like Frank, when–
“I do love a man in a suit,” a soft voice said behind him. “Even more when I’m the one who put him in it.”
Joel turned so fast he nearly knocked over his drink, his heart jumping into his throat. His eyes widened the moment he saw you. There you were, smiling at him like a dream.
“Hi, Joel,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. You were in a stunning green dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Just devastly beautiful. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried out before they could form. Before he could ask you anything, How did you get here? How are you even more beautiful than last time? Did you miss me like I missed you? A voice from the side cut in.
“There you are!” Maria’s arms were suddenly around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was starting to think you’d skip the whole thing.”
“I missed the ceremony already,” you said with light guilt showing in your voice, pulling back and taking in her look, “I couldn’t possibly skip the party too.” Your eyes lit up as you looked her over. “You look incredible . That dress…it’s perfect on you.”
Maria grinned and spun in place, holding out the sides of her dress as if she were on a stage. “I know, right?” she said with an almost disbelieving laugh. Then, eyes shining, she added, “Can you believe it? I’m married !”
You leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations.”
It wasn’t until the laughter faded that the two of you seemed to remember the man standing just a few steps away, watching in silence. Slowly, you turned back toward Joel. He was staring between you and Maria like he was trying to solve a puzzle he was missing a piece of. You. At the wedding. Hugging Maria like you belonged here.
Maria glanced over and smiled. “I believe you two have met?”
“We did,” Joel prayed his voice didn’t betray his confusion.
You looked at him calmly, maybe even amused by his reaction. “How are you liking the suit Miller?”
Joel met your eyes. “It’s perfect,” he answered truthfully. The way your smile deepened at his words made something in him stumble. His heart, maybe.
“He really does look amazing,” Maria added, throwing you a sincere look. “You did such a great job. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
You held Maria’s gaze for a beat before turning your eyes back to Joel, something unmistakably teasing flickering behind them. “Not at all,” you said, your voice smooth. “He was very… memorable.”
Joel swore the collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight. His hand instinctively tugged at it as a flush crept up his neck. Before he could say anything, someone called out Maria’s name from across the dance floor. She gave your hand a quick squeeze before she was swept away into the crowd, off to hug another relative or accept another congratulations.
You turned toward the bar, ordering something light and fizzy from the bartender and Joel’s eyes followed you, tracing the line of your dress, the way the soft fabric hugged every part of you he hadn’t stopped thinking about all week. Just minutes ago, he’d been wondering if he’d ever see you again. Now here you were, real and stunning and close enough to touch.
He stepped closer, barely thinking before the words left his mouth. “You’re here.”
You turned, now holding your drink, and leaned against the wooden bar as you gave him a faint smile. “I’m here.”
“I don’t understand…” Joel admitted as he mirrored your position. “You know Maria?”
“Old friend from college…well, roommate actually,” you said with a small shrug, watching him closely. “Honestly, I thought you knew, since she’s the one who sent you to me. Well… I did right up until you invited me to the wedding.”
Joel huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “A weddin’ you were already invited to,” he said, shaking his head.
You gave a small, almost guilty nod, lips tugging into the faintest smile.
Joel stared at you for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Your eyes lingered on his, a teasing glint there, but also something warmer underneath. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Joel’s smile twitched at the corners, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is that why you weren’t there this mornin’?”
You winced just slightly at his words. The regret in your expression was clear, and you stepped in closer. Close enough that he noticed your perfume was different from what clung to his memory. Spicier, but just as enticing. It wrapped around him, and it made him ache to lean in, press his mouth to the hollow of your neck and find out if it tasted the same.
Your fingers brushed the front of his vest, then slowly traced down the line of his jacket. Joel felt his pulse stutter. “I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I really meant to be there. But I was working on this until the sun came up.” You gave the lapel a small tug, grounding your words. “I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to be any good for the party tonight and–”
“And you knew you’d see me tonight,” Joel finished for you, his voice laced with something hopeful he couldn’t quite hide.
You nodded, your hand still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes followed the movement as your fingers drifted downward until they found the silk of his pocket square. You let your touch linger, smoothing the fabric with a kind of absent affection that made his heart thud harder in his chest. His gaze flicked between your hand and your face, catching the subtle lift of your lips as your smile teased at the corners.
“It’s the same colour,” he finally murmured, more for himself than for you, as he glanced between the green silk and your dress in that same shade.
You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze fully. The smile you gave him wasn’t coy. It was bold, just like you.
“Did you… pick this so I’d match you?” he asked then, his voice a little breathless.
“Maybe,” you said in a softvoice, eyes not leaving him. “I wanted to see if you'd wear a little piece of me.”
Joel swallowed hard, warmth blooming in his chest. It was something he’d nearly forgotten how to feel, to be this openly wanted. He wanted to reach for you. To rest his palm against your cheek just to see if you’d lean into the touch. He wanted to kiss those tempting lips of yours, just to feel that low, breathy sound you made when he last had the pleasure of touching you. He wanted to take your hand and find somewhere quiet, somewhere he could reach under that dress and do everything he’d been thinking about since last week. But the night still belonged to his family, and he didn't want to be that guy missing out on this special occasion.
He turned his head, letting his eyes follow the sound of Sarah’s laughter. She was still on the dance floor, now sandwiched between Tommy and Maria, the three of them a perfect painting of joy. And then his gaze slid back to you. Somehow, he was sure the canvas could only be better if he took your hand and led you into the light. Would you let him?
“Does Maria know?” Joel wondered, nodding subtly toward the bride.
You didn’t even blink. “About you fucking me dumb on the shop floor?” you said casually, and Joel nearly choked on nothing but air, coughing into his fist.“No, didn’t really come up yet.”
“Yet?”
“Mmhm.” You nodded slowly. “I mean, you’re still taking me out on that date, right? Then I’ll consider telling her…if it goes well, of course.”
“Of course,” Joel echoed, his hand settling gently at your waist, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your dress. Just then, the music that was playing faded into something softer just in time for Joel to lean in and ask: “Can I have this dance?”
You raised a teasing brow. “You got moves, Miller?”
“Plenty of 'em.”
“Perfect, I’ve been waiting to see this suit in action,” you smiled as Joel took your hand, guiding you toward the dance floor. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur only for him. “But I do have a question about it…”
Joel raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
“Will you let me take it off you later?”
Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :)
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: Ellie nods, a pensive look across her face, and she looks up at the sky, thinking. “He’s different now. Lighter. Like, he’s not carrying something heavy all the time. I used to think he’d never recover from losing Sar—his daughter. And then with everything that happened with me. But now he like… smiles.”
Chapter Warnings: smut, kitchen table sex, joel miller kissing you while he cooks because i can't get that scene from superman outta my head, angst, an argument, joel miller stop needing to control people challenge, hints of a panic attack
Words: 6,200
A/N: Whoooooaaaa-oooaaaa. I really struggled with this chapter until it all kinda clicked into place. Uh. Enjoy the angst. It's important. People build walls around themselves for different reasons, and sometimes they need to be broken down with tense conversations, love, and understanding... or sometimes Joel wants control and he can't get it.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
You settle into a familiar and comfortable routine. A simple life such as this, mostly free from fear or danger, was unheard of until you found Jackson. Happiness and love begin and end your days, all thanks to Joel.
Now, you wake up to the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor and the smell of your peppermint tea that he brews for you every morning. He’s always the first up now, rousing you with gentle hands and a low “C’mon baby, you gotta get up. I’m headin’ to work.”
Yes, work. Joel Miller, Jackson’s resident contractor know-it-all, is back at work, helping out on the new houses being renovated near the edge of the walls. It’s only been a week, and he only works for a few hours, nothing too difficult, nothing too strenuous, but still, quite an accomplishment for the man who couldn’t walk just eight months ago. You’re proud of him, and you’re sure he’s proud of himself, his slight, confident smile telling you he’s had a good day at work whenever you ask him.
Thanks to a slow day at the clinic, you get home earlier than expected. Joel isn’t on the porch or inside. You’re confused until you hear the high-pitched squeak of Ellie’s laughter in the backyard. You walk out the back door, squinting from the bright August sun beating down. There’s a half-built structure made out of a thick aspen branch with a flat, wooden platform attached to its side that Joel’s currently putting together.
“Hey,” you greet.
“Shit!” Ellie shouts, trying to block the mystery wooden creation.
Joel turns his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re home early.”
“I am,” you say, stepping forward and arching an eyebrow at him. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It is,” Ellie says.
“Ellie,” Joel barks.
“Hey, man, you wanted to surprise her.”
“Surprise me? With what?” you respond, folding your arms over your chest.
“A cat tower,” Joel says, he and Ellie stepping aside. “S’not done yet, but I figured, Jefferson would like it.”
You smile at the shy way he says Jefferson’s name, the way he’s already been planning for the kitten you’ll be bringing home next week.
“Really?” you ask.
“Just have to wrap some twine around the scratching post, then install the joist hangers for the second platform. The base and platform should probably get a chamfer edge for safety in case he bumps into it too hard, and I’ll probably add a cross bracing for some extra suppor—” he glances over at you, a hint of redness in his cheeks when he realizes you have zero clue what he’s saying. “It’s… not done yet, but it will be soon.”
“And then he gets to build another for Jefferson’s sister,” Ellie says, a wide smile lifting her lips. “My kitten, Sally fuckin’ Ride.”
“Ellie,” Joel sighs.
“What? That’s her name,” she responds, shaking her head.
“It’s a great name,” you say. “I love that Jefferson and Sally will get to be neighbors.”
Ellie beams with pride. “Me too. So, ya’ know, since the cat tower is out of its bag, you no longer need my help. I’m going inside out of this heat,” she says, already moving to her front door before Joel even answers.
“Go ahead,” Joel says. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime,” she yells back, before she disappears behind her door.
You step closer to what Joel and Ellie have accomplished so far, running your hand along the smooth wood of the platform, imagining a little black and white cat perched on it, looking out the front window.
“It’s beautiful,” you say.
“Really wanted to surprise you with it once it’s done,” he sighs.
“Mm, but now that I know you’re making it, I can start on a small mat for the top. That way it’ll be soft for him.”
Joel wraps his arm around you; he smells of sawdust and sweat, and you fight the urge to nuzzle your head against his chest.
“I like that,” he says, kissing the top of your head before he goes back to working.
You watch him, sanding the platform edges smoother, his large hands working delicately. You’re beginning to see the hint of the old Joel, the Joel you never knew. He’s stronger, more confident, and always focused on the task at hand. He steps back, thumb pressed at his jawline as he studies his work.
“Done for the day?” you ask.
“I could be,” he says, looking over at you. “Why?”
“Because I want a shower,” you say, holding out your hand to him, “and you know I just hate showering alone.”
The sandpaper drops out of Joel’s hand as he stalks towards you, practically pushing you inside and up the steps.
—-
The clatter of plates, the smell of pancakes and bacon, and a cacophony of conversations echoing off the dark wood walls. An almost too-faded memory of his life before. There was once a time when Joel was sitting across a table from his little girl after a soccer game, her jersey speckled with powdered sugar from her Belgian waffle, while he enjoyed the one splurge he’d allow himself, a plate of steak and eggs with extra hash browns and a black coffee.
Now, he sits across from you, clad in one of his flannels, a smile on your pretty face, waiting for your first meal out together… breakfast at the Tipsy Bison. He wasn’t sure if you two were even going to make it in time, especially after you woke up and climbed on top of him this morning. “We’re gonna miss breakfast ‘n we already slept in,” he lazily reasoned, not attempting to stop you from pulling his pants down.
“Can’t believe we almost missed this,” you muse with a smile on your face. He can tell you’re excited by the concept, having someone else tend to both of you, and a glimpse of life before. A restaurant is unheard of in the apocalypse, but Jackson allows such extraordinary things to happen.
Seth sets your plates down with a curt nod and a tiny bottle of syrup, the true luxury of Jackson. Joel acquiesces, with a serious look. That’s the thing about living in a town: he might have to work with a guy, but it doesn’t mean he has to like him.
Seth turns to you, giving you a soft smile Joel’s never seen across his face, thanking you for taking good care of his grandson when he was sick. You’re so well-liked by everyone, even grumpy assholes like Seth seem to soften when they’re around you.
He watches you pour the syrup over your pancakes, slow and methodical, coating the fluffy pancakes in golden syrup. He can’t hide his wide smile.
“What?” you ask, picking up your fork, poised to take a first bite.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just happy.”
You grin. “Me too.”
You give him your slices of bacon, and he foregoes syrup on his pancakes for you to have more. Every so often, you nudge his ankle under the table. This might just be the best plate of pancakes and eggs he’s ever had.
When you’re done, and weaving your way through the tables to leave, you grab his hand in the middle of the crowd. It’s an almost sense of pride he gets when you’re seen with him. Joel’s never been much of a showoff, but there’s something about being in public with your hand in his, and the way people look when they realize that you’re with him.
—-
You’re sitting outside on the back porch, enjoying the cool evening air as you knit Jefferson’s mat for his cat tree, when the familiar slam of Ellie’s door catches your attention. It’s never done in anger or frustration, just… in a “that’s how Ellie shuts doors” way.
“Hey,” she greets, walking over.
“Hey you,” you say, smiling. “Where you headed?”
“Headed to Dina’s for the night.”
“Oh,” you respond, acting nonchalant at the divulgence of Ellie and Dina’s obvious relationship. “That sounds nice. I hope you have a good time.”
“Thanks,” she says, before thinking for a bit. “Does it ever surprise you?”
“Hm?”
“Does it ever surprise you that you found Joel?” she asks, leaning against the stair railing. “That you kinda just showed up one day and then totally saved a dude’s life?”
“Whoa, that’s deep.”
“I know, sorry, just, I don’t know, like, sometimes I think about how easily things could've gone differently. Like, what if you hadn't been here when he got hurt? What if you hadn't come to Jackson at all?"
You smile at Ellie, understanding her thoughts. You think about it all the time, too.
“In this world, we can ask to understand a lot of what-ifs. I like to think that if it’s supposed to happen, it’ll find a way to happen.”
“Yeah?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Look at you and Joel. You also found each other, right?"
She nods, a pensive look across her face, and she looks up at the sky, thinking. “He’s different now. Lighter. Like, he’s not carrying something heavy all the time. I used to think he’d never recover from losing Sar—his daughter. And then with everything that happened with me. But now he like… smiles.”
You nod, understanding the overwhelming weight of what she’s sharing. You place your knitting needles in your lap. “Joel hardly mentions her. Tommy told me about her in the early days. He’d say her name while dreaming a lot.”
Ellie still looks skywards, almost lost in her thoughts. “He was… different before. Like so different. Kind of an asshole.”
“Noooo,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, but really. He was…yikes. I think you’ve changed him, and I feel like… I should thank you for that.”
You swallow the lump of emotion in your throat. Ellie, the girl you know Joel would move mountains for, is thanking you.
"You don't need to thank me. I'm the lucky one."
“He used to be so closed off and almost miserable all the time. Now he's building cat towers and smiling and shit. It’s really nice to see."
“I’m sure it is,” you smile.
“I should go. Dina’s waiting.”
“Of course, Ellie, have fun.”
When you head back inside, Joel is sitting at the kitchen table, dicing tomatoes for dinner. The familiar site of domesticity that you share with him makes your heart feel full.
“Took you a while,” he says.
“Ellie was leaving to head to Dina’s for the night, I was talking to her for a bit.”
“Oh? ‘Bout what?”
“Hmm,” you ponder, walking towards him. “She was asking me if it ever surprises me how we met…”
“What’d you tell her?” he asks, setting the knife down and scooting his chair back from the table.
“That some things are meant to happen,” you respond, stepping in between his legs. “She then told me she thinks you’re different now. Lighter.”
“Feel different,” he responds, wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on your stomach to look up at you.
You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “And she thanked me for that.”
“You did change me, baby,” he says, staring up at you, with those deep, brown eyes you love so much. “You saved me.”
The sky outside is turning golden as the sun begins to set behind the mountains. Joel looks even more bronzed and gorgeous in this light. Your handsome Joel, the man who has given you his heart… the same heart you restarted.
—-
Joel’s found a new love in cooking for you; he’s no gourmet chef, but he handles the basics well. Most of all, he can tell you love watching him.
Tonight, he's making spaghetti while you sit on the countertop, your legs dangling right next to where he stirs the sauce on the stove.
"How do you always know when I'm craving pasta?" you ask.
He turns towards you, holding the spoon. "I always know you're craving pasta."
"I guess you know me well, don't you?"
He nods with a "Hmm" before moving to stand between your legs, crowding you against the cupboard. "Guess," he kisses you, "I," another kiss, "do," and a third. He leans into this one, kissing you harder, his tongue parting your lips, hands bracketing your waist, running trails up and down your body. Your hands find the dark waves of his hair, the stubble of his jaw, and the lines of his neck as he pushes you against the cupboard.
God, he loves kissing you, feeling your soft lips against his, hearing your breathing tick up when his tongue parts your lips.
"The sauce," you say, pulling away.
"Mm, I got it," he responds, chasing your lips, reaching for the spoon to stir without looking at the pot as he kisses you.
The sauce quietly simmers on the stove, and he breathes in the scent of garlic and tomatoes, mixing with the sweet scent of you, still stirring the pot with one hand as his other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress up.
“Joel,” you try to protest. “Dinner.”
“You’re distracting me, you know that?” he asks, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
He can’t help it. All he really wants is you. He chucks the spoon against the spoon rest before he wraps his arms around you, sinking both palms into the soft curve of your ass and pulls you forward, until you’re flush with him.
You moan when he kisses his way down your neck, your legs wrapping around his hips, laughing as he lifts you from the counter and carries you a few clumsy steps to the kitchen table, pride making him feel stronger that he’s now able to hold you like this. He sets you down on the table gently, admiring the sight of you splayed out, already looking slightly disheveled, your lips parted and pupils wide as you stare up at him.
He leans forward, kissing you again, moving your dress higher up your thighs, his fingers finding you already wet and warm for him. A cocky grin lifts his lips as he takes your underwear off, pulling them down to your ankles before he tosses them to the side.
He grips your ankles, pulling your legs open and pressing your knees back to your chest so he can stare down at your pretty pussy, all wet and ready for him. He’s almost in awe at the sight, you glistening for him on his kitchen table.
The temptation is too much, he bends, licking a slow and greedy stripe up your slit, and you instantly respond to him, arching into him, a desperate sound leaving your lips. He groans in appreciation, sucking your clit before pressing his tongue against it.
“Joooel, the sauce.”
He huffs a laugh against your sensitive skin before he rises, quickly walking to the stove to stir it and flicks the burner off. He stalks back towards you, undoing his jeans and pulling his cock out, already hard and flushed, ready to feel your wet pussy around it. He strokes it once, then twice, staring down at you splayed out on the table for him. You look up at him, lifting your legs into the air without a word. He knows you’re needy to feel him.
He lines himself up at your entrance, pressing the head of him against your soaked hole before he shoves in. Quick and hungry, the table creaking under his power, he has finally found again. He fucks you hard, pace unrelenting. He’s stronger than before, his leg allowing him now to thrust into you like he’s wanted to, to claim you and make you scream his name like you’re doing right now, in between your desperate pleas for him to fuck you harder.
His sweat beads, cheeks flushed, neck strained as he stares down at you, your hands gripping the edges of the table, your face contorted in pleasure when he moves a finger down to flick and press against your clit, edging you towards your orgasm.
“Fuck,” Joel groans. “I love your pussy, baby, I love you so fucking much.”
Your cunt clenches and squeezes his cock hard as you orgasm for him, making his pace falter as you flutter around his cock, screaming his name, your voice echoing across the kitchen.
He’s close, so close, but it’s when you prop yourself up on your elbows, look into his eyes, and command “Cum for me, Joel, cum in my pussy,” he loses it. Shouting your name and pulsing inside you, spilling himself deep before collapsing on you, folding over your body and planting lazy, reverent kisses along your chest and collarbone. You stroke the back of his head, laughing breathlessly.
“You think the sauce is okay?” you ask, still slightly out of breath.
Joel laughs. “M’sure it’s fine.”
“Even if it’s not, I’m so hungry I don’t care.”
—-
You’re only a couple of hours away from heading home for the day when the call comes in.
“Clinic. Come in. Clinic.” Amy’s voice echoes across the small, now empty waiting room.
Dr. V rushes to the radio that sits on the front desk, always present, always waiting for a call.
"This is clinic.”
“Bonnie fell down a ravine outside Elk Creek. Greg can’t get her out. Needs stabilizing.”
Dr. V nods, looking over at you as you set a patient file down. “How many alarms?” he asks.
“Greg says single. He doesn’t want to move her without help; he thinks she may have broken something. Transport is already preparing.”
You don’t even wait for Dr. V to ask you to go; you’re already grabbing the emergency kit without thinking.
You run down Main Street, passing the same spot you first saw Joel’s lifeless body, reminding yourself that just like you healed Joel, you now have all of Jackson depending on you, whether they’re inside or outside the walls. This is what you do: you help, you heal, you revive. This has always been your purpose.
You spot Jesse loading a board into the back of the idling transport truck, the same one you rode in on all those months ago before you found your purpose here, before you knew Joel, before you were known and respected as one of Jackson’s doctors.
“You’re going?” Jesse asks.
“Steven’s in surgery and there’s no way I want Dr. V climbing down anything.”
“Understood,” he says, opening the door for you. “James is driving, we’ll escort you there.”
You slide into the front seat, you can’t even remember the last time you were in an actual car interior. It’s worn, ripped leather patched up with duct tape and fabric scraps, but the truck works, a true luxury in the apocalypse.
The rumble of the engine shocks you slightly as James puts it into gear and pulls forward. He glances over at you and nods. You just delivered his first baby only a couple of weeks ago, and now he’s already out, preparing to help your fellow citizens. This is why you do what you do.
The gates open, and the three of you drive through the barriers that keep you and everyone safe.
Once the walls begin to disappear in the rearview mirror, you realize what you’ve just done. You didn’t even think twice, you just volunteered to leave the safety of Jackson’s walls again, without even telling Joel.
“How far?” you ask.
“About a half hour out,” James answers.
You nod, clutching your bag tightly, the anxiety already beginning to get harder and harder to silence the farther you get from Jackson.
—-
It’s late. Too late. The sun’s already sitting low behind the mountains, and you’re not home yet. Joel tries to be patient, tries to remind himself that you’re safe and probably just held back due to something mundane like an emergency appendectomy. It wouldn’t be the first time.
And yet, he still worries. His foot taps against the worn wood of the porch. He moved out here shortly after he realized you were late, hoping to get a glimpse of you as soon as you turned down the road. Every bit of movement catches his eye, leaving him constantly disappointed.
He’s still waiting for you, almost an hour after he stepped out here. Unease settles in his heart and body, he picks up his cane and stands, heading towards the clinic. He turns the corner from his street when he spots Maria hurriedly walking down the road.
“Joel!” she shouts as she jogs over. “I was just heading to see you. Listen, there was an accident outside. They sent a transport a couple of hours ago.”
His heart drops. He already knows what happened.
“She’s out there?” he growls.
“She is. She volunteered.”
Of course, you went. Of course, you would volunteer without a second thought.
“You couldn’t tell me earlier?” he bites.
“I just found out. I just got done helping with sowing all of the new seeds for the fall harvest. I’m only now going to pick up my child, with Tommy being out on patrol. Don’t pull that on me, Joel.”
Maria’s words stop him from getting angrier, reminding him that everyone here in Jackson has responsibilities.
“When are they coming back?” he asks.
“Should be soon. Jesse and James are with her. It’s Elk Creek, it’s one of the safer routes.”
He nods, though the storm inside him is still raging. Jesse and James are some of the best patrollers, but they’re still not him. But of course, now, he’s a crippled man, leaning on his cane in the middle of the road, worried sick about you. He hates feeling so powerless.
“I’m goin’ to wait for her.”
Maria nods, understanding the fear he must feel. "I’m sure she’s fine, Joel, she’s capable.”
He doesn’t respond; he just walks away, his cane rapping against the broken, cracked cement harder with each step he takes. He’s transported right back to that moment he waited those few weeks ago, worried to all hell about you. He’s almost mad you put him back in this situation. There’s a tightness in his chest, a familiar feeling he’s been good at tamping out, but now, as he reaches the imposing gate, that tightness constricts his heart even harder.
“Any word?" Joel calls up to the guards at the watchtower.
"Transport's about ten minutes out. Radio says everyone's fine."
Everyone's fine. He should be relieved, but the fear that today could have ended much more tragically overwhelms him.
He feels dizzy, his heart thudding against his chest in the worst way, his vision almost blurring around the edges. He tries to breathe deeply, tries to settle the unease that feels like it’s creeping through his brain and heart. He breathes, needing to rest his body against something solid, backing up until it rests against the thick stumps that create Jackson’s walls. He stands there, blinking the fear and anxiety out of his eyes and brain. And then, he hears the guard shout.
“Gates opening!”
Joel’s head snaps up. He can hear the truck’s engine approach as the gates open and it rolls through. You’re sitting in the back with Jesse, kneeling over somebody lying on a bodyboard, your face serious as you check over their vitals.
Joel hurries over, saying your name, a bit of anger escaping with desperation.
But you don’t hear him. You’re speaking with Jesse, reminding him how to pick up the transport board.
He says your name again, this time a bit louder. You look over, surprised to find him there.
“Joel?”
“You didn’t come home an-and I was worr—”
“Joel, I… I have to take care of Bonnie, she fell pretty bad, I’ve gotta get her to the clinic.”
He’s surprised by the stern professional voice you use on him. Speaking to him like he’s a patient, not his.
“Right,” he nods. “Can I help with anything?”
“No. I need Steven,” you respond. His heart drops at your words. “They’re grabbing him now.” You jump down from the truck after asking Bonnie if she’s okay. “Joel, I need you to move. We’re taking her now. I’ll… see you after she’s stabilized.”
He reaches for you, but you don’t even look at him; you just tell him goodbye and begin your journey to the clinic, jogging alongside Greg, as James and Jesse transport Bonnie on top of the board.
He stands there, watching as you quickly disappear from his view. This is your specialty, this is what brought you into his life, and yet he can’t help but feel left behind.
—-
You’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight by the time you get Bonnie stabilized and head home.
Joel’s asleep in the recliner when you walk in. Even as he sleeps, there’s something still so commanding about him—his broad shoulders filling the chair, his strong jaw, the seemingly permanent furrow between his brows.
You quietly slip off your boots and clothes, wanting to get rid of any sign of the stressful day you just had, and crawl into Joel’s lap, only clad in your bra and underwear. He stirs, his body tightening before he realizes you’re the new weight on top of him. He lifts his arms, wrapping them around you, and breathes you in.
“You’re back,” he says.
“I am,” you respond, resting your head against his chest.
“Why’d you go?”
“Because somebody needed help and I could help them,” you answer simply.
“Yes, but it was outside the walls again.”
You pull away, looking into his eyes. “Because somebody needed help and I could help them,” you repeat, firm this time. “And they just so happened to be outside.”
His jaw ticks, and you can see the conflict warring across him. Understanding your purpose, quarreling with his fear. His protectiveness wrestling with your independence. You know he’s proud of what you do and who you are, but you can still see the fear he holds.
"But what happens if something happens to you?"
"Then something happens, Joel. This world is cruel, but if I can do something, anything to make it a little better and easier for someone, then I will. You should know that more than anyone else."
“I know,” he says quietly, his hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin. “I know that’s who you are. I just… get,” he sighs, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath in, “I get scared.”
“I know you do,” you whisper, covering his hand with yours. “But Joel, this is who I am. This is important. This is what I do. I can’t just… turn that off because it might be dangerous. You used to patrol, right?”
“I did, and I was attacked while on patrol, out there.” You can feel his whole body tense beneath yours. “If anything were to happen to yo—”
“This world is unpredictable; every single day, something awful could happen. I could walk out that door tomorrow and never come back. But I can’t live my life in the fear of what-ifs… and you can’t either.”
“I know you’re right. I know that. But when Maria told me you were out there again…” He swallows hard, his eyes beginning to well with tears, an almost sob leaving his throat. “I can’t lose you. Not now, not ever. I can’t have you going past the gates, I can’t deal with it.”
You pull even farther away, your back straightening at his request. “That’s not happening. We’re already discussing our next trip out to collect plants, and the next time a call comes in for help, I will be answering it.” Your voice rises. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“What? Why? I should be able to, if you’re mine.”
You scoff at the implication, rising off his lap, looming over him as he leans forward in the recliner. “I’m not your possession. I’m not something you can control. If you’re scared, you’re scared, but you can’t own me and my decisions.” You feel ridiculous, taking such an authoritative stance in only your bra and panties.
“That’s… not what I meant,” he says, his hand coming up to nervously tousle his hair.
“Okay. So what did you mean?”
“I mean… I don’t think I can handle this happening again. Knowing I can’t help protect you, I can’t be there with you.”
Your heart drops at the shame in his voice, but anger still holds you. “I know, I know, but this is my job. This is my purpose; you can’t take it away from me, you can’t take it from everyone here. I need you to understand that helping people is who I am. You will not stop me from that.”
There’s a flash of anger that sets his face in hard lines, his jaw settling in that stubborn way you can easily recognize. He stands abruptly, forcing you to take a step back.
“So you’re just going to throw yourself into danger for one person outside the gates? People in here need you, I need you. I can’t have you going out there. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
You throw your hands up in frustration at the audacity of him. “This isn’t about you, Joel! I refuse to abandon what I’ve been doing for almost my whole life because you’re scared.”
"Scared? You think this is just about being scared? This is about you wanting to go out there, where something terrible can happen to you at any moment."
"I've survived out there just fine before I met you, and I can handle myself now."
"Right. Just like how you handled yourself with the infected. The one that could’ve gotten to you if Tommy hadn’t—”
Your heart drops. “You don’t get to throw that in my face. That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is you putting yourself in danger and expecting me to just sit here and be okay with it.”
"I'm not asking you to be okay with it. I'm asking you to respect my choices!"
Hot, angry tears well in your eyes. How quickly he’s gone from your sweet, worried Joel to now a bitter, angry Joel you can hardly recognize.
He shakes his head. "I can't do that. Not with this. Not when your 'choice' could get you killed."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just stay inside these walls forever? Give up helping people because Joel Miller can't handle the thought of me being out of his sight? That's bullshit, Joel, and you know it."
"Watch your tone," he warns.
"Or what? You’ll try to control me, because you’re too afraid to lose me?”
His face goes pale. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
“Yes, I do. You're so afraid of losing that you'd rather control me than let me be who I am!"
It’s silent. Joel stands, now looming over you, his eyes dark and roaming across your face. It’s deafening; the tenseness and anger in the air is stifling.
"I'm trying to protect you," he finally says, a slight growl in his voice. His accent dripping with anger.
"No, you're trying to possess me," you spit back. "And I won't let you."
You turn away, grabbing your clothes from the floor and storm upstairs. You’re seconds from falling apart.
You shut yourself in the bathroom next to your old room, turning the shower on and stepping in. The hot water burns your skin, but you want to feel it, want it to wash away all of the hurt and frustration, the fury and pain that’s coursing through your body. This is the first time you’ve showered without Joel in over a month, but right now, your ire towards him sits just as hot as the water. You’re so fucking tired and hurt. Just because Joel loves you does not give him any excuse to try to keep you inside these gates.
You remember the relief washing over Bonnie’s scared face when you told her she was going to be okay, as you checked over her battered body. The way her voice caught as she thanked you. The sight of her husband of twenty years, grabbing her hand with tears in his eyes, once you got her moved to a bed in the hospital, thanking you for all that you do, for getting her back to him safe. You’d do it all over again.
When you get out of the shower, you don’t cross the hall to Joel’s room; you choose your old room, the bed you only spent a few weeks in before Joel’s bed became yours. The sheets feel too cold and unfamiliar, but you try to make the best of it.
You used to never have any trouble falling asleep in here before. You try to will yourself asleep, staring at the blank, white wall. Your body is tired, but your mind won’t stop reeling, caught in a loop of anger and hurt.
The sound of Joel’s uneven steps on the stairs breaks the swirl of your thoughts. You hold your breath, listening as he pauses in his doorway, before you hear his bedroom door close.
You exhale, feeling the confusing mix of relief and disappointment. What did you expect? That he’d come to apologize? That suddenly he’d understand your need to help others, even if it puts you in danger?
Time passes in silence, you try to sleep, wishing it’d be morning already. You’re just about to nod off, finally, when you hear Joel’s door open. The sound of his footsteps approaching makes your heart race. He stops, hesitating outside your door before it slowly creaks open.
You don’t turn, you keep your back to him, willing your body not to tense as much as it does as you hear him walk to the bed. The mattress dips behind you as he slowly lies down next to you. You don’t move or acknowledge him, not even when he rests his arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest, his shaky sigh breathing out against your hair.
“M’sorry,” he whispers. “I finally have someone, finally have a future, and I can’t dare to imagine you not in m’life.”
He sounds so broken and so forlorn. You turn to face him, gone is the anger from earlier, it’s replaced by worry, etching the lines of his face deeper. Vulnerable and broken, but still your handsome Joel.
It hits you then. This isn’t just him trying to control you—this is Joel terrified of losing the future he never thought he’d have again.
“Joel,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to touch his face.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them, staring into your eyes. "I know I can't keep you from being who you are. And I don't want to. It's just the thought of losing you… I wouldn’t survive it.”
You press your hand firmer against his warm skin, feeling the rough stubble beneath, tracing the lines of worry etched there.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise”
"You can't promise that," he says, his voice barely audible. "Nobody can."
You move closer, pressing your forehead against his. "No, I can't. But I can promise to be careful. I can promise to always come back to you if I can."
His arms tighten around you. “I just… I love you so much.”
“And I love you,” you say, leaving a soft kiss against his lips. “If you lose me, I lose you, and I can’t have that either.”
“Was thinking maybe we could turn this room into an office for you, so you have a place for plants during the winter. I can make you a desk ‘n maybe figure out some grow lights?”
“But where will I sleep when I’m mad at you?” you ask, nuzzling into his chest.
“Next to me, in our bed.” His arms tighten around you, and you sigh, still needing to make sure the man you love is okay with you being who you need to be.
"Joel," you whisper against his skin. "I need to know you understand. I can't have this fight with you every time I need to go outside.”
“I’ll try… try to be better about it. Ain’t promisin’ I won’t worry, but I’ll try not to stop you.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“M’sorry I get so—”
“You?”
He chuckles, the sounds making you smile as his chest vibrates under you.
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay,” you say, angling your head up to kiss him. “I love you even when you’re stubborn to all hell.”
“And I love you too. More than anything, that’s why you always need to come back to me.”
“I will,” you say against his lips before you settle against him, quickly falling asleep as he holds you close.
—-
A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!
My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon
summary: after learning how true the rumors about Harry were, you decided to test if he really was too much to take.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, PWP, reader is still a part time cleaner so power imbalance due to Harry being the employer and reader the employee, Harry has a massive dick, fingering, unprotected PinV, dirty talk, a fucking lot of praise, not edited
wc: 2,3k
a/n: you loved, you commented, you asked and i felt inspired to write! that's what your feedback does to an author :) dividers by @/hyuneskkami
part one | read on ao3
The vulgar squelch of your pussy sounded so loud it made your ears ring with embarrassment. You really shouldn’t have been shy after having your boss admire your cunt in all the ways he could think of. Your desire to fuck him was sudden and overpowering, so a part of you was grateful that he managed to pace himself before trying to push his dick inside you; it would’ve been a disaster.
Instead, he spent enough time lying you out on his bed, silk sheets covered by a soft cashmere quilt that cost like a third of your student loan. He didn’t rush to undress you. That made you both relax that he wouldn’t see your mismatched bra, and feel a bitter squeeze at your throat as your mind reminded you this was not a porn version of Cinderella. Harry wouldn’t be asking you to marry him when he sees that your pussy fits.
Harry, you were yet to call him that, was comfortable with you moaning ‘Mr. Castillo’ as three of his fingers stretched your hole and curled inside. It sent a new kind of rush seeing his dark eyes glimmer as you called him that. His fingers worked harder, fingertips searching for a spongy little place inside you that’d set you off.
He was sitting next to you on the bed, your body resembling a starfish that was thoroughly fucked, and you noticed his undershirt sticking to him, sweaty. You wanted him to get rid of the clothes, but you were scared to ask, afraid to cross a line even as his thumb gently rubbed over your clit, making your back arch.
“Such a beautiful view, darling.” his voice dropped to a whisper, a free hand that he was leaning on fisted the comforter. You couldn’t really reply with anything; whenever you opened your mouth, he’d curl his digits or press his thumb more roughly, so you’d cry out an involuntary moan, and it would paint a smile on his face.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” and you just nodded, the inside of your cheek bleeding from how hard you bit into it. “That’s good, baby, the sooner you cum on my fingers, the sooner we see if your pretty pussy stretches well enough to fit all that I have to offer.”
“Mhmm,” there were tears in your eyes from how tense you were, the edge before falling off felt sharp and unstable, and you just wanted to jump in the right direction. Harry cooed at you, as if he could sense your struggle.
“Go on, then, darling. Don’t you wanna feel how deep my cock can go?”
He barely finished his question when your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. His fingers kept fucking in and out of you, smearing your cum, and his other hand pressed on your lower belly, in a place where you’d feel him very soon.
“Good girl, such a curious little pussy.” Harry slowly dragged his fingers out, leaving your hole twitching. Instead of moving away, he kept staring at your slick, puffy cunt, petting it with his wet fingers and palm and humming every time you twitched and jerked. “Think she’s ready to get her curiosity satiated, hm?”
Your eyes fell closed, and you nodded. The bed dipped as Harry stood up, but you forced your eyes to stay closed. You weren’t sure you’d be able to write it off as a one-time fuck if you’d seen him undress so casually in front of you. Fold his 1.200$ trousers, toe out of his custom-made leather shoes. leave his black socks and matching black boxers in a small puddle on the carpet. You hoped he’d take his undershirt off so you’d be able to run your short, blunt nails over the expanse of his stomach. You got a glimpse of it as you were kneeling in front of him, but now you ached to touch, squeeze. maybe even bite.
“You’re with me?” Daydreaming about the man’s broad, heavy body made you miss the moment when he climbed back. You snapped your eyes open, seeing him on his knees between your spread thighs. His cock was too heavy to stand upright, and that made your pussy drool more. To your disappointment, in his hurry to get inside you he had left the undershirt, but it rode up a little, exposing the softness of his stomach.
“Yes, fuck, yes.” You were breathless in your excitement, and Harry let out a soft laugh. He shook his head, letting you know that you had no idea what you got yourself into, but there was no way you’d back out now.
“Then spread your legs a little further, sweetheart, I want to have the best view when you take me in.”
You weren’t quick enough to do as he said because his hands dropped on your thighs and he massaged the meat and fat of it gently before gripping them tight and spreading them apart close enough to rip you in two. His eyes never left your swollen folds, caressing them with his scrutiny until you started wiggling.
“Shhh, let me enjoy the view for a moment longer.” His thick index finger slid through your slit, catching the mix of release and new arousal on his tip. “God knows she won’t ever be the same again.”
He found his own cock, gripping it between his forefingers and his thumb, and ever closer. Your inner thighs rubbed against his hairy legs, and you gasped as he teased your pussy with the head of his cock the same way he had done with his finger mere seconds before.
“Fuck,” he groaned as his tip caught on your hole, “she wants to suck me right in, doesn’t she? Has been waiting long enough.”
You didn’t know if he meant you or himself, but when he finally started pushing in, you didn’t really care. Harry was sitting on the balls of his feet, inching his cock closer and closer.
The head alone was a lot to take. When he pushed the fattest part of him inside you, you stopped breathing. His fingers were thick, yes, but even after fucking three of them and a tip of a fourth inside you, his cock was a lot to handle. He let you rest, get used to the burning stretch as much as it was possible, and then he saw a small jerk of your head, as you silently told him to continue.
Harry’s breathing was labored as he did his best to move agonizingly slow. Your pussy stretched and stretched around him, and he stared at your spread pussy lips, his tongue licking his plush lips as he watched your hole eat him up. He held his cock with his fingers and pushed an inch further. You could memorize the anatomy of his dick with your inner walls, how soft the ridge of his head was, the lean path of his bulging vein that dragged from his base to his tip. he was only halfway in, and you whined. It was too much; your pussy kept leaking around him, lubing him up generously, but it was still too much. You could almost cry with disappointment.
Harry’s eyes snapped at your face, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just started pulling out, the space he emptied let you take a breath.
With as much care as he was capable of, he started thrusting the same couple of inches in and out of you, the sting of his girth stopped hurting at all, and you started feeling that familiar buzz of arousal. He noticed your body relax, arms lying limp above your head, and Harry smiled. His free hand found your clit, and he teased it in tune with his thrusts.
“So pretty,” he whispered reverently. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, stretched on my cock.”
His words infiltrated your brain with a pink fog. Suddenly, what he was giving you wasn’t enough. What you have been taking from him wasn’t enough. Your body rocked on the bed as you tried to slip more of his cock inside. You wanted to feel him in your lungs. Harry stopped you, taking his fingers from your clit and gripping your thigh.
“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. It doesn’t have to fit to feel good.”
“Make it.”
“What?”
“Make it fit,” you whispered feverishly, sweat beading on your brows and rolling down your temples. “Please, Mr. Castillo, make it fit. I want it all.”
He contemplated for all of ten seconds. a fat vein on his forehead bulged and pulsed, twin to the one that decorated his massive shaft. You couldn’t hear, but you saw him grind his teeth, losing all of his clarity to the sound of your begging. “Fuck,” he gritted, “how can I say no when you beg so pretty?”
With that, he did what you didn’t expect. He lowered himself on top of you, bracketing you between his arms as his belly pressed into yours. His lips found your brow, and he peppered kisses along your forehead and temple, going as low as the corner of your lips and coming back up. Gently, he pushed and pushed and pushed, feeding what felt like 80 inches of his cock to you. It felt overwhelming, the sting, the amount. With both of you being close to the edge already, it felt like any one of you might snap first. When he kept pushing in and you thought you had felt the tip of his dick tickling the root of your tongue already, you were ready to tap out. Harry’s teeth grazed the shell of your ear as he whispered wetly.
“You did it, baby. What a good fucking girl, took all of me. The best girl in the world, with the best fucking pussy.”
You had almost started screaming in ecstasy from his words alone. The feelings you’d felt drowned you in warmth, the sweet tingling sensation that traveled from your chest —where your heart was beating against your ribcage— and to your pussy, making it twitch around the stiff cock.
“Okay?” Harry found your eyes, opened in shock, and something he couldn’t quite read.
“I can’t talk, I feel your cock in my throat,” you hoarsed out, only half lying.
“Well, I’m flattered, but it’s not that deep,” Harry let you get used to it as much as it was possible. His hand slid down your chest, down the valley between your breasts, and stopped on your lower belly, pressing. “It’s only here.”
“Fuck,” you cried out, turning your head and looking for a pillow to bite into.
“As you wish,” Harry placed a kiss on your neck and moved.
His thrusts were slow and gentle; he barely pulled out before sliding back in, enjoying the tight hug offered by your pussy. His heart rate was going through the roof, and for a second, he thought he’d die a happy man if he was buried balls deep in the cunt of the softest, prettiest woman he’d seen.
On your end, you were going insane as the pressure continued to build. The curve of his cock did something unspeakable to you as every push made his tip kiss a painfully tender and sweet spot inside you. You knew you were close, and you let go of the comforter you were gripping, moving your hands to the back of Harry’s neck.
He was trying to look between your bodies, where your pussy all but changed her anatomy to suck him in fully. When he felt you threading through the sweaty curls at the back of his head, he returned his eyes to you, looking for any discomfort on your face but finding the opposite.
“I’m gonna cum, Mr. Castillo, please.”
A shockwave went through his body every time you called him that in your little voice. His balls were drawn tight, so he knew there were no more than a dozen thrusts in him, too.
“Go on, sweetheart, you don’t need to beg. You’ve been so good to me, you deserve to cum as hard as you need.” His hips jerked, and he tried to keep the same pace to not scare your climax away. “Go on, beautiful, squeeze me with your pretty pussy, show me how wet you get when you’re fucked by a big dick.”
Your fingers gripped the strands of his hair, practically ripping them out as your orgasm crashed on you. Chanting a breathless ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’, you kept thrashing under Harry as he fucked you through your climax, closing in on his. he kept asking you something, but you couldn’t move your lips, your body limp with exhaustion. So you just watched him bite his lower lip and pull out just in time for his cum to spray on your swollen lips and sweaty mound.
He looked glorious when he came, a broad mess shuddering above you with his eyes focused on your cunt and his fist gripping his cock. Sweat rolled down his neck, and when he wiped the last drop of his pearly white release on your sensitive hole, he ripped the undershirt in one go and wiped his face with it.
“Fuck," he breathed out, tired. “That was…”
“Good?” You knew it was brilliant for you, and you couldn’t help but feel that Harry felt the same.
“Good? Are you fucking kidding me?” He looked at you incredulously, jokingly rolled his eyes, and then scooted down a little. You tried to find the strength to close your legs, feeling the ache biting at your muscles, but the second you jerked your legs, Harry stopped you with his hands. “Let me look at her, she’s been so good to me.”
His voice dripped with adoration, and you felt a different kind of heat rising from your chest. “You’ve been good to her, too.” You cringed internally from giving your pussy pronouns, but it felt surprisingly good on your tongue.
“And I’m about to be so much better,” he said, and leaned forward, placing a myriad of sloppy wet kisses on your thighs.
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