Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live 💛🙏
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(dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏)
Joel Miller
Lead me not into temptation | part 23 @tateypots
Closer @time-for-my-weekly-spanking (Tess x reader x Joel)
Trying to control her attraction to you was one of the hardest things Tess had ever done. But she'd succeeded. Until you made it clear how much you wanted to get closer to her. For Joel, falling into this scenario was just the natural closing of the circle
Endorphins @baronessvonglitter
The hot personal trainer in your neighborhood gives you a one-on-one session
Marking @mcthsman
Your boyfriend catches everyone’s eyes. Joel, for the most part, doesn’t seem to notice but you know better: They want him just as much as you do, and you need to figure out a way to keep people away
Love on the brain @time-for-my-weekly-spanking
As a storm rages over Jackson, you finally confront the man who saved you. And who has chosen to ignore you, even though you're forced to live in the same house. You’re pretty much convinced he hates you. And like a flash of lightning that tears through the sky and lights up the night, the truth finally dawns before your eyes. And maybe it's not what you expected…
Give me another @shadowqueen2024
After a few days of Joel working late with patrols, watch duty or contacting duties for Jackson's safety, comes with the price of not being able to spend as much time with you as he'd like. Since today is his day off, the two of you spent it being lazy, staying at home, ending with the perfect nighttime routine you had missed
Gifted kid burnout @hanahleah
After weeks of working overtime, between looming deadlines and a dreaded annual performance review something just had to give. The AC gave out first. You weren’t far behind
Baby mine | part 1 | part 2 @tateypots
After losing Ellie to the fireflies Joel has lost his purpose. He finds a new one when he meets you.
Aka, Joel is obsessed with you being pregnant, whether you want to be or not.
Homecoming @magpiepills
Coach Joel has to deal with cheerleader reader at the homecoming dance!
You should feel lucky | part 8 | part 9 | Joel can't get it up @ess-evo
He wants you, and he is going to find you
Piece of you @aurorawritestoescape
There’s a rule in Joel’s house — you give him a hard-on, you deal with it!
The wolf you feed | part 8 @arcane-fox
Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter
Joel Dealing with His Girlfriend (pre-wifey): Milestone @pedge-page
Clint Flood
Obligations of love @ess-evo
Clint is the man of your dreams. You're planning a wedding; every day with him is filled with love and affection, so then why do you have a knot in your stomach every time he leaves home?
Marcus Pike
Restoration @peepawmiller
Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain
Javier Peña
Headcanons @cowgirlscrubs
Until the end of time @cozymochaa
You and Javier have the house to yourselves this weekend
Din Djarin
Eyes drabble @sawymredfox
Pero Tovar
Magnolia blooms with you | Act II @kokoluwie
Deciding to stay at The Great Wall of China might just be the best decision Pero Tovar has ever made. Peace after annihilating the Tao Tei? Maybe. In love with a comrade? Absolutely. Retirement plan? Secured
Dave York
Video vixen @baronessvonglitter
You're Dave's favorite camgirl and his ultimate fantasy. Could he ever see you as anything else?
Frankie Morales
When I think about you, I touch myself @aurorawritestoescape
Your older brother Santi has always been against you dating his hot best friend, Frankie Morales, so when the cockblocker leaves town for a week, you work out a daring plan to seduce the man of your wet dreams
The small things of a whole | part 3 | part 4 @sawymredfox (Frankie x Ben Miller)
A gentle morning coaxes a meaningful conversation and a revelation
Oh baby @aurorawritestoescape
Frankie finds your panties in his pocket and his mind starts wandering
My writing
Somewhere only we know (Javi p x reader)
It’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Heyyy love ur works 🩷 I saw ur request are open now (yay) I would love to request maybe some things that come after fourth times a charm or sweet stuffed mess of reader being pregnant and Joel being a dotting father before she gives birth more breeding kink stuff and reader being insatiable with pregnancy??? 😛
Keepin' it full
Fourth time's the Charm (pt.1)
Warnings: 18+, Smut, pinv, unprotected sex, pregnancy, breeding kink, praise kink, car sex, toxic!joel, slight mean!joel, you and Joel are divorced, unspecified Age gap, no outbreak
A/N: oo, I missed doing some breeding kink heheh. Also I'm almost done with the new sleazy!joel fic and i'm so excited to show it to you guys. Thank you for this request anon! I hope you enjoy!
The doctor's office lingered in the back of your mind like a bad aftertaste as you waddled into the parking lot, one hand supporting the heavy swell of your belly.
At six months, movement was an effort, each step a reminder of the life Joel had planted in you during that impulsive sink repair visit. The ultrasound images were tucked in your bag—baby healthy, active, everything perfect except the father who couldn't be bothered to show.
You only called him because necessity is a bit hard: kids at school, no husband in hand, and no family that supports. He agreed to the pickup with all the enthusiasm of a man dodging child support.
His red truck sat idling at the park, engine rumbling and windows open.
Joel is slouched in the driver's seat, broad shoulders filling the space, his faded flannel shirt clinging to the solid lines of his dad bod—muscle earned from manual labor, softened just enough by years and beer to make him dangerously handsome.
He didn't look up as you hauled yourself into the passenger seat, the door groaning in protest as you slammed it. The car smelled of him: wood, sweat, and that faint, masculine musk that always twisted your gut despite everything.
Silence hung heavy as he pulled onto the road, the Texas sun beating down through the windshield.
Finally, he broke the silence with a grunt. "S'a girl, again?"
You rubbed circles over your belly. "No, I don't know. Wanted it to be a surprise this time."
"Hell of a surprise." He snorted, eyes fixated on the road.
The words lit a fuse.
Months of resentment—skipping visits, dodging calls and responsibilities about the older kids, acting like fatherhood was a part-time gig—flared hot.
"Weren't you the one who fucked a fourth one into me? Pounding away like it was your life's work to breed me, and now you can't even drag your ass to an appointment?" You asked, your eyebrows lifting up.
Joel's jaw tightened, knuckles whitening on the wheel. "We ain't married no more, woman. What you expect?"
You twisted towards him, ignoring the twinge in your back.
"Responsibility, Joel. Maybe a little?"
He shot you a sidelong glance then, dark eyes analysing you: the flush on your cheeks, the way your tits heaved with each breath, nipples pebbling against the thin cotton of your dress from the chill. Your belly dominated, round and taut, but his gaze dipped lower to where the hem of your dress hiked up, exposing that creamy expanse of your thighs.
A slow, cocky smirk curled on his lips. Without warning, his rough hand landed on your leg, calluses scraping deliciously as his thumb stroked inward.
"What if I fill that pretty pussy up again?"
Heat slammed through you, equal parts fury and forbidden want. "You can't be fuckin' serious, Joel. I'm pregnant with your kid, and you're talking about filling me up again?"
He chuckles low. "Dead serious, hun. Been thinkin' 'bout it since I saw you waddlin' out. Look at you—all ripe and glowin', tits full, belly swollen with what I put there. Makes my cock ache just watchin'."
Your breath hitched, pussy clenching despite the anger boiling in your veins.
He was such an asshole—irresponsible, selfish, the kind of man who fucked first and forgot later—but God, that voice, that possessive grip.
Hormones raged, leaving you slick and needy, body betraying the sharp words on your tongue.
"How the hell would that even work? I'm too big."
"You're what? On your 4th, 5th month?" He asks. "Not even that much of a belly yet." He didn't even know the exact month—classic Joel, all instinct, no details. "C'mon, quit whining. Say thank you for the ride. Good girls get rewards."
The truck lurched off the highway onto a rutted dirt path, tires crunching over gravel toward a secluded clearing ringed by dense trees.
He cut the engine then, the sudden quiet amplifying your racing pulse. Joel unbuckled with a deliberate clink, eyes never leaving yours.
"Wait. We're really gonna do this? Here?"
"Mhm. Been hard since you climbed in, smellin' all sweet" He yanked his belt open, zipper rasping down.
You watched, fixed, as he shoved his jeans low enough to free his cock—thick, veined, curving up stiff against his belly, that fat head already weeping pre-cum in shiny beads.
A traitorous throb pulsed between your legs.
So you smirked. "That all for me?"
"Fuck yeah. You kill me like this. Makes me wanna knock you up over and over, keep that belly round with my seed." His voice dropping filthy promise lacing every word.
You unbuckled, heart hammering, and awkwardly maneuvered over the console, belly leading the way.
Joel's strong hands caught your waist, steadying you as he twisted you around. Your back pressed to his chest, the swell of your stomach facing the wheel, his heat seeping through your dress.
"Careful now," he murmured, breath hot against your neck, one palm cupping your belly protectively. "Don't hurt my baby."
"Our baby," you corrected, voice breathy.
"Yes ma'am," he rumbled, compliant in the moment, the words sending a shiver down your spine.
His fingers dove under your dress, hooking your soaked panties and yanking them aside with zero edfort. The cool air kissed your dripping folds but then the head of his cock nudged your against your entrance. "Gonna slide you down nice and slow. Y'want that?"
"Mhm." You nodded, biting your lip as he guided you, the stretch burning oh so sweetly against your walls.
Inch by thick inch, he lowered you, your cunt yielding to his girth, fluttering around the invasion.
Then, a sigh escaped you, full and aching, as he bottomed out—cock kissing your cervix, trapped deep in the vice of your pussy.
"Oh, there you go," Joel groaned, arm banding around you, hand splaying wide over your belly in slow, soothing strokes. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you. "So goddamn full now aren't you? And I'm gonna make it even worse. Missed this sweet cunt clenching down on me."
You had missed it too—his raw claim, the way he filled every empty space.
The conception fuck had been frantic, him bending you over the kitchen aisle, rutting deep until he flooded in you, but this? This was...slower, more intimate for some reason. Your body was hypersensitive from pregnancy. Your pussy clenched around nothing no more; now it gripped him greedily, hormones turning every nerve into fire.
Joel shifted beneath you, hips canting up in a shallow thrust that dragged his cock along your walls. You whined, the sound high and needy, as pleasure sparked low.
"That's it, baby. Ride my dick like you need it. You're soaking me already, don't you?"
He started moving then, controlled snaps of his hips driving up into you, the angle perfect—hitting that sweet spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
His hand on your belly pressed firmer, thumb tracing the curve as if memorizing it.
"Look at this. So swollen." He murmurs. "I'm gonna pump you so full of cum it'll leak out for days."
You moaned, grinding down to meet him, annoyance melting into a raw want. "Joel—fuck, you're such a bastard."
"Yeah, and you love it. Love how I breed this pussy, make it mine."
His free hand roamed up, shoving your dress down to expose one breast, heavy and leaking a drop of colostrum. He pinched the nipple hard, rolling it until you gasped.
"These tits—gonna be drippin' milk soon. Fuck, I wanna suck 'em dry while I fill you."
His thrusts picked up, wet slaps echoing in the cab as his balls smacked your ass, cock pistoning deep. Sweat slicked your skin, the truck rocking faintly with his rhythm.
"Gonna knock you up again, hun. Flood that womb till it's overflowin'. Imagine it—your belly gettin' bigger, tits leakin', all 'cause I couldn't keep my cock outta you."
The dirty talk hit like lightning, that toxic breeding obsession you hated but craved, twisting in your core. It was wrong—him irresponsible, you vulnerable—but it made you clench harder, walls rippling around his thickness.
"Shut up—oh God."
He laughed darkly, nipping your earlobe, pace brutal now. "Can't help it. Y'make me feral. Wanna tie you down, fuck load after load into this greedy hole till you're bred proper. No more surprises—just my cum takin' root, stretchin' you out more."
His hand slipped between your thighs, rough fingers finding your clit, circling with just enough pressure to shatter you.
You bucked, belly bouncing slightly, the fullness overwhelming as his cock dragged in and out, veins pulsing against your sensitive spots.
"C'mon, baby. Milk my dick. Squeeze out every drop so I can stuff you full."
Pressure built, coiling tight, your moans turning desperate. "Joeljoeljoel."
Joel's breaths came ragged, hips slamming up harder, the head of his cock battering your cervix with each plunge.
"M'right here. That's my girl. Takin' it so good." He murmurs. "Pussy suckin' me in like it wants my seed. Gonna give it to you, right into that cunt of yours."
You shattered, orgasm ripping through you like a storm, walls convulsing around him, gushing slick that soaked his balls and thighs. "Joel—fuck, yes!"
He growled, thrusts erratic, burying deep one last time.
"Here it comes—fuck, take it all, honey."
Hot spurts erupted, flooding your pussy, pulse after pulse coating your womb in sticky warmth.
He held you down, grinding to push it deeper, cum overflowing to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets.
"Good girl. Ohhh—so fuckin' good. Bred full, just like you deserve."
You panted, slumped against him, his cock still twitching inside as he stroked your belly tenderly.
The car reeked of sex—musky, filthy, cum and sweat mingling in the humid air. His hand stayed possessive, a temporary peace in the chaos, but you knew the spell would break. For now, though, with his seed leaking sticky from your stuffed pussy and his warmth enveloping you, it felt dangerously like belonging.
Warnings: minors dni, f! reader, established relationship, smut, genitalia pronouns once or twice, pussy worship, oral sex (female receiving), drunk on pussy, coming untouched, coming in pants
Word count: 3.5k
A/N: At last! I wrote this one inspired by my own birthday last month (and what I wish would've happened to me lol), but I've been so busy I didn't have time to finish it and proof-read it until now. Thank you so much for all the love on my last (and first) fic. Hope you enjoy this one as well ♡
Summary: Joel has a special gift in mind for his birthday girl.
Divider by @tsumiinum
"Happy birthday to you!" The crowd of people finished singing, some of the guests cheering and clapping their hands together while others smiled and looked at you. You found it a little bit uncomfortable, to be honest, people singing for you like this while all you could do was stand there and smile like an idiot, but it was also nice to have folks care about you. Nowadays joy and happiness was something to be treasured.
It was your birthday, and everyone in Jackson had come together to celebrate. It had originally been Maria's idea, organizing everything in secret. It surprised you that even Joel was on board, as he was not one to enjoy large public celebrations like this. But for you, he made an exception. Hell, he even actively participated in organizing the whole thing, making sure you didn't find out even though you'd already sort of seen it coming from miles away.
While everyone was chatting and enjoying their slice of cake— made by Seth, decorated beautifully— Joel made his way over, his fingers brushing the back of your chair, calloused and warm as he settled beside you.
"Enjoyin' your party, birthday girl?" He asked through the din of the party, corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. Gatherings like these were totally not his thing, but seeing you happy and celebrated made everything worth it. "You holdin' up alright?"
"Sure am," you replied, giving him a grin. "Thanks for going along with this. I know you're not one for crowds."
"Nonsense," he replied, huffing. His fingers traced the rim of his untouched drink. "Ain't about me." His gaze fell on Ellie, who was currently trying to steal a second slice of cake. He barely suppressed an eye roll. "Way too much sugar," he mumbled.
His attention shifted back to you. "You deserve a party," he said, gruff but sincere. His hand reached out to grab yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Even if it means I gotta suffer through all sorts 'f small talk." The corner of his mouth twitched. He could say whatever he wanted, he didn't entirely hate this.
Your lips quirked up. You knew he didn't mind it as much as he pretended to. You know him too well by now.
Your eyes fell to the pile of gifts in a corner of the room. People had brought all sorts of things, so now that the party was coming to an end, you needed to find a way to get them all back home without dropping and breaking them.
"You mind giving me a hand with those?" You asked. "Afraid I can't carry all of them by myself."
Joel followed her gaze to the stack. "Yeah, I got you," he said, voice rough and steady. His free hand came up to scratch his scruffy beard. "By the way, I got a gift f'you, too."
You perked up at his words. "Really? You got me a gift?" Your eyes lit up with excitement. "You really didn't have to."
Joel's expression didn't shift, but you could've sworn something dark flickered in his eyes. He leaned in just enough for his warm breath to tickle your ear.
"'Course I have to," he rumbled, voice dropping low enough so that no one else could hear you two. "Just... Ain't the kind of gift you open in front of company, y'see."
That had you raise your eyebrows, immediately interested. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, unreadable except for a slightly amused tilt of his mouth. He cleared his throat, straightening, glancing at the dwindling crowd.
"We'll get you and your stuff home first," he muttered, glancing around the room to calculate how he could get you both out of here without raising too much suspicion. The birthday girl ditching her own party could raise some eyebrows.
"And then you'll get your present."
-------------------
You sighed in sweet relief when you put the last box down on your kitchen table, hand massaging your sore back. Some of these gifts were seriously heavy, such as a crate full of jars filled with all sorts of jam, and you weren't even carrying the heaviest among them. You watched as Joel put down his last box.
"Thanks," you said, hand reaching out to brush against his calloused one. "Couldn't have gotten them all here by myself."
Joel caught your hand before you could pull away, his grip firm but not rough. His fingers laced with yours, his calloused skin rough from work dragging against your softer skin, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.
"Told you I got you," he muttered. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back up to your eyes.
"Thinkin' it's about time to give you your gift," he said, voice dropping to a lower rasp. He tipped his head toward the bedroom. "C'mon, baby."
Your eyes widened slightly as he took your hand and led you towards the bedroom. The way he looked at you promised that whatever this gift was, it'd be so worth it.
"You're making me curious," you said as he led you inside, the wooden door clicking shut behind you both with a creak. The bedroom was dark except for a soft, quiet sliver of moonlight shining in through the half-open curtains, illuminating the bed. "What is it?"
He didn't answer you immediately. Instead he guided you to the edge of the bed with a firm but gentle touch on your back, other hand still holding yours.
His deep, brown eyes held yours as he stepped back to look over you. You could see a muscle flex in his jaw before he finally spoke, voice rough.
"Gonna show you," he murmured, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. "But you gotta let me take my time with it, y'hear?"
The look you could now see in his eyes was a look you knew well by now. Dark, filled with hunger. His gaze didn't waver. Your heart skipped a beat or two.
"You're making me even more curious now," you responded, your own voice rougher now too, letting him know anticipation was already building. "Very curious." You felt a flush creep up your neck towards your ears.
Joel's mouth quirked at the edges at your words. "Good," he rumbled. He closed the distance between you both, his hand settling on your hip, fingers squeezing your curves gently. He leaned in, his breath hot and ticklish against your ear, his beard scraping the sensitive skin of your neck.
"Gonna make you forget every gift you got t'day," he promised. His voice dropped. "Ain't gonna think about nothin' but what I'm gonna give you."
Joel moved, guiding you back onto the bed until your head rested on top of a soft, fluffy pillow. One knee pressed into the mattress beside you, enough to make you shift towards him. His hands slid up your thighs, his rough palms skimming the rough fabric of your jeans before gently tracing the waistband with a singular finger.
"Gonna take these off," he muttered, fingers already working at the button swiftly. His eyes never left yours, wanting to hear every hitch in your breath, every flicker of growing hunger in your eyes that he loved so damn much.
He slid the zipper down, the rasp loud in the otherwise silent room. His knuckles brushed your bare skin as he tugged them down, exhaling sharply as he took you in. He always took his time admiring you as if it was the first time seeing you, making sure you never forgot how much he cherished you.
He leaned over you, one hand bracing beside your hand as his other traced a slow path along your inner thigh, the rough skin on his fingers making your skin tickle.
"Now be good 'n lay there for me. Gonna give you your present, birthday girl."
His mouth found yours, kissing you deeply. Every thought in your head turned into mush as his tongue found his way inside, tangling with yours. The kiss was messy, hot, and it made you yearn for more.
Your hands came up to tangle in his salt-and-pepper hair, gently tugging at the strands until he groaned in your mouth, the vibration of it sending a jolt through your body. His grip on your thighs tightened as he dragged you closer.
"Christ," he rasped, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his lips glistening with your shared saliva. His eyes were practically black now, locked on the way you lay there, flushed and wanting for him.
One hand slid up to gently palm your breast through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple just enough to make your back arch.
"Like that, darlin'? When I play with your pretty tits?" His voice was wrecked, affecting him just as much as this was affecting you too.
Before you could nod his mouth was on you again, kissing a path down your neck, nibbling over your pulse point before sucking just enough to leave a purple mark, then licking a hot, wet stripe all the way up to your earlobe.
You shuddered, biting your lip. "Oh, Joel—"
"Shhh," he shushed you gently. His hands made quick work of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head. He didn't waste any time unclasping your bra, tossing it aside, making it land somewhere on the floor. "Just take it. 'S my gift to you, remember? Let me worship you."
His head dipped between your breasts, causing you to whine when he took one hard nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled the tight nub, slow at first, then faster, the tip of his tongue flicking upwards. His hand found your other nipple, gently tugging and playing with that one as well.
"Fuck," he rasped. "So good f'me. One day I'm gonna fuck your pretty tits."
His words made you shiver. "Joel, please, don't tease—"
He chuckled. "Not teasin'. Just makin' you feel good. 'S your birthday, ain't it? Enjoy it."
His hands ran down your body, callouses rubbing your skin as he spread your thighs further apart, head dipping down and kissing a gentle path down your stomach, over your belly button, and further south.
Joel didn't rush. He never did. He took his time, his lips finally parting against you with a slow, filthy drag of his tongue, savoring your taste. His nose nudged right against your clit, his breath hot and uneven as he worked you with deliberately slow strokes.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, hands finding that salt-and-pepper hair of his and tangling your fingers into the strands, holding on as you tried to buck your hips up and fuck yourself back onto his tongue.
His hand held your hips, holding you steady. "None of that," he muttered. "Take what I'm givin' you darlin'. Stay still f'me."
He licked back into your pussy with a groan. Every flick of his tongue was slow and deliberate— first teasing your clit with the flat of his tongue, then circling tight and slow with the tip, shuddering when he heard you whimper with need in response.
You trembled under his touch, fingers tightening in his hair, trying to press him impossibly closer. His nose nudged your clit so good as he sucked slightly at first, then harder until your back arched off the bed.
"Fuck," he groaned when he pulled away briefly for air, your slick staining his beard, his lips shiny and wet. "Y'taste so damn good, baby. Could eat you out for hours."
And knowing Joel, he meant it.
His tongue dipped lower, briefly teasing your fluttering entrance before going back up, slow and filthy. The sounds coming from where he was sucking and licking you was obscene, wet and messy.
He groaned when you tugged at his hair again, entirely overwhelmed with the attention he was giving your pussy. His own hips ground down into the mattress, not able to help himself when you were making the sounds you were. He was drunk on your pussy, and he needed some relief in order to keep going, to help with the ache of his hard cock.
Your entire body trembled as he worshipped your cunt. This was the best birthday gift you could've ever wished for, no doubt.
"Joel," you whined, toes curling as you desperately tried to fuck yourself back onto his tongue.
His hands held you down as his tongue dragged a thick stripe through your folds. Slow and lazy— he could take the entire night to worship you, if needed. One hand moved beneath you to support your lower back, fingers splaying open to tilt you higher and deeper into his mouth.
He didn't rush, much to your frustration. He sucked your clit between his lips just enough to make you gasp, then soothed with slower, flat strokes of his tongue. His chin was slick with spit and your arousal, dripping down his chin onto his beard as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue circled.
He ground his own cock hard against the mattress beneath him, the denim doing nothing to relieve the ache. But his attention was on you, always on you. Especially tonight.
His hand slid from your lower back to your legs, gently squeezing your thigh before teasing your entrance with his rough fingertips. The sensation had you whimper, begging for more.
"Please, Joel, need your fingers," you begged, appreciating his devotion but also needing to come already.
He immediately slid in two of his thick fingers as you were already stretched plenty just from his tongue teasing your hole. His knuckles pressed into you, curling upwards slightly, effortlessly finding that spongy spot along your front wall that always had you lose your mind.
"Taste so damn sweet, girl," he rasped. "Fuckin' love this pussy. 'N she knows it too. She's drooling so much f'me."
His tongue kept gently flicking your clit as his fingers fucked into you slow and deep, hitting that spot that made your thighs tremble over and over. Joel was absolutely drunk on your pussy, eyes glazed and forehead damp with sweat as he watched you come apart beneath his touch.
Every single gasp, every moan, every hitch of your breath made him work harder, fingers fucking into you, unable to stop himself from rutting against the mattress desperately at the sight of you.
He pulled back briefly, pressing soft kisses on your clit that made your stomach flutter. "Look at you, darlin'," he said, voice thick with want and something softer. "You're shaking f'me. Feels good, don't it?"
You nodded, followed by a gasp as his tongue flicked your clit again. At this point it was throbbing, clit peeking from beneath its hood, so sensitive from his worship that it would take very little for you to come undone.
"Gonna make you come so fucking hard, baby. Gonna give you exactly what you need."
His movement turned more devoted, less teasing. He flicked your clit once or twice before diving back in, digits fucking into you deeper and harder than before, sucking your clit hard.
You cried out when he changed his touch from teasing to fucking you with the intent of making you come. One hand stayed tangled in his hair as the other held tightly onto the sheets, gripping it tight enough that you were sure you could've ripped it. If you thought he was pleasuring you good before, now it felt even better.
"Joel! Oh god, don't stop please, feels too good—" you babbled, shaking. He was pushing you towards a release so intense and delicious it was making your mind melt.
Joel couldn't control himself anymore. His hand that had been pinning your hips down released you, allowing you to freely grind up onto his face. He groaned when you did, body tensing as you ground yourself against his tongue, wetness slicking his face.
He took it all when your hips bucked, your thighs trembling against his ears as you squeezed them around his head, pussy clenching around his thrusting fingers as you chased that edge you were so desperate for.
His own grinding against the mattress turned needy, frantic. Denim rasped against the sheets, the rough fabric dragging over his painfully hard cock as he rutted into the bed with sharp, desperate thrusts of his hips.
He groaned, fingers curling deeper and pressing into your sweet spot as his tongue flattened and licked, wet and sloppy. He lapped your arousal as if he were starved, and judging from how he was worshipping you, he was.
"That's it," he encouraged you. His free hand trembled as it came up to tug at your painfully hard nipples, just as turned on and affected by this as you were. "Louder, darlin'. Need to hear you. Let me know how much you're enjoyin' your gift."
His teeth grazed your clit ever so slightly, making you sob. His fingers fucked into you with a punishing rhythm, curling and scissoring you open as he added a third finger, stretching you even wider.
He pulled back slightly, but his fingers never stopped. His chest was heaving, pupils dilated as he watched you.
"Gonna make you come now," he promised. "You're gonna take it, ain't you? So desperate for my mouth 'n fingers. Be good f'me and come, yeah?"
Then his mouth was back on you, demanding. His fingers pistoned deep inside you, leaving you no choice but to come undone onto his fingers as his tongue flicked fast over your clit and with just the right pressure.
You came mere seconds later with a loud cry of his name, loud enough that people that happened to be walking outside at this time of night might've heard. Your thighs nearly crushed his head as they squeezed around him, your toes curling. The feeling was ecstatic.
His own grinding against the mattress turned frantic. Watching you get off made him lose his mind, wanting to bury his cock inside you so badly.
Your pussy clamped down onto his fingers, desperately fluttering around his thrusting digits. He groaned into you, his tongue still working you through each wave of your orgasm even as you shuddered and trembled beneath him. His entire beard was slick with arousal and spit, proof of how dedicated he'd been to worshipping your cunt with all he had.
Once the last of your tremors faded, his tongue slowed, your trembling thighs going slack and giving him space to move again. For a second neither of you said anything— you boneless from your orgasm, and him from giving it to you.
After taking some much needed time to catch your breath, your fingers tangled in his hair, gently stroking his scalp this time.
"God, I love you," you said in awe. "Best gift ever."
Joel moved up, holding you tightly against him as he kissed you lazy and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You groaned, your hands traveling down his chest over the fabric of his shirt as you landed at his jeans, intending to undo his belt and return the favor.
You made a slightly surprised sound however when you felt a damp patch near the front. Your cheeks turned pink when you realized he'd come in his pants.
He froze when your fingers brushed the damp patch through his jeans. A slightly embarrassed sound escaped him, half groan and half curse. He tried to shift away, but you weren't letting him.
"Shit," his face was burning, hiding it by burying his face in your neck. A rare flush crept up his neck beneath the scruff of his beard.
"Didn't mean to... do that," he muttered. "Got carried away. Just seein' you like that... Jesus. Like I'm some damn teenager all over again."
You chuckled slightly, taking his face in your hands, giving him no choice but to look at you. "That's okay. It's honestly kind of hot," you said, kissing him to reassure him it was fine.
The kiss was slow and deep, gentle. His arms tightened around you, sighing in relief.
"S'pose it's my fault," he muttered when pulling away. "Makin' me forget to be careful. Looked too damn good coming f'me that I lost it."
Another chuckle left your lips. "Like I said, it's hot. Though it is sort of sad I couldn't return the favor." You paused, fingers caressing his beard. "Next time it's your turn, though."
He hummed in agreement, his hand slid up your spine, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pressed a devoted kiss to your temple. The rush and urgency from earlier had faded, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the room.
"Deal. Now let's get you cleaned up. 'S late." He said, already pulling away to carry you to the adjacent bathroom.
After a relaxing warm bath together he carried you into bed, holding you into his arms, your back to his chest as he cuddled you beneath the double layer of blankets. His calloused thumb rubbed slow, comforting circles on your hip, his lips pressing gentle kisses right beneath your earlobe. His voice was soft and gentle when it came, thick with sleep.
summary: Getting lost at midnight in the middle of nowhere doesn't sound too good. Neither does the shitty engine of your beat-up truck that decides to stop working, very conveniently, near an auto shop. Joel, the mechanic, insists on taking a look despite the shop being already closed. But after what you saw in the back room and with no money to pay, trusting him with your truck might be a very bad idea.
warnings: no outbreak AU, unspecified age gap, dirty pervert joel, masturbation, slight voyeurism (as much as she wants to deny it, reader is a freak), trading sex for a service, protected piv, fingering, spanking, choking, cum eating, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, alcohol & smoking, banter, teasing, no descriptions of reader's appearance, no use of y/n (if anything is missing please don't hesitate to tell me!!)
word count: 7.1k
a/n: went down the rabbit hole of sleazy!joel and i just had to write something for this filthy man 🌝 i blame the amazing fics of @littledes1re for the shit i just wrote girl i swear you put cocaine in your writing or smth i'm ADDICTED
No, no, no.
"Fucking piece of shit-"
Yeah, cursing at the damn truck would definitely make it move forward. That's clearly how cars work, throw in some bitchy whining and the engine will magically stop the death rattle it's currently making.
"Come on, come on, come on.." you mutter, gripping the wheel until your fingers go numb. "Don’t do this to me, not now."
Maybe you should call someone for help, ask them to come pick you up.
Sure, great idea. If you actually had cell service. Maybe you could find a phone booth somewhere. Even then… what would you say to anyone?
Sorry for calling in the middle of the night, could you come pick me up, please? Where? Oh, right. I have no fucking clue where the hell I am.
The engine gives a pathetic wheeze, almost as if it's mocking you, then goes silent again. You sit there for a second, debating whether to cry, scream, or just accept your fate.
That’s when you see it: a dim rectangle of light in the distance, a little oasis against the dark.
An auto shop. Closed, almost certainly. But the lights are on. Maybe someone is still there, someone who could at least tell you where you are if they can't fix your truck.
Not that you had any money to pay for it, anyway.
After many frustrated groans and fists slamming on the dashboard, you somehow managed to keep the engine alive just long enough to pull up to the door. The "CLOSED" sign stared back at you, but the dim glow of the shop promised hope, or maybe someone who could help you.
You exhale, gripping the steering wheel as the truck rolls to a stop, grateful it held together for just this long.
Just by looking through the dusty window, you can tell there's no one there, the place is empty. Still, you push the shop door open, the little bell above it giving a tired jingle.
"Hello?" you call out, stepping inside. "Anyone here?"
The front area is completely empty. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, reflecting off tool cabinets and a grease-stained counter. The place smells like oil and metal and stale beer, just what you'd expect from an isolated auto shop. Somewhere deeper in the building, something shifts, the noise drawing your attention.
So someone is here.
"Hello?" you try again, louder this time.
Still nothing, just a muffled sound from the back.
You hesitate for a moment before walking towards it, footsteps echoing softly in the quiet building. The door at the end of the hall is cracked open, light spilling through the gap.
You start hearing sounds that grow louder with every step you take. Muffled groans that lure you closer to the source, heavy breathing, a lewd sound you'd recognize anywhere. The slick, sloppy twap of skin meeting skin in uneven, rapid claps.
You should knock, you know that.
But you don't.
Instead, you glance through the opening, eager to see who's making those wet, obscene sounds.
It's a man, probably in his fifties, if you had to guess. He's leaning back in a worn office chair, the wheels squeaking faintly under his weight. He's wearing a dirty short-sleeved button-down littered with oil and sweat stains. The top buttons are undone, revealing a patch of tanned skin, prickly dark hairs curling across his chest.
There's a name tag pinned under the chest pocket of his shirt, part of what you assume is supposed to be his work uniform. You can't quite make out the letters on it, but right now you don't really care to learn his name.
The sight in front of you is far more interesting.
The dim light casts lines over his arms, highlighting the flex of muscle beneath sweat-streaked skin.
In his left hand he's clutching a Penthouse magazine, the damn thing is probably older than you by the looks of it.
The cover is crumpled, the image of a pretty blonde woman sprawled across the front with her legs spread eagle, staring out with a sultry, inviting gaze. The gloss has worn thin at the folds. Many of the pages are dog-eared and surely stuck together, some edges warped from years of repeated use.
But you're not interested in the pretty lady on the cover either, your gaze is fixed somewhere else. On the source of the sounds you've heard earlier, to be more precise.
His right hand is wrapped around the girthy length of his cock, stroking it leisurely.
You squint, taking in the movement of his calloused palm sliding up and down, from the pinkish tip, slick with small white drops, down along the pulsing vein on the underside, all the way to the base. Coarse hair traces a thin line up to his bulging belly, disappearing beneath that filthy shirt of his, and down over thick thighs left bare by the denim pushed to his knees.
You freeze behind the doorframe, heart hammering in your chest. Every stroke, every slick movement, every pant that leaves his lips makes it impossible to look away.
Your stomach twists and the slick pooling in your daisy dukes doesn't make it any easier to look away.
You shouldn’t be here. You really shouldn’t. What you should do is turn away and go, give the man some privacy.
Okay, go. But where? Last time you checked, your truck is acting up and you have no idea where you are.
Then, suddenly, the frantic movements of his hand stop.
Your heart lurches. Surely he saw you, caught you peeking. When you look up from his twitching cock, bracing to meet his eyes, you're relieved to see that he's not looking at you. His gaze is locked on the magazine in his other hand. He flips a few pages, examining each one with slightly furrowed brows. The crease on his forehead eases when he seems to find something he's satisfied with.
Then, with a small sigh, he leans back against the squeaky chair, spits into his palm and wraps his hand around his dick again. His thumb glides over the tip, gathering the small pearly beads that have formed there, stroking slower now as his eyes remain glued to the pages.
Heat coils low in your belly, spreading outward in a way that makes your thighs tremble. You shift your weight, pressing them together instinctively, but it barely helps with your aching clit not getting the attention it yearns for.
Your nipples prickle through the lightweight fabric of your tight top, straining for notice without the barrier of a bra.
You press your hands to your thighs, gripping the denim to steady yourself, but it’s useless.
You shouldn't be here, shouldn't be peeking, shouldn't be enjoying this as much as you are.
You really shouldn't.
For a moment, you almost forget why you’re even here, why your shitty truck is still waiting outside. Your fingers drift to your pussy, heat radiating even through the denim of your shorts, and your body shivers at the sight of sticky spurts shooting from his twitching length.
Great, you didn't even get to enjoy the view long enough and now he's already cumming all over that damn magazine.
Now you really shouldn't be here, any moment now he'll notice you. So you do the most logical thing you can think of.
Run.
Feet pounding softly against the concrete, you dart back to the front desk, hands braced against the edge to steady yourself.
You freeze just for a second, listening, straining to hear any sound from the man.
Nothing. Just the hum of a fan circling lazily and a distant song on a dusty radio tucked in the corner of a table amongst some dirty tools.
Safe. For now.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It must’ve been a few minutes later when you finally hear a whistled tune drifting down the hallway, followed by the soft jingle of keys.
The man appears from the back, a cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth like a toothpick, a ring of keys spinning around his finger carelessly. He strolls out of the hallway unhurried.
In the bright overhead lights you can finally get a proper look at him, far better than in the dim back room where you just saw him jerking off.
He’s exactly the kind of man you’d expect to run a place like this.
Mid-fifties, maybe. He’s broader than you first realized, his body filling out the stained button-down that surely has seen better days. The short sleeves hug thick forearms dusted with dark hair and faint grease smudges. His shoulders are strong and wide, while a soft, pudgy stomach strains faintly against the buttons, the fabric pulling tight across his chest and belly. You can finally read the word on his name tag.
Miller.
His face has that worn, roadside look to it. Weathered skin, a crooked nose that might’ve been broken once, and deep lines around his mouth and eyes like he squints into the sun more often than not. Dark stubble covers his jaw, a little uneven, and there are faint streaks of gray running through his hair at the temples. Not neatly styled, just pushed back like he ran his hands through it a few times and called it good.
The cigarette bobs between his lips as he walks, and when he pulls it out to exhale, you catch the smell of cheap tobacco drifting across the room.
He looks exactly like the kind of sleazy guy you’d run into at a lonely gas station at midnight. The kind who’d lean on the counter, give you a long once-over, and ask where you’re headed with a half-smirk like he already knows the answer.
"I’m sorry, man, we’re closed," he calls out gruffly, not bothering to check who’s standing there. "You’ll have to come back in the morn-"
He finally looks up.
And stops.
He takes you in from head to toe without much effort to hide it, smoke curling from his mouth as he exhales towards the ceiling.
His posture changes almost instantly. Shoulders roll back. Chin tilts slightly. The keys stop spinning on his finger.
His eyes run over you slowly, starting at your legs and taking their time climbing upward, lingering on your tits a moment longer before lifting a brow when he finally sees your face. The cigarette shifts in the corner of his mouth as his expression changes, less annoyed now, more interested.
"Well now," he mutters, his voice dropping into something rougher. "What's a gal like you doin' out here in the middle of the night?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you're closed-"
His eyes flick towards the window where your truck sits outside, then drift back to you again, slower this time.
"Lemme guess…" he says, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "You havin' problems with that truck of yours, sweetheart?"
Another slow look up and down, completely shameless. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the concrete floor without breaking eye contact.
"Well, yeah. Damn thing's acting up," you admit, shifting your weight a little under his stare. "But I just need some directions, actually. I don't wanna bother you after closing time."
"Bother?" he scoffs softly, taking a few steps towards you. "Nonsense, sweet cheeks," he gestures lazily towards the garage bay with the cigarette between his fingers. "C'mon, lemme take a look at it. I'm sure I can fix it for ya."
"Are you sure?" you ask quickly. "I mean, you're already closed. I really don't want to-"
He stops a few feet away, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth as he studies you again.
"Wouldn't be right lettin' a lady sit out on the side of the road all night," he adds, voice turning almost mock-chivalrous.
You hesitate, glancing towards the window where the truck waits outside under the dim light.
"I really was just hoping to find the next town," you say.
And I really don't have any money for your greasy ass.
"Next town's a good twenty miles down that highway," he interrupts, jerking his chin towards the road. "And if that thing's already actin' up, you might not make half of it."
He flicks his cigarette aside and crushes it under his boot without looking down.
Then his eyes return to you, that same crooked smile creeping back.
You hesitate, fingers curling into the hem of your shorts.
"I just need to know where I am," you say carefully. "So I can… call someone. Have them pick me up."
His brows lift slightly.
"Call someone," he repeats, tone slow.
"Yeah. I don't have service out there, and I have no clue what road this even is," you offer a small, tight smile. "If you could just tell me the name of the road, that’d help."
He studies you for a second too long, eyes narrowing just slightly before telling you what you want to hear.
You've never even heard of this road. How the hell did you get here?
"Is there a gas station or something nearby?" you ask. "Somewhere I could get signal?"
He huffs a quiet laugh.
"Closest place with decent reception’s back the way you came. ‘Bout thirty minutes," he tilts his head. "You plannin’ on walkin’?"
You glance towards the door, towards the endless dark road stretching in both directions.
"I'll figure something out."
"Mhmm," his eyes drag over you again, slowly this time. "You ain't gonna last ten minutes out there, sugar. Road's full of sketchy guys at this hour. You wouldn't wanna run into the wrong people."
Wrong people? You can’t help the thought that you’re already standing in the presence of one.
You bristle slightly. "I can handle myself."
"I’m sure you can," he replies, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced.
"So…" he says, hooking his thumbs casually into his belt loops. "You gonna let me help you out, or you plannin' on riskin' it?"
If you go out there, chances are that he's right and you're really fucked if you run into some drunk guy looking to blow some steam off.
But if you stay and let him fix your car, how are you gonna pay?
You reach into your purse, the one you tossed onto the passenger seat after spending your last cash on gas a few hours ago. Except for a few crumpled receipts, a lip gloss and a lighter, it’s empty. Nothing.
"Look, I don't have a lot of money right now."
None at all, actually.
"Don't worry 'bout that, sweetheart. We'll negotiate the price later."
You swallow, heart hammering, and look back at him. His smirk hasn’t faded. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like he knows exactly what’s going through your head.
Fuck it. You'll figure something out.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
"Hmm, she’s not looking too happy," he mutters, voice low and casual.
By she, he means your truck.
"Could be the battery… starter… hell, the whole engine might be busted."
He crouches by the truck, hands resting on his knees, scanning the engine without even touching a tool.
You’re perched on the edge of a metal worktable, legs swinging lazily, watching him move.
You cross your arms, eyes following every motion. There’s something mesmerizing about him, confident, unhurried. And though he focuses on the truck, you suspect he’s aware of you, too, the way his glance drifts your way every so often.
"Huh," he mutters again, straightening and leaning against the fender, eyes squinting over the engine with a practiced intensity. "She’s been treated like a cheap rental, ain’t she?"
"She’s been treated very well," you snap, rolling your eyes. "Not that it’s any of your business. Can you fix it, or not?"
He chuckles, taking a big gulp from a bottle of beer he took out of a mini fridge earlier. You watch his neck bobbing when he swallows, a small drip of beer running down from the corner of his mouth. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand before speaking.
"Oh, don’t worry. I’m gonna get her running. She just needs a little… lovin’."
He sets the bottle down and crouches again, one hand resting casually on the wheel well as he examines the engine, muttering under his breath. His eyes flick to you, lingering just long enough to remind you that he enjoys having an audience.
You shift slightly on the table, trying to appear casual, but your pulse ticks a little faster at the way he moves and the tone in his voice.
He straightens from the engine, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, and glances up at you when you decide hop off the table and approach him.
You might as well make conversation while you're trying to figure out how the hell you're gonna pay this motherfucker. You realize that your snappy comment from earlier clearly wasn't the best approach. Maybe if you're friendly enough he won't charge you at all.
Highly unlikely, but it won't hurt to try.
After a beat of silence, curiosity gets the better of you. "So… what did you say your name was?"
"Name’s Joel, sweet cheeks. And I don’t think I caught yours either."
He extends a grimy hand towards you. You hesitate for a second, then shake it reluctantly after giving him your name.
Why does he even care? It’s not like he’s going to use it, probably prefers anything else in its stead.
Joel’s grip lingers just a second too long before he lets go, his thumb dragging slightly over your knuckles before he turns back to the engine.
"Pretty name," he mutters after repeating it, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth.
He leans back under the hood, grabbing a wrench, but not before his eyes flick over you again.
The sharp click of metal fills the space.
"Are you sure you can fix it?"
He huffs under his breath. "Don’t stress your pretty head with that, sugar" he says, voice rough, almost lazy. "I know what I’m doin’."
A beat.
"Been fixin’ things longer than you’ve probably been alive… all kinds of things."
You roll your eyes, but you feel your cheeks burning anyway.
"Don’t get many visitors out here this late," he goes on casually. "’Specially not ones like you."
You shift your weight, crossing your arms again without realizing that you're also squishing your breasts together in the process. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He lets out a quiet laugh, tightening something with a sharp twist. "Means you stick out. Most folks who come through here got beer bellies, not a nice rack like yours."
Disgusting pig.
His eyes flick up to you again, slower this time, lingering on your chest without a hint of shame.
He crouches lower, one hand braced against the frame while the other works the tool loose. His movements stay unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. Like you do too. You can swear that he's doing it on purpose.
"You’re wound up too tight," he says, like it’s a simple observation. "Ain’t gotta be."
"I’m not."
Liar.
He hums, not buying it for a second. A faint smirk pulls at his mouth as he shifts, wiping his hand on the rag before reaching deeper into the engine. His arm flexes with the movement, grease smearing across his skin.
"Relax," he says, tone low, almost amused. "I ain’t gonna bite."
Your throat feels dry, a stark contrast to the damp heat pooling in your panties. Why do you feel like this? How did he manage to get you so wet without even laying a finger on you?
You need something to steady yourself. Your eyes land on the bottle he left sitting nearby, still half full.
Screw it.
You grab it without asking, lifting it to your lips and taking a long swig. The beer’s warm and bitter, but it calms your racing thoughts and eases the tight coil of tension in your chest.
Joel notices immediately. His hand stills for a fraction of a second before he glances up at you, eyes dropping to the bottle, then back to your face.
"Help yourself, sweet cheeks," he mutters, voice rough, edged with amusement.
You lower the bottle, shrugging like it’s no big deal. "You left it there."
He smirks. "Want a smoke too while you’re at it? I'm sure there are some snacks you can eat in the fridge," his tone drips sarcasm.
"Yeah, actually," you reply, shrugging again. "A smoke would be nice."
He's probably gonna keep you here all night or call the cops on your ass when he sees that you've got no money to pay, so you might as well enjoy yourself while he's working.
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro Reds. The smell of tobacco mingles with motor oil and sweat.
You step closer, inhaling the mix and waiting as he hands you a cigarette. You place it between your lips, waiting for him to light it.
His eyes flick up, slow and knowing while he brings up the lighter to your mouth.
"You always steal people’s drinks, ask for cigarettes… and spy on ’em while they’re havin' a good time?"
Having a good time?
Oh-
Oh.
Goddamn it, so he did see you peeking.
Well, at least there's no point in denying it now.
You take a long drag from the cigarette, lips wrapped tight around the filter, staring him dead in the eyes. His lips twitch under the scruffy mustache, just the faintest smirk tugging at the corner. You can almost see the image forming in his mind while he takes in the view of your mouth sucking on the filter.
Pervert.
Him? Or you? You're thinking the exact same thing, so are you really any better than him?
After pulling the cigarette away you hold the smoke in your lungs for a moment, then blow it straight in his face, letting it envelop his jaw and nostrils. The gesture is bold, almost teasing, and you can see his amused eyes narrow slightly through the haze.
"You always jack off when your clients are waiting?" you ask, voice steady despite the heat pooling low in your belly.
"We were closed, sweet cheeks," he says, voice low and lazy, that crooked smirk reappearing on his face. "There weren’t supposed to be any clients."
He takes a slow step closer, wrench still in hand. The faint smell of motor oil and sweat drifts towards you, mixing with the burning tobacco in your hand, heady and intoxicating.
You instinctively take a step back. Joel moves again, shrinking the distance between you.
Your shoes click against the concrete, and you realize too late you’re being backed towards the metal worktable where you’d been sitting earlier.
One more step, and suddenly your back presses against the cold edge of it. You’re caged, him in front, the table behind.
He leans in slightly, wrench in one hand, the other landing on the surface behind you, eyes glinting with amusement and something darker.
The space between you shrinks, and the warmth of his body presses into you. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, every nerve screaming warning. The fluorescent hum of the garage fades around you.
"That’s not the point-" you start, voice sharp, trying to put some authority into it. "You can’t just-"
He cuts you off with a low, lazy chuckle, leaning closer. He sets the wrench down on the table beside you, freeing his hand just long enough to pluck the cigarette from your fingers.
"Oh, I can," he says, wrapping his lips around the filter before pulling a slow drag. He hums when he tastes the faint flavour of your lip gloss left on the cigarette.
"I’m off the clock, sweet cheeks. I can do whatever the hell I want."
You straighten your back, trying to keep your voice steady. "That doesn’t make it right. You can’t just-"
"Right? Nah, don’t worry about right and wrong," he interrupts again, exhaling smoke to the side.
His eyes gleam, scanning you from your legs up to your face. "Tell me, sugar.. is it right to let me fix your truck when you ain’t got a dime to pay me?"
You freeze, heart hammering in your chest like it's ready to explode.
"I-"
He leans just a fraction closer, smirk widening. "Pretty little thing like you, all alone, no money… what am I gonna do with ya?"
Your stomach twists, part dread, part arousal, and you realize there’s no point trying to argue. He’s got the upper hand, and he knows it.
You don’t know what possesses you. Pride, defiance, or the reckless heat simmering under your skin, but instead of shrinking away, you grip the edge of the table and push yourself up onto it. The cool metal bites into the backs of your exposed thighs as you lift yourself.
You hold his gaze as he steps forward until he’s standing between your legs, the cigarette still dangling from his mouth.
Your hand rises slowly. Your fingers brush his lips as you slide the cigarette free and bring it back to your own mouth. Joel’s eyes darken at the touch. His hands come to rest on either side of your waist.
"You could let me go without paying…" you murmur, voice quieter now.
"And why would I do that?" he asks softly, gaze dropping to your mouth as you take a slow drag.
"Because that's what a decent man would do."
"I think we’re past decency, sweetheart…" His hands trail up from your waist, touching the curve of your chest. Instead of pushing him away, you lean into the touch when his thumb swipes over a hardened nipple through the material of your top.
"I accept other forms of payment, you know."
"That so?"
He nods once. "Mhm.. I’m a flexible man."
One of his hands snakes back down to your waist, further down to your hips until it nestles between your legs and cups your pussy through your jeans.
As much as you want to deny it, you want this, probably more than he does. Oh Lord, you can't even explain how much you crave it. You know it's wrong, you shouldn't be enjoying this as much as you are. You shouldn't be as wet as you already are.
But is it truly that wrong?
Would anyone blame you for simply wanting to be at the mercy of a total stranger?
Probably.
But after the long, exhausting day of driving you've had, you couldn't give a fuck about what anyone would think.
"I thought payment comes after the job’s done," you say, forcing a cool edge into your voice.
"Sugar," he murmurs, leaning in closer, "I like knowin’ what I’m workin’ with before I put in the effort."
You swallow but hold his gaze.
"So this is a down payment?" you ask, raising one eyebrow.
His thumb presses lightly on the denim, right above your puffy nub, testing your reaction.
"Call it whatever the fuck ya want, but I prefer.. exchanging favours."
The forgotten cigarette trembles slightly between your fingers, the slow movements of his thumb over the rough denim making you bite the insides of your cheeks.
Without breaking eye contact, he lets go of your breast, reaches down and plucks it from your hand, taking one last drag. The ember flares bright in the dim garage, but you don't look at it. You can't avert your eyes from his piercing gaze.
Then he drops it.
It hits the concrete with a dull thud and he crushes it under the heel of his boot, grinding it out slowly.
"Come on, sugar. Get your pretty ass off that table."
You hold his gaze for a second longer, then slide off the metal surface. Your feet hit the floor softly. You turn your back to him and lean against the table, palms flat against the cool steel. You tilt your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder.
"Better?" you ask.
He hums in response, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans, rough knuckles brushing your stomach as he tugs you back an inch, just enough to create space.
He drags the zipper down in one steady motion, the sound loud in the quiet garage. The button pops free under his thumb. His hands slide to your hips again, thumbs slipping just inside the loosened waistband. The denim scrapes against your skin as he pulls your jeans down to your ankles.
You hear a sharp whistle behind you before his hands land on your ass, kneading the flesh in his palms.
"Well, I’ll be damned," he mutters under his breath.
You feel his finger hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging the fabric away from your skin before letting it snap back into place.
"I was right, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and satisfied. "Look at those sweet cheeks," his palm comes down sharply on your ass.
The impact is sudden enough to make your whole body jolt. A sharp hiss slips past your lips as the sting blooms across your skin. For a second, every muscle in you goes tight. Then his hand smooths over the spot he struck, easing the heat he just created. The contrast makes your breath hitch, the roughness replaced with an almost comforting caress.
"Sensitive, huh?" he mutters, voice thick with amusement.
"Shut up."
You press your palms harder into the table when you hear him chuckle, trying to steady yourself, telling your body not to react.
But it does.
His hand lingers, dragging lightly over your hip before drifting to your front as he leans his body forward against yours.
God, you can just imagine that smug look on his face.
How the hell did you end up like this? Bent over a table, ready to get fucked stupid by a pervert with a filthy mouth, all in exchange for getting your truck fixed.
Speaking of said pervert, his fingers are currently making their way down to your pussy agonizingly slowly.
"I bet this pussy's already wet for me, sugar. Ain't that right? Ain't she soakin'?"
Out of all the seedy men in the world, you had to fuck the one with the biggest mouth, who thinks calling your truck and your pussy by a pronoun is perfectly normal. It might not be normal, but it sure makes your walls flutter. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, and rightfully so. You’re soaked just from him slapping your ass.
You just hope his dick is as big as his ego.
"No, she's not-," you try, and fail, to convince yourself, at least, that Joel's touch has no effect on you, "Fuck.. I'm not-"
You try to distract yourself, looking at the cracks in the wall in front of you as if they’re the most fascinating thing in the room. Your gaze lingers on the wrench he placed on the table earlier, now sitting in the corner of your eye, anything to keep your attention off the man standing behind you.
His fingers slip down the front of your underwear, tracing an experimental circle over the bundle of nerves tucked between your thighs just as you were inspecting the rust on the wrench’s handle. Your hands clench, the bite of your nails digging into your palms forcing your eyes shut.
You’re sopping wet, and he knows it. Feels it.
"Oh, sweet cheeks.. I wish you could see 'er, she’s practically drippin’-"
"Can you please shut the fuck up?" you snap, lowering your head and resting your forehead on the table.
Your body feels like it’s on fire, and the cool metal pressing against your torso does nothing to soothe the sensation. If anything, it only makes it worse. You struggle to breathe, your hardened nipples pressing uncomfortably into the surface with every rise and fall of your squished body.
You can feel the rough calluses of his fingers even through the fabric of your panties, the friction against your clit making your legs tremble.
This man can’t possibly be just a mechanic. This dump of an auto shop has to be some kind of front for a brothel or something. It’s kind of embarrassing, the state he’s got you in from nothing more than the pads of his fingers.
There’s a low groan from his throat when he pushes your underwear to the side and runs a couple of fingers between your damp folds. The feeling and the sound of him has your jaw clenching tight in an attempt to muffle a whimper.
"Why would I shut up, huh? I can see how much you enjoy-"
"I don't-"
"Deny it all you want, sweetheart. This pussy's practically beggin' for me," his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging into your skin.
Oh, how you loathe that filthy mouth of his and everything that comes out of it. You despise every corrupt remark, especially the way they make you feel. Because he's right. You do enjoy every depraved word.
You try to conjure a comeback in your head, but when two thick fingers sink into your cunt with a loud, squelching sound, your mind goes numb.
Your head snaps up from the table, your back arching, hips straining against his grip when he starts moving his digits, curling them inside you to hit that spongy spot that makes you see stars.
Fuck, it's not enough. You want more. You need more of him.
"Please-" you practically whimper, trying to turn your head to catch a glimpse of him.
He takes great pride in hearing your strained voice attempt to beg for him. And you take great pleasure in seeing him hard, straining against the denim of his worn jeans. Scratch that, you don't just see him. He's pressed so closely to you that you can feel him twitching against your ass.
"Please what, sugar?"
You can't take it anymore, without even realizing your mouth parts and a hushed moan slips out. Then another, and another, and another. Each one of them louder than the latter.
You need him. Who cares that it's wrong to do this with a stranger? Who would care when just the stranger's fingers can do that to you?
"Please," you whine, "I need it.. I need you."
That's all he needs to hear.
His hands move, no longer gripping your hip, no longer buried inside your weeping cunt. You nearly pout at the loss of his fingers, feeling the void they left behind.
You hear the faint metallic scrape of his belt buckle coming undone, the soft rasp of leather sliding through loops. Your walls clench around nothing in anticipation.
There's a faint shuffle behind you, him searching for something in his back pocket. For a split second, you think he’s pulling out another cigarette. But the sound is different. A plastic wrapper?
A condom.
At least he's a prepared pervert.
He gets his hands filthy because he refuses to wear gloves when working on cars but draws the line at fucking you raw. Do all of his clients end up like this? How many other girls have been bent down on this exact table before you? Is this a regular thing he does?
So many questions and yet you can't be bothered to find any answers when his jeans slide down to the floor along with his underwear. You bite your lip at the sight of his length springing free, the dark tip glistening with precum. He tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth, rolling it down smoothly to the base.
His left hand returns to your hip, guiding your body back until your calves are pressed to his thighs, while his right hand strokes himself a few times.
You feel him dragging his cock through your folds, the tip grazing your clit with every pass. Then a poke at your entrance, a shallow pressure struggling to enter.
"Fuck- you're so goddamn tight," he mutters under his breath.
His words barely register, all you can do is moan out his name. Your mind is reeling, thoughts swirling around endlessly making you dizzy.
He pushes once and in one swift mood every last inch of himself is sheathed inside you to the brim. You cry out at the pleasurable sting, eyes rolling back into your head.
"Goood girl.. that's it, sweet cheeks. Look at ya, so full of my cock," he praises.
You don't have it in you to answer. All you can do is nod a few times, hoping that he can see the back of your head bobbing up and down.
He drives into you again, falling into a fierce, relentless rhythm with each impossibly deep motion, harsh yet intoxicating, giving and taking. Every gasp that slips from your parted lips seems to fuel his fervor, urging him on with even greater force and intensity.
"Damn, you’re a needy one, ain't ya?" he mutters, gripping your hips tightly, his hands spanning your waist as his fingertips press against your stomach. "You’re pullin' me in so deep, sweetheart- been craving this that bad, huh?"
His hips drive into yours, the softness of your skin shifting under his grip with every rough thrust. You give him every sound he draws out of you: every cry, every breathless moan, every whispered plea, especially when he brushes against that perfect spot.
"You got nothing else to say, sugar? Where's that big mouth of yours, huh?" he taunts, bending over you until his warm breath grazes your neck, his mouth trailing slowly across your shoulder.
His arms cage you in, one hand slipping lower, his practiced fingers circling that sensitive nub in slow, maddening strokes, the other rising to cradle your jaw and throat in a possessive hold.
“Too gone to think straight, huh? I’ve got you that messed up, baby?” he growls, pushing himself deeper, forcing another broken sound from your lips.
Flattened against his chest, he lifts you off the table, hauls you upright and drives up into you with a sharper, more punishing rhythm, a low chuckle rumbling from him when a cry rips free from your strained voice. His hold tightens as if he could press you right into him, every movement claiming more. He doesn’t ease up, his hand keeps working between your legs, his touch rough and insistent, while his mouth leaves heated marks along your neck, teeth grazing and lips sucking slow reminders into your skin.
"I can’t- 's too much, I’m gonna-"
Pleasure surges outward from your core in relentless waves, pulling you closer and closer to the brink. You’re teetering on the edge, barely holding yourself together, clinging to a few more stolen seconds of bliss, just a little longer with him.
His grip tightens around your throat, while his forearm presses hard between your breasts, the pressure hard enough to leave its mark.
"You gonna cum, sugar?"
Yes.
Your head falls back, fitting perfectly into the curve of his shoulder as the same word spills from your lips again and again, breathless and broken. The sound of it, sweet and desperate on your tongue, feels almost as intoxicating as the climax crashing through you, pleasure ripping from your center and flooding every inch of your body.
What happens next is a blur. You're too fucked out of your mind to even remember your name.
You just feel the loss between your legs when he pulls out with a loud groan, his rough hands turning you to face him. The cold floor hits your skin when you sink down to your knees. Did he push you down? Did you just do it on your own? You can't tell.
You see him pulling the condom off, throwing it carelessly on the floor before returning his attention to you. You look up to him with hooded eyes, parting your lips when he starts stroking his throbbing cock.
"That's it, sweet cheeks.. open up for me. Yeah, just like that-"
Before you can even process what’s happening, thick white ropes shoot from his tip, warmth spilling over your skin. You lift a hand to your cheek, brushing your finger through it before bringing it to your lips. A soft, satisfied hum escapes you as you savor the taste of him.
Damp with sweat, vision blurred as if stars are swirling before you, you struggle, gasping, to draw in a full, steady breath, but it won’t come.
Minutes pass in a haze. You're moving on wobbly legs, going back to sit on the metal table. You feel your thighs aching as you watch him pull his jeans back on, getting another cigarette from his back pocket.
Something clicks in your brain. Suddenly, you're too aware of the stickiness clinging to your face, of the loud whistle that echoes off the walls.
"Y'look real pretty with my cum drippin' on your face, sugar," he's sporting that shit eating grin you've grown accustomed to in the last hour.
"Get me something to wipe this off, asshole."
"There she is, thought you were still cock-drunk s-"
"Shut up."
Something is thrown at you, that grimy scrap of material he’d used to wipe his hands of motor oil earlier.
You wrinkle your nose. "Really? That’s all you’ve got? Nothing clean, maybe?"
He chuckles, a low, rough sound. "Just use the damn thing, sweet cheeks. Gimme somethin’ to remember ya by."
Gross.
Your fingers brush against the fabric, and you can feel the grit, the smell. Every nerve in your body bristles at it.
And yet… you do as he says.
You drop the filthy rag, wiping your hands on your thighs, "So… when’s my truck going to be ready?"
He leans back against your car, arms crossed, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Already done, sugar."
You blink, incredulous. "What do you mean… already done?"
He shrugs lazily, eyes roaming over you. "Took me longer to deal with you than the engine. She’s good to go. Start her up and see for yourself."
Cautiously, you hopp off the table, stumbling on unsteady legs toward the truck, glancing back at him. He just watches, that crooked grin never leaving his face, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the whole show.
You slide into the driver’s seat, turn the key, and the engine roars to life. Perfect.
"See?" he calls after you, voice low and teasing. “Told ya I knew what I was doin'."
summary: back from your first semester of grad school your parents lovingly drag you out to celebrate with an old family friend - but what unfolds there (and after) cracks you wide open
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, dad’s friend!Joel, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is in his early 50’s), light use of gendered language, yearning & flirting, some light angst, brief alcohol consumption, masturbation (f), smutty thoughts, heavy makeout, spicy themes, allusions to smut (p in v), Joel’s dirty talk, one use of “good girl,” one light ass smack, reserved but soft!Joel, start of secret relationship, lots of baseball talk
word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)
a/n: i know, i know another non-typical AU for Joel but I blame my sports girlie heart & baseball season so here we are lol big thank you to @swiftispunk for always putting up with my sports ramblings LMAO im so sorry Han ily, special thanks to @burntheedges @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @msjarvis because this truly wouldn’t be here without y’all - you don’t know how much you babes mean to me & I can’t thank y’all enough…now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡
You barely have any solid memories of Joel Miller, even if he was your dad’s oldest friend. And if you were being honest, you remember his brother Tommy more who smiled so warmly and seemed to radiate warmth.
Now you stand before Joel Miller’s face on the side of the Globe Life field along with the rest of the Texas Rangers professional baseball team.
It’s a cool evening in Arlington. Everyone seems to bask in the weather that feels perfect for a night of baseball.
Home from your first grad school semester, you didn’t think you’d be going to a game. But your parents explained how good the tickets were, and that even if you didn’t care about the game, you could just enjoy the stadium. So with the promise of free food and a nice night out, you were sold.
Now you’re here.
“Yesterday Joel said to head to the side entrance, that’s where we can check in.” Your dad eagerly explains and stunned you simply follow along like a confused duckling.
The sea of jerseys sweeps you into a sports wave until you’re deposited in a new space. Your jaw almost drops.
The VIP suites sit at the very side edge of the field, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.
The seats are incredible. Everything feels deluxe but comfortable. Someone calls out to your mom, and soon enough the rest of the Miller family approaches.
Tommy’s married now and his wife Maria is lovely, so is their baby. Joel’s daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are older. Time sucker punches you in the gut seeing how much time has passed, but you warmly greet everyone. You realize how long it really has been since you saw any of them.
You greet everyone warmly and appreciate all their surprised welcome seeing you back.
“Joel’s glad y’all were finally able to make it. Been talking about it since yesterday.” Tommy explains.
“Yeah us too! Just worked out that we all could come out and enjoy this with someone back home now.” You mom teases, but it’s warm.
Even though you were cities away, the new workload just kept you so busy.
You’re grateful to be here too. Even though your mind still swirls trying to grasp all of this.
You knew your dad’s friend made it big as a professional baseball player. Joel and his family left Austin to move to Arlington after he signed for the Rangers. So you rarely saw them. But with your mom’s job recently relocating here, your dad talked non stop about maybe seeing more of the games. It never really clicked that your family knew a professional sports athlete. Plus you never cared too much for sports to even look more into it.
Now as the game starts with a wild explosive and electric opening, you feel like you’ve slipped into another reality.
Then Joel’s entrance arrives, and your heart jumps out of your chest. The stadium erupts in a wild frenzy. The music for his arrival is western themed, grand and epic.
“All of this is because the league calls him Cowboy Miller.” Your dad explains.
The nickname was given to him not just because of his very southern twang, but Joel’s cold demeanor on the mound along with his wild style of pitching. All this led to him being deemed a Cowboy.
You understand why.
A serious air of power radiates from Joel while he approaches the mound.
Wearing a jersey with the number two on it, he’s older, more distinguished than the last time you remember him. Grays pepper his beard and the shadow of his baseball cap highlights the wrinkles flowing across his face.
He’s handsome, utterly gorgeous. His shoulders look broad, pure striking mountains, in his white jersey.
It’s like your mind finally registers and settles into the reality he’s a man, a full grown and incredible man.
And he really is incredible.
Even though he’s older for a pitcher, he still possesses dazzling talent. You even clap loudly when he strikes one of the batters out.
Your eyes never leave him. Joel sternly staring down the batter is terrifying. His legs look strong as he whips the ball fast to the home plate. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to his ass when he walks back to the dugout.
He’s gorgeous.
But cold reality crashes into you when your dad brightly yells. Joel is your dad’s friend, and that thought sours the bubbling feelings in your chest.
So you try focusing on the game, which actually turns out to be rather fun. The vibe of the stadium, along with the atmosphere of the game itself, is easy to melt into.
At one point someone gets a hit off Joel and he has to run to cover first. He’s surprisingly fast. Seeing him catch the ball, get the out, is so impressive and hot as fuck.
After that the Rangers switch pitchers.
As he leaves the mound, the stadium cheers at Joel’s exit. Very politely he nods, raising his hand in a quick goodbye to everyone. Then he scans the crowd.
It’s admirable seeing how he instantly finds where his family is. Joel’s roughed face melts soft with a small crooked grin hearing the applause they give him. He even spots your dad proudly cheering.
Joel’s eyes then lock with yours. Still walking towards the dugout, his face stays on you while his focus narrows in a cloudy confusion like he’s trying to recognize you.
Then his eyes go wide as realization sinks in.
You weakly grin back. It’s all you can do before Joel is fully gone from your line sight. Your heart thumps erratically within its cage.
The Rangers unfortunately lose by three. Once the game ends, you decide to swing by the merch store.
“Guess the game made you a fan huh?” You mom perks up noticing you eyeing the jerseys.
You shrug easily with an eased grin.
After this the Rangers have a five game stretch at home.
You only know because after the game you check for all things about the team, about Joel. You haven’t brought yourself to look at any videos of Joel yet. But you did discover from the team's instagram that he has one too.
Early the next morning, still lounging in bed, you scroll through Joel’s instagram page. It seems very professional, like it’s run by a social media manager primarily using it to promote Joel without being too personal.
You’re not paying attention, still a bit too focused on your phone, when a knock comes at the door.
Your face scrunches up confused. Then terror sucker punches you when you see who’s at the door.
No way.
Opening the door Joel stares at you, but this time wearing striking thick black rimmed glasses. They make him incredibly distinguished. Instead of seeming like a professional baseball player you’re reminded of a studious professor. And without a baseball cap on, you’re given sight of his soft glorious curls and the light gray streaks dancing among them.
He’s knockout beautiful.
Of course, you’re still in your mismatched lounge clothes and barely look like you’ve left bed.
He says your name, greeting you with a curt nod. You swiftly greet him with an awkward hello.
“Are you going for like a Clark Kent thing?” You blurt before you can stop yourself.
Joel’s face scrunches up as he sighs.
“Gotta take a break from my contacts s’all.” He admits with a grumpy reply.
But it’s his thick twang, the familiar southern accent - that sweeps you breathless.
“How do they even let you pitch?” You lightly tease, and
Joel rolls his eyes.
“Good to see ya too.” He rumbles, finally greeting you.
Now realizing he’s still standing in your doorway, you let him in.
Joel explains how he wanted to come by, visit your folks, catch up, and thank them for getting to stop by.
You’re the one early thanking him.
“The tickets were incredible. And you did amazing the other night.” You add sincerely.
“Oh, yeah thanks. Glad we won.” Joel nods.
“So they let you just roam around?” You ask slightly stunned still seeing him here in your family kitchen.
Joel scoffs. “Ain’t gotta be at the stadium till later.”
“So, was uh…surprised to see ya at the game.” His tone now reeks of trying to just make small talk.
Weakly you grin back explaining it was a nice change from your days on campus.
“So…back from school, huh.” That awkward thick small talk tone of his gets worse especially as he asks how’s it going and what you’re doing.
For being a talented professional pitcher, right now he simply seems like just some guy…
Just your dad’s pal.
The thought brings a strange acidic taste in your mouth.
You explain school is going good and how you’re here just visiting until the next semester starts up again.
Politely he asks what you’re going to school for. You tell him about your program, explaining all the classes you’re taking and even about the undergrad classes you help TA for.
Joel nods, quiet. You wonder if this sounds boring to a man who professionally plays baseball everyday.
“You’re damn smart.” He then whistles low, and his compliment jumpstarts your heart.
“Haven’t read a book since… shit can’t even remember when.” Joel muses.
“What? They don’t have you take baseball quizzes for pitching?” You joke, but it falls flat. Joel just gives you a dull look.
However his lips twitch faintly, like he’s fighting a grin, and it makes you grin.
“Though, I’ve heard you could maybe work on your slider pitch.” You add.
From the clips you’ve seen and the comments you’ve read, that's the one thing others have commented on, along with how unbearably handsome he is. ESPN even named him one of sports top most eligible bachelors.
“Oh?” Joel’s eyebrows rise up fast. Crossing his hands over his chest, Joel turns towards you more.
“Suddenly you’re a sports analyst now, huh?” The way his voice perks up confidently, matching your edge of playfulness, causes something to get stuck in your throat.
“Y’gonna start telling me how to pitch too? Just like your old man used to.” Joel adds still with that same tone and even chuckles.
But his words slice through you. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself tight.
Thankfully the sound of the front door unlocking arrives. Your parents are home.
“You’re fantastic, Joel. Glad I got to see it live.” You tell him earnestly looking him straight in the eye, as if to stare him down and remind him unwavering you’re a grown adult. Even if you’re in lounge shorts and holey t-shirt, you try holding your head high with as much grace as you can.
With that you head to tell your parents Joel is here then quietly slip back to your room.
Eventually your mom knocks on your door and pops her head in.
“There’s another game tonight. Wanna go?” She offers.
You decline, explaining you want to rest and catch up with a few shows you’ve been neglecting. Thankfully neither of your parents pressure you to join them.
With the house to yourself, you now search for as many videos of Joel you can.
Even slowly starting to understand baseball at a base level, you realize Joel ‘Cowboy’ Miller really is spectacular. You hear about his time playing for The University of Texas and how adored he is by his alma mater.
Then heat crawls up your chest when you see clips of him drenched in sweat, heavily breathing, or even licking his lingers to help with the ball grip.
You quickly turn the videos off before you get yourself worked up.
This has to be just a simple infatuated infestation. You simply need to try to shake it off.
The last home game the Rangers play the Minnesota Twins and Joel isn’t pitching. You again decide to sit this game out. You just have to detox yourself of Joel Miller.
Until you’re invited to a dinner cookout at his home. You thought about maybe playing sick, but with how hungry you are, you see this just as an opportunity to get a nice meal.
Your dad casually mentions Joel’s house has a pool, a nice bonus. He just forgot to mention how huge the Miller house would be.
Though gorgeously grand, it’s still surprisingly cozy. In the backyard you spot Joel at the grill and it makes your head spin. The weathered old burnt orange Texas longhorn shirt he wears looks cozy and casual, sits on him beautifully highlighting his shoulders.
You slip into the pool hoping it will cool you off. But your eyes always find Joel who now laughs with your dad.
Joel’s eyes suddenly flicker to yours, catching you staring red handed. Immediately you sink back into the water.
There’s more people here than expected and you feel a bit out of place. After drying off, you decide to head inside for a drink.
The soft Texas evening illuminates the home in a gentle glow. The music from outside floats in a soft hum making the room feel like it’s underwater.
Ellie told you the house was free for you to roam and from the quick tour she gave, you caught a glimpse of something you want to see more.
So letting yourself maybe take another peek, you walk back to the small alcove carved in the wall. It’s honestly a rather quiet achievement exhibition compared to other grand trophy rooms you’ve imagined.
There are honestly more pictures of Sarah and Ellie, along with Tommy and the rest of the Miller clan, decorating the main hallway of the house. All of it suits Joel.
His UT longhorn jersey is framed on the wall. There are a few awards clustered together, a couple of magazine covers where he looks so dashing in his uniform.
But what makes your heart float are the framed drawings of Joel with a baseball on the mound that range from adorable scribbles to a rather good pencil sketch. These had to be Ellie and Sarah’s work.
“If you’re thinkin’ about stealin’ somethin’ maybe go for the jersey. I can always get another one.”
Joel’s drawl trickles out, and you almost jump out of your skin. Turning to the side he walks to where you are. You hate how exposed you feel just being caught in his gaze and also obviously browsing in his home.
“Nah, I was hoping for a World Series ring to steal and sell but.” You shrug playful, knowing now he’s gone to the Series but never won.
Joel makes a low hissing sound like he’s injured.
“Damn, y’hit low.” He chuckles low.
You grin triumphantly.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get a ring someday.” You say simply.
“Sound sure about that.” He replies.
“Cause it’s true.” You nod. “You’re pretty great.”
Even with your limited knowledge of baseball, it’s easy to see how great he is. Joel is incredibly talented, a shining star stitched in accomplishment. Yet you can tell hasn’t let it go to his head. He’s anchored by his loved ones, and it’s admirable. You even tell him that.
“I…thanks.” He stumbles for a moment, deep dark eyes a bit cloudy as he searches your face with his voice thick and rumbled.
“What game has been your favorite?” You suddenly ask, wanting to know more about him.
His eyebrows furrow and his deep eyes glaze over a bit distant, creating a face of thought that looks adorable.
Then he nods with a soft grin remembering.
“One of the first games the girls gotta go to.” He paints a picture of seeing his daughters, sitting with their uncle Tommy, wearing too large adorable Texas Rangers jerseys.
“One of the best games I ever played.” He adds gently.
He really is a rare beauty of a man with a gilded heart of gold.
“And you? Your folks talk about ya nonstop. Tell me about grad school. And none of that simple ‘it’s good’ crap.” The quick playful mimic he does of your voice makes you laugh warm and bright.
So you tell him about your favorite moments from lecture and the fondness you have for simply embracing subjects you love so much.
Joel stares fully focused on you. You swear his eyes twinkle like stars might be sowed right in his deep earth depths.
He opens his mouth, eager to continue the conversation. Until the kitchen comes alive with more people entering inside. The bubble breaks, but electricity still brews under your skin.
The next day the Rangers have a game at Globe Life Field you go.
Even if Joel isn’t pitching, you want to experience this world he loves so much. You’re however surprised to find Joel is starting.
Your dad explains how one of the pitchers planned for today had to rest. So Joel will simply be the opener before the rest of the bullpen steps in.
Your heart doesn’t rage wildly as it did like seeing him the first time. Now you feel almost drawn to Joel. You focus on his stance on the mound, so disciplined and almost hauntingly serious.
The Arizona Diamondbacks batter hits the ball solid. It flies straight at Joel, and fear sinks its fangs into you.
Until with fast reflexes Cowboy Miller catches the ball eased. You and the stadium erupt wild.
The Rangers win one to four. On the high of the game, you head to the jerseys again in the shop.
“You should get one!” Your mom urges.
Your fingers itch, almost begging you to grab the jersey that says Miller on it. But something continues to hold you back.
On the drive back home, you now see all the great reaction clips and memes of the game. There's a particular one of Joel catching the ball that includes a great western music overlay, like he’s a hero in an old cowboy movie.
Feeling brave, you send the reel to his Instagram profile. You even add underneath the message “now you just gotta work on that slider pitch.”
You send it. Think, hell at worst the poor social media manager will see it and not even give it the time or day. He must get so many messages anyway.
When you get home, you see the message has been read.
But also, a new profile has followed you.
JM_8712
The profile also sent you a message.
JM_8712: ain’t nothing wrong with my slider
No way.
This can’t be who you think it is. You message back saying this possibly can’t be the real Joel Miller because he doesn’t seem like the type to even know how to send a gif.
JM_8712: think ur so funny huh
The account sends a simple gif of someone rolling their eyes.
Then another message flies in.
JM_8712: ur dad get those damn nachos he kept bitchin about with Tommy?
It feels like one of Joel’s changeup pitches knocks you out.
Because it’s really him messaging you. When you even go to double check the blank profile just to make sure, it barely follows more than twenty people and you spot Ellie and Sarah’s accounts among those profiles.
Warmth unfolds from your chest, dangerous and electric. This is Joel’s personal private account.
Unknowingly this all kicks off something you never thought would have ever started. You and Joel start talking.
The messages flow between you and him, back and forth, at first just talking about the games. Then, when the Rangers leave to travel, the messaging increases.
Joel sends you pictures of the places he travels, the food he eats, the vacant stadiums he gets to enjoy.
You devour it all with a greedy eagerness. However it dawns on you that you’re sliding down a slope too slippery to stop.
For the rest of the summer you earnestly check your messages on the app.
One evening, on a stormy delayed game against the Dodgers, your messages don’t send through. The weather is getting worse in Los Angeles.
“They’re gonna reschedule the game. Storm’s not letting up.” Your dad comments glumly.
You just hope Joel is alright.
Instagram finally alerts you of a message and your heart jumps.
Joel.
JM_8712: sorry connections shit
Then he simply sends you his phone number.
You wonder if you’re seeing things.
Trying to keep calm you text the number a simple message asking if he’s alright.
When your text alert chimes, it rattles your brain.
Yeah im good thanks
Then another message follows. It’s a photo from the locker, bags packed like he’s ready to leave.
Looks like room service for tonight
It’s Joel. You’re texting Joel right now.
It feels like a step deeper into a current you never want to leave.
Texting seems to shift the energy between you and him, a transmutation you never could have imagined.
You text Joel good morning and he tells you good night. You and him bond over a love of music. He’s got incredible taste while also complimenting yours. You stay up late on game days when pitched and now feel your throat dry up knowing you’re getting to know the man on the mound.
The desire brewing more for Joel mixes with the summer heat and melts the days away. Soon enough summer dwindles away, and your new semester approaches.
The drive back to your apartment is a good couple of hours. Funny enough Joel is also traveling today for a game. Stopping for gas midway, your phone goes off.
You think at first it must be one of your parents.
But instead it’s Joel.
You scramble to answer.
“Hey,” his voice sounds incredibly richer and deep on the phone.
“Y’doin’ alright?” Joel asks hesitant.
That catches you off guard.
“Oh yeah, just finished putting in gas actually. Why, what’s up?” You relax more into the conversation now curious to why he called asking that.
Joel sighs.
“Sorry I just…your last text uh, it just got me worried.”
Now you’re really curious about what you texted him. It had been half an incomplete response you sent. Even from your side it seemed abrupted and strange.
Sighing, you apologize that you didn’t even realize you had done that. In the rush of wanting to get out on the road you must have just sent the text.
But it suddenly hits you. Joel called because he was worried. That thought rips into you with a ferocious rawness.
“Okay yeah,” Joel says a bit clumsily. “I’ll…let you go.”
“No, it’s okay.” You quickly reassure him. “How’s the traveling going?”
“Good, just finished rewatching one of the inflight movies.”
“Please tell me it was Field of Dreams.” You tease him with the iconic baseball film as you head back on the road. Just now with Joel on the phone.
On speaker, Joel scoffs echoing in your car all around you. You realize this might be a bad decision trying to stay focused driving while also talking to him.
“Funny.” His thick drawl is dry but so softly teasing just below the surface.
“Was some new movie Sarah told me to watch but…fell asleep.” Joel admits low.
Thinking of him asleep on the plane clutches at something warm and deep in you.
Yes you can admit how badly you want Joel, how you picture what his calloused fingers would feel like on you, in you. But you also are finding yourself aching for more now…
Like falling asleep beside him while watching a movie, or sharing a meal with him and teasing him over his dry sense of humor.
It’s dangerous falling deeper like this.
Especially now in a blink you realize you’ve been talking to Joel this entire drive to your apartment.
“Shit sorry.” He realizes it when he sees the time. “Y’should’ve told me to fuck off. Don’t gotta waste your time talkin’ to some old ass like me.”
He rarely comments on his age, and his words sink hard into your gut.
“Trust me… I’m glad I get to talk to you.” You truthfully tell him.
“You’re the one who probably has better things to do than talk to me.” You add slightly dejected. The words even sting your lips.
“Like watching Field of Dreams.” You quickly add some light humor trying to dispel your heartache leaking in.
Joel snorts.
“Definitely would rather chat with you than watch that.” Joel mutters, but his world electrifies your skin.
“I’m flattered knowing I can beat Kevin Costner.” You joke. When he snorts amused, warmth fills you to the brim.
Someone in the distance calls out to Joel, and you know your time with him is limited. It’s confirmed when he sighs.
“Gonna be landing soon. Ya make it to your place okay?” He asks.
“I did, thank you. And thanks for keeping me company on the drive.” You smile to yourself.
“Don’t mention it. Uh, glad you made it back safe.” Joel replies and his words make you melt.
You say his name quick.
“Can you just… Text me when you make it to the hotel?” Just to know he’s safe. It’s simple, but it feels as if the words weigh a ton.
A moment passes.
“Yeah, will do.” Joel agrees.
He doesn’t text you. Instead Joel calls you when he gets to the hotel.
“Saw a full on fuckin’ fight at the airport when we landed.” Joel rambles immediately, and you learn how much of a secret gossip he is. While Joel breaks down all the details of what he saw, you realize he wanted to tell you about this.
A light burst in your chest because you want to tell Joel everything too.
And when your next semester starts, you tell him all you can.
The texting stays but evolves into more frequent phone calls. Joel listens to you with a gruff saint’s patience. He faintly picks up the names of your professors, even the name of your roommate. At one point he even stays on the phone with you when you cook dinner.
Joel calls during the stretch of waiting at the airports, a few times after games. Sometimes he rants about his teammates, sighs about his frustrations when they lose or when he ends up not doing well on the mound.
While every inch in your body still hums for Joel, it’s steady now - like you’re slowly accepting these emotions fully into your bloodstream and part of your existence.
You adore Joel, maybe more than you want to admit.
During a rare night out with your friends from class, feeling nice in your favorite outfit, courage courses through you. After posting a few photos from your night out, you also post a rather nice selfie.
You pray Joel sees it. Then you get a bit tipsy, and it takes all your willpower not to text Joel.
But the alcohol burns in you. Once you’re back at your apartment, in the safety of your room, you pull up your favorite video.
It’s a spring training video the Rangers made of the team preparing for the upcoming season. The video ranged from showing the guys on the field practicing, to them in the weight room.
There’s a nice small segment just on Cowboy Joel Miller. Specifically he’s training with a few weights and when you first saw it, your throat got so dry.
Joel is drenched in sweat. The simple worn navy blue shirt sticks to his body, highlighting the tone of his arms and width of his shoulders. Curls wet with sweat stick to his forehead. His concentrated face is sinful.
But not as hot as the sounds he makes.
The grunts, the soft growls, the exhales he gives lifting the weights… they drench your thoughts with images of him fucking.
You’ve never done this before, never gotten off on his videos. You never wanted to fall this far.
But it’s so hard when your body feels molten, so wet hearing with his groans directly in your ears. Your fingers trail down to relieve the throbbing wet ache between your legs.
Imagining Joel’s sweaty gorgeous body pressed against yours, picturing his thicker fingers in you, getting to taste him on your tongue - you come incredibly fast.
The next morning a text and a somber guilt wait for you.
Joel of course had messaged you.
Looks like you had fun last night
So he did see your pictures. A blistering heat crawls in your throat.
But reality sinks in fast. You got off to Joel. You don’t want to feel guilty. You reason there’s probably others who have maybe done it. But it does quietly eat at you.
So much that you don’t even reply to Joel for the whole day trying to sort your mind out. He’s the one that eventually calls you.
“Y’go out on a date or somethin’?” Joel asks about the night out, and your mind sputters to a halt.
“Oh uh, no. Just went out with some friends in class.”
“Oh.” He replies quick. “Well, looked like fun.”
You agree and thank him.
“But yeah, no dates for me.” You weakly laugh.
“Yeah? Any reason why?” Joel presses.
Because you’re partially head over heels for him, but you can’t admit that yet.
“No one’s asked me recently that’s all.” You reply simply. You’ve done the dating apps, had the headache mess of ghosting and awkward dates.
Joel snorts. “Pretty thing like you? Hard to imagine.”
His words, like a change up ball that drops wildly in the air, disorient you.
“Trust me, it’s real.” You dryly reply.
“And you? You must be seeing some famous celebrity in secret huh?” You teasingly ask.
You’ve seen the ESPN clips of the beautiful reporters flirting with him, cooing at how handsome he is. He probably could snag a supermodel or other famous person.
Joel barks a hollow laugh of a thing.
“No, none of that.” He answers.
“Ain’t not time for that or…mainly…haven’t found anyone who’s got the patience for me.”
Your heart sinks.
“Wait, what do you mean?” You quietly press.
He sighs.
“M’ older, a single dad. My schedule ain’t perfect. And those that have tried to uh… pursue something haven’t always had the best intentions.”
His voice trails off somber. You wonder how many just wanted him for his money or fame.
A grim cloud seems to settle above you.
“You’re a great guy Joel, an incredible one.” You earnestly tell him. “Those who can’t see it don’t deserve you.”
“And I have to say it but…you’re a real catch.” You go for the obvious baseball pun.
Joel’s chuckle is a beautiful low gruff treasure.
“That was bad.” You can almost picture him shaking his head. “But thanks…same uh, same goes for you. You’re smart, gorgeous. Someone will come around to see you’re worth it.”
You’re drowning in his words. They feel too much.
He ends up having to quickly end the call with his manager calling, and you’re thankful for it. Because this blooming rawness in you feels like it’s getting too much, yet not enough.
Joel’s compliments are sincere. But many feelings tangle you up. It hurts, like you’re stuck in a rose bush trying to get comfortable within the thorns.
Then, the universe decides to pull you away from Joel.
Classes kick up and the workload piles on. You’re exhausted. It even gets harder to reply to Joel as swiftly as you did. You even miss a few of his phone calls and don’t even call him back.
The days blur together.
Then, one morning you find a text waiting for you.
hope you’re alright
You want to cradle that message.
When you call Joel, it’s like not a day has passed between you and him. Your heart soars hearing his voice again.
“So uh…” Joel begins cautiously, and you’ve never heard him this nervous almost. “We’ll be heading your way into town soon.”
That’s right.
Caught up in the semester you completely forgot the team would be playing the Astros soon. Excitement immediately rises in you.
“Hope ya can come out and see us. And if ya do, let me know.” Joel suggests and you swear his voice sounds shy.
The minute the conversation ends, you try checking for tickets. But they’re a pretty penny. You jokingly circle the top section, the highest nosebleeds, and text him saying he needs to try and find you from here.
He texts back immediately.
Don’t worry about the tickets. Just head to will call and let them know you’re with me. Got it covered
That might be one of the hottest things you’ve ever read.
Game day can’t approach any faster. Your parents even mention the upcoming game when you call to check up.
“You should try to go!” Your dad urges, eager.
A part of you has wondered if Joel mentioned you to your dad. You’ve kept quiet, not saying a thing about whatever this is with Joel, and you now think so did Joel.
You take a small comfort in that.
When game day does arrive, you head to Minute Maid Park alone. Your closest friend and classmate couldn’t make it, and neither could your roommate. But for some reason, you’re slightly okay with being here by yourself.
At the ticket window, you nervously say that you’re here for Joel. Like if nothing they verify your name, and with an ease slide tickets your way.
Not just any tickets, but seats right by the Rangers dugout.
Still stunned, but now slightly lost, you can’t help but feel stranded in the stadium.
“You okay, sweetie?” A lovely voice comes and when you turn, you find a sweet older motherly woman. She wears a Texas Rangers jersey and another younger woman stands besides her in the same jersey. They both stare at you concerned.
“You lost?” The younger woman asks sympathetically.
It must be that obvious. The motherly older woman politely asks to check your tickets to point you in the right direction. She perks up.
“Aw look at that! You’re sitting close to us! Come on, we’ll show ya around!” She beams warmly.
“Wait, are you sure?” You ask worried.
“Oh of course,” the younger woman reassures you with a smile. “The stadium is so huge and besides, us Rangers fans gotta stick together.”
She then winks, noticing the Rangers shirt you bought and wore for the game.
You find out Malinda, the older woman, is the mother of the first baseman. And the other lady, Casey, is his wife.
Kindly, this sweet family adopts you, guiding you towards the section literally right besides the dugout on the other side of the net.
You’re stunned in shock yet again.
Even though your tickets are a few rows away from the two sweet ladies, they reassure you you’ll be fine sitting with them.
It’s beautiful and comforting.
“So, who are you here for?” Casey asks with a friendly gossip like whisper. “These seats are for friends and family, and I haven’t seen you around before.”
But then she quickly reassures you don’t have to explain if you don't want to.
You with a weak laugh you’re here to see Joel, adding that he’s a family friend. Her eyes go wide.
“Oh wow! And he warmed up today too so he might pitch!” She says excitedly.
Joel had texted you before the line up was confirmed that he would be warming up.
Don’t know if I’m gonna get put in but just in case
Even if he didn’t, you told him you just wanted to be there to support him.
With the Rangers being the visiting team, they bat first. You want to root for the guys to get a hit and get on base, but you also already selfishly want to see Joel.
Three outs come and the Rangers switch to take the field. No sign of Joel.
In fact he doesn’t show up until the fifth inning, and it happens so casually. Joel simply walks out from the dugout and takes your breath away.
The team wears their cobalt blue jerseys and the color flatters Joel marvelously.
It feels like seeing him for the first time all over again but through a deeper lens you can’t explain.
You clap and cheer with pride when he manages to strike out the first batter. Then the second.
Two strikeouts back to back.
Joel told you back in his younger days he struck out seven hitters in a row. Now for him to get two, much less strike out the third batter, is something to applaud and admire. And the Rangers fans here, including yourself, cheer loud when the team heads back for the next inning.
“Cowboy Miller in his golden age.” Someone off to the side whistles appreciatively.
You don’t fight the syrupy fondness swallowing you whole.
“It’s rare that a more…seasoned pitcher like Joel still is relied on,” your new friend Casey explains. “But it’s hard to see why not. Everyone’s been saying like he’s almost found a new groove and still has so much power.”
He’s a force you’re terribly in awe of.
Seeing the whip of how strong his body still pitches the ball with a dizzying speed, how handsome he looks under the baseball cap, you want to savor this as much as you can.
Joel manages to get two more strikes out in the second inning. Then by the seventh they get a hit off him but thankfully, no runs come in. Cowboy Miller ends the inning striking out the final batter. You, and the other Rangers fans present, erupt wild.
He did amazing.
Laser focused, locked in on the game, he doesn’t search the crowd or even glance up and you understand. The game gets intense when the Astros manage to hit a home run in the eight. In the end the Rangers win because of an error.
But it’s still a sweet victory.
You relish and warmly celebrate it with your co cheerleaders for the game that made you feel so welcomed with them. You’re about to head up and leave, start looking for an Uber ride home, when Malinda calls to you.
“Sweetie? Aren’t ya gonna wait with us and greet the guys!?” She asks with warm curious sweetness.
You can’t say no.
The commotion sweeps you into a neon coated excitement. There’s a special area sectioned off, almost in a backstage-like section that connects to the entry way for the visiting teams. You’re surprised at how many others wait here.
The team slowly trickles out of the locker room and into the hallway. You’re hilariously reminded of a class being let out.
Then the world then melts away when Joel walks out. Focused on his phone you almost want to call out to him, but your voice gets caught in your throat.
Putting his phone away Joel finally glances up and spots you.
Even with his baseball cap on, you see his eyes widen for a fraction. Your body reacts on its own moving towards him. But he also walks fiercely towards you.
The world blurs away for a moment and then without even thinking, you’re embracing him.
It happens so naturally you don’t even realize what you did until you blink and it’s like you’ve been thrown into cold water.
Panicking, you’re about to pull away until Joel’s arms slowly wrap around you.
“Good to see ya too.” He says low gruff but you’re taken out by the knees grateful your body doesn’t give out.
He smells of sweat, of the dirt on the field, and something sharply Joel, and it’s wonderful.
Quickly you draw yourself away to proudly tell him how amazing he did. Joel waves you off with a gruff noise as his eyes refuse to meet you, almost bashful.
It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close, been in the same space as him. And it feels so different.
“Alright, dinner?” Someone says, and when you turn, you’re stunned to see it’s the team manager.
Guess this means you’ll be saying goodbye.
“Headin’ home?” Joel asks when he notices you staying back once everyone funnels outside.
“Uh yeah, gotta grab an Uber first. Didn’t wanna drive down here and deal with Houston traffic along with awful parking during a game.” You joke, and Joel snorts.
“Let me take ya back then.” He offers, and you almost drop your phone.
You scramble out reassuring Joel it’s fine.
“Besides, don’t you have dinner to go to?” And where would he even get a car to take you.
“S’fine. Would rather make sure you get home safe anyway.” He then tells you to hang tight then goes to grab one of the rental cars the team has on ready.
Because of course they do.
Your blood hums wild knowing Joel is taking you home, that you’re going to be alone with him. Even in this glimmering dusted dream you still want to tell Malinda and Casey goodbye and thanks for treating you so kindly.
You wish them well and even welcome their warm goodbye hug.
“Wish you could come to dinner!” Casey frowns.
“Maybe next time.” Her mother in law says bright.
Next time.
“Yes hope to see you at more games.” Casey grins and the possibility bubbles iridescent in you.
With a goodbye to them you wait for Joel. There are still a few others of the wives or girlfriends hanging around while the team sorts out where to go.
You haven’t turned to give them any attention. However something crawls on your skin like you’re hyper aware of being watched.
“Did you see how she hugged him? Probably just using him, poor Joel.” One of them whispers.
“She’s not even that pretty.” Another one giggles.
“Oh then you know he’s maybe just using her then! And if that’s the case then good for Joel.” The other replies with a searing joke that makes your stomach sick.
Joel returns, keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”
You weakly grin back.
You should be basking in this moment of finally getting to be alone with Joel, of getting to see him drive you around. Once in the car he took off his cap allowing you sight of his soft hair. The darkness of the car, the warmth of the city lights flickering by, all coat him glorious. Yet those comments from earlier fester poisonous and sour any hope of enjoying this.
You stay rather quiet while giving him directions to your place.
Joel however is surprisingly talkative.
“So you’ll have to give me recommendations of places to go around here.” His voice even sounds just traces softer, higher almost - like he’s happy being here.
And it kills you.
“Y’seem quiet, you okay?” He notices it of course, ever aware.
“Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn’t know the game would take that much outta me.” You lie.
Eventually you arrive at your apartment complex.
“Your place is nice.” Joel admires as he helps you out of the car like the Texan gentleman he is. He even follows you to your door.
You graciously thank him again for this night and for taking you home.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.
You walk a few steps away from him. The night all around is still quiet, feels soupy with how much hangs in you.
You refuse to cry about this, don’t want to get emotional. If anything, you deserve to treat this like an adult.
“Joel…” you start cautiously, already hating the way your voice wavers.
“Yeah?” His voice stays steady, unbothered, but his eyes furrowing say otherwise.
“What…what is this? What are we?” You ask as steady as you can, but your tone continues to crack.
Joel’s eyes brow furrow and his mouth closes, tightening his jaw.
“Just…good friends.” He replies simply, almost cold. “Just showing my pal’s daughter a nice night.”
There it is.
Your soul deflates. So all the times you’ve felt like this might be something, maybe it's just been you wishing it would be.
So salvaging whatever dignity left, you nod.
“Thanks again, Joel.” You reply briskly and return walking towards your door.
He says your name. It stops you dead in your tracks.
“Why? Why d’ya ask that?” He asks, pressing firm and hard.
You turn back to him, and a deep scowl is etched on his face.
“It doesn’t matter.” You answer.
“The fuck does that mean?” He snaps a bit sharp.
“It means what it means.” You fire back.
“Bullshit. Why did you ask that?” Joel growls out firmer.
“Even if I told you, it doesn’t matter.” You repeat.
“Stop sounding like a fuckin’ owl.” His voice rises hard and fast, like a hand slamming on the wall.
It startles you, makes your eyes water and something in you shakes. Mainly because you know this is beginning to taste like the end. The smallest trace of hope is dissipating right before you.
You blink back tears, and immediately Joel’s face falls.
“Honey, I’m sorry-”
Shaking your head, you cut him off. Not even the sweet pet name he effortlessly uses can shake you.
Through gritted teeth you tell him to go.
“Not when you’re this upset.” He urges.
Through tears a sad water laugh escapes you and Joel’s eyes go cloudy.
“I’m realizing…I’ll never be anything to you then just your friend's kid, huh?” Your voice is waterlogged and you can’t fight it.
“You are.” He states simple and straightforward.
You nod, swallowing back the heartache boiling over.
“Can’t be anythin’ more than that.” Joel adds through mutter.
“Why?” You now ask him. Under the amber light of your apartment’s hallway the most frustrated cloudy look hardens his face.
His eyes scan your face then he steps closer towards you
“Don’t act dumb, sweetheart.” His voice rips out low cruel, slightly harsh.
You’re not and you tell him that.
“I…” the words you’ve held locked up so fiercely in your heart now sneak out from their bars to escape.
“I’d give anything to be yours, Joel.” You croak barely realizing you even said that.
He inhales, and his face goes taunt.
You wait for the sharp reply, even brace for it.
Instead Joel swoops in, kisses you wild like a sudden storm, and presses you against the door of your apartment.
Greedily, you claw onto him not wanting to ever let this go, to let him go. Your mouth begs him more to invade and consume. And he does so with a steady hunger.
The clamor into your apartment is messy, but at one point Joel cautiously stops to look around.
“My roommate’s visiting family…” you reassure, kissing his neck and softly under the side of his jaw with delicate cautious lips.
“Just you and me.” You whisper soft.
Joel takes command the minute you lead him to your room.
“Thought about this. Fuck, think about ya all the damn time.” He growls against your neck as he slides your bra off and runs a callous hand over your chest.
“Fucked my fist that first night you went swimmin’ at m’house.” Joel’s words make you whine and then his lips lick against your skin trying to savor you.
“Me too.” You admit through a whimper. “Touched myself thinking of you.”
Joel freezes.
“Tell me,” he says rather calmly, deadly almost.
Your syrupy lust begins fading away when you realize what you said, what he asks for, and what your answer will be.
Your lips and eyes shut close.
Then Joel’s warm breath, like a ghost, crawls against up your chest and tickles against your ear now.
“Come on, honey,” his voice is utterly decadent with a plea. “Tell me, please.”
You swallow hard telling Joel you don't want him to get weirded out.
He hums against your neck already starting to suck a mark against your skin. Your eyes roll back, and the embarrassment is quickly fading away.
“Promise, I’ll be okay.” Joel reassures you with a mumble against your skin.
So with a shaky voice, you weakly admit how you touched yourself to videos of him.
He groans.
“Baby, oh fuck, fuckin - shit.” Joel sputters out hard, like he just got kicked in the gut, and you’re worried until his lips smash into yours.
He devours you.
You’re swept into a tangled dizzying frenzy. Your clothes practically get ripped off as do Joel’s while he clutches onto you and licks into your mouth.
“That’s my girl. Knew you’d be m’good girl.” He says almost drunk and you’re done for.
You fall into the chasm with no hopes of turning back. But you don’t want to.
Joel feels like a god carving open your universe. You want to consume him and want him to consume you. He becomes your center of gravity.
In the aftermath, you’re left basking in Joel’s warmth and never want to leave.
Even though you were in his arms, Joel had to sit up to take a call and now scrolls through his phone. Your fingers trace his beautiful back.
You’re thankful for all the soft lamps you bought that now melt him into a dreamlike glow.
“Joel.”
He hums a gruff gentle noise that says he’s listening.
“I don’t…” you begin softly, then tell him your doubts. You don’t want him to think you’re simply using him for his status or money.
“Joel… you could quit or retire tomorrow and work with your brother as a contractor and I’d still always want you the way I want you.” Your deliciously aching limbs, the soft afterglow, all of it has you speaking soft and freely.
You never wanted Joel because of his fame or even because of the forbidden taste of him being friends with your dad. You wanted Joel for deeper reasons, some that have carved out a chasm in your heart.
You explain this all to him best as you can without rambling or sounding silly.
Joel sighs.
“Y’shouldn’t.” His voice is a hollow rumble. “I’m old, friends with your dad. We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”
Now a bitter venom spills in you.
You glare at his back, how his shoulders slump defeated while you sit up
“I'm an adult, Joel. And if that’s all you’re worried about then sorry it’s a shit reason.” You launch back.
Over his shoulder he glares at you.
“If…” you swallow hard. “If you’re the one who wants to leave, because i’m that young, or you really don't want this or don’t feel what I feel, then fine. At least tell me that.”
“But I care about you. And I want to make this, us, work.” You finish firmly, even with how much emotions clash in your chest.
Joel sighs again. His eyes face turns away now down downcasted.
“Didn’t wanna want you the way I do. You’re so bright, fucking’ smart and so g’damn gorgeous.” He softly admits.
A pause settles between him and you.
“Y’could be with someone younger, less complicated.” Joel admits low.
“Don’t want anyone younger or less complicated. Just want you.” You reassure with a soft steady mutter.
He goes quiet again.
“Used to not get bothered when I started leavin’ away games by myself. With Tommy married and the business booming, then the girls startin’ to have their own lives…I didn’t mind doing this alone.”
Underneath his words you catch it, his rusting loneliness.
“But then…these past few months…and now today seeing ya waitin’ for me…” he says clipped, like the rest of his words are caught in his throat and he can’t free them yet
Joel turns, and his eyes bore into you.
The silence stays as you stare unflinchingly back at him.
He doesn’t need to say anything else. You don’t think you have to either. Like a magnetic pull, it’s effortless moving towards him. Joel’s warm large calloused hand, seasoned from so many seasons of hard work, of pitching, cradles your face. You kiss him with every inch of your heart.
Even after spending the night, you’re surprised Joel hasn’t left yet. He even comments about figuring out lunch plans with you.
“You have another game today, Cowboy.” You comment.
The term makes his eyebrows rise, and the most coy smirk tugs his face making him look so charming.
“Got today off to rest, ya little shit.” It’s affectionate. “Besides my back ain’t what it use to be and after goin’ more rounds with ya this morning-”
In the middle of your living room you rush to kiss him.
The rest of the day unfolds like a dream drenched and stitched from every domestic fantasy you’ve ever had. Joel stands in your kitchen when you make him a quick lunch and you laugh apologizing that your fridge isn’t MLB diet certified. Joel steals your last saved snack after that joke.
Cuddled snug on the couch with him, you try watching a movie but Joel, so greedy and handsy, ends up fucking your brains out with his tongue.
When dinner rolls around, you order from your favorite local takeout place and Joel pays for everything. You ignore all the work you need to do for the week and don’t care. You’re here at this moment and want to stay crystalized in it for as long as you can.
But tomorrow is the last day before the team leaves to Miami to play the Marlins.
While showering with him, you wrap yourself against Joel’s back already dreading his leave. He seems to sense it too because his hands squeezes yours.
Against your shower wall he glides into you tender and slow, almost trying to draw out every inch of this.
Later that night, you try staying up but the day begins settling in. Your eyes flutter trying to fight sleep.
He mutters your name soft while his fingers run soft against your side.
“Hm?” You answer, trying hard to fight your tired eyes.
“Don’t want ya to think i’m ever using you, honey. You’re not just some young thing keepin’ me company.”
His words are simple, but they erupt so much in you.
Joel had been spooning you from behind, but now you immediately turn around to burrow your face against his chest. You reassure him and his arms tighten around you wonderful chains you wish never break.
But the next morning arrives.
“Gonna come to our last game here?” Joel asks while he packs up.
“Don’t know, I heard you guys still have that really old guy who might be pitching.” You say with a shrug.
His face frowns hard, but Joel moves to playfully smack your ass while you laugh. He quickly draws you in for another kiss.
You have class tomorrow and work you need to jump on, but you go to the game. Joel doesn’t play, but you don’t mind. Getting to hug him goodbye one last night in the shadow of the stadium is worth it.
“Text ya when we get to the airport.” Joel promises, secretly placing a soft kiss on your head.
That night when you get home you order not one, but two Joel Miller jerseys.
summary: After three years of separation, Sarah's birthday offers you and Joel a second chance. But finding trust isn't easy once it's been broken. Luckily, Joel knows exactly what to say to get you to open up your heart to him again. And it certainly helps when he's begging on his knees.
pairing: Joel Miller x ex-wife!f!Reader
warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, heavy angst with a happy ending, inner feelings of guilt and shame, reader is sarah's mom, separated parents and joint custody, infidelity because joel is with tess (but they're not in a committed relationship and joel is still very much in love with reader), tension between reader and tess that gets somewhat resolved, lots of yearning between both joel and reader, begging, oral f!receiving, edging, dirty talk, fingering, possessive!joel, lots of apologizing, tummy bulge, unprotected piv, body worship, praise, creampie, no outbreak au
note: for @dazed-confused-amused who sent in this as a request months ago and who has been so unbelievably patient with me while i returned to my joel miller roots, love u sm han <3
wc: 11.2k
[masterlist] [AO3]
In the end, all the hard work pays off.
After all the stress of preparation and the last second trips to fill balloons with helium, Joel’s backyard looks nothing short of magical.
Decorated with indigo streamers, plastic strands of white wisteria and silver colored butterflies. All of which you’d spent the last month hand crafting during Joel’s weeks with Sarah. A task to keep your mind occupied in the stretch of bi-weekly loneliness.
The grocery store sheet cake turned out a little funky; the sky blue border uneven, and the sprinkles too heavy in one corner. But the writing is legible, and it’s chocolate with whipped vanilla frosting一Sarah’s favorite一and you know she’ll love it regardless.
You’re clipping the last silver butterfly onto the edge of the cake table when Joel speaks.
He’s standing on the other side of the yard, the sun overhead shining brightly, accentuating the gentle wisps of grey beginning in his dark hair. “You, uh…you did a real good job on those. They look nice.”
You adjust the butterfly, tugging gently on the top of the right wing. “Thanks. You think she’ll like them?”
Joel snorts. “‘Course she will. You kiddin’ me? ‘Specially if she finds out her momma made ‘em for her.”
The sentiment makes you smile. Sarah’s always been thoughtful. Kind and compassionate in the way only a ten year old girl can be, heart pure and untouched by the weight of the world. “Yeah, well—she deserves it. We did a real good job on her,” you say. “Even considering…you know.”
The separation.
It was messy and painful and the worst thing you’ve ever endured. But a necessary evil. Because Joel was a perfect man by all rights, but being perfect and being present were two very different things.
You excused it for a long time. Too long, truthfully. All those nights you’d spent alone when Sarah was having a sleepover, all those school milestones he missed; kindergarten graduation and her last soccer game of the season and the parent teacher conferences that had revealed she’d gotten straight A’s in second grade.
Joel had spent all that time working—building homes for other families while his wife was alone, all but begging him to come to dinner before eight just three days out of the week.
But he never did. Too focused on filling a bank account full of money he would never be home long enough to use.
And one day, he’d gotten off of work well after ten to find your wedding ring on the kitchen table and a duffel bag full of your clothes missing from the closet.
And now, nearly three years after that fateful night, he’s staring at you from across the decorated back yard with too much affection in his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but you can feel it in his gaze. The warmth, the familiarity, the longing. “You ever think about it? ‘Bout…what we had?”
It’s a stupid question. Even after so long apart it’s still all you think about. Because when things were good, they were good. Joel was your best friend. Your protector, your provider, your lover. Everything you’d ever wanted in a man.
Sweet and strong. A terrible cook, but he was the only one who’d ever gotten your coffee just right. The kind of husband who always added your favorite snacks to the grocery cart even if they weren’t on the list. Who kissed your forehead before work whether you were awake to know of it or not. Loyal as a dog, too. The kind of man who’d defend your name in a room you weren’t in, even now, even without the weight of a wedding band on your ring finger.
There were a million and one reasons you loved Joel Miller.
But what you needed was more of him.
“Of course I do,” you admit, pointedly keeping your eyes on the decorations and fixing things that don’t need to be fixed. “Do you?”
You can hear him shift behind you. “I've only ever loved three people my whole life,” he says. And you know what’s coming next before he speaks, because it’s something he’s said for years, long before your marriage. “You’re top of the list.”
It makes your chest pull tight. Because even while you’d made the decision to put the softness of your own heart first, the love between you was never in question.
And you still want him. Of course you do.
But what you deserve is a husband who shows up for you not just when you need him there, but when you want him there, too.
You swallow hard, trying to clear the emotion lodged at the back of your throat like a stone.
The sound of his boots is heavy, even in the plush summer grass. His presence demands to be felt, despite all your efforts to block it out.
With a trembling hand, you adjust the silver butterfly again. “Yeah,” you mutter, voice cracking. And then again, clearer this time. “Yeah, I know. I love you too, Joel. I think that goes without saying, doesn’t it? But I know what I deserve now, too.”
When you finally find the courage to turn and face him, your ears ring and your eyes grow watery. The expression on his face softens, and his hands twitch at his sides. A long-laid instinct to pull you in close, to soothe the ache in your heart in the ways only he could.
But he doesn’t.
And you admit, silently, internally, only to yourself—that you want him to. Want him to press a kiss to the top of your head and wrap his strong arms around you, enveloping you with his warmth. You want him to make you feel whole again, to tell you he’ll be different, that he’ll be better.
“You’ve always deserved the world,” Joel whispers instead. “An’ every single day I regret not givin’ it to you, baby. M’sorry.”
His words are genuine. From an emotional place inside his chest that you used to have to beg for him to allow you to see.
And now here he is, opening himself up to you, completely unprompted.
Hope flickers like a flame in your heart. Bright and beautiful and tempting.
You want to believe him. You do.
You search his face, trying to find a lie. Trying to find anything, anything to pull you back from the edge of this longing.
And then, like a sign from God, the glass door to the backyard slides open.
“Good! I’m glad you’re both here.” Tess strolls onto the deck like she owns the place. As if this house wasn’t yours at one point. As if you hadn’t picked out the color of the backsplash in the kitchen and the lace curtains over the windows or the pale green rug at the front door.
But you remind yourself that Tess is…nice.
And that fact is proven when you notice the multi-colored gift bags draped over each of her arms. Neon yellows and purples and blues, stuffed with pink tissue paper.
Joel leaves your side to help her carry everything. Ever the gentleman.
You try not to roll your eyes. Remind yourself that all the theatrics are for your daughter. That today isn’t about you. It’s about Sarah, and if Tess cares about her enough to remember her birthday and buy her gifts, then maybe she isn’t so bad.
Tess sets all of her things on the ground near the cake table. She runs her hands down the front of her jeans and gives you a tight-lipped smile. “You think I overdid it?”
Yes, you want to say. There’s the smallest bit of pink tulle sticking out of one of the bags, and you want to mention that Sarah hates the way tulle feels and will recoil the moment the plasticky fabric touches her fingertips.
You clear your throat instead. “Uh, no! No. Not at all. Thank you? Yeah, thank you for一uhm…for remembering her birthday. How…thoughtful.”
Joel coughs. And you know it’s an intentional sound, covering up an ill timed laugh. The air feels thick. Awkward and uncomfortable, and you think everything could be solved if only Tess would just leave.
“There’s drinks in the fridge,” Joel tells her. “Soda and beer. A couple of wine coolers. Feel free to help yourself. Tommy’s getting Sarah from her sleepover and pickin’ up pizza on the way here.”
Tess nods and you try not to notice how much warmer her voice is when she speaks to him. “Oh, perfect. It’ll be such a good day, she’ll love it,” she says.
Your eyes narrow and you tilt your head curiously. You hate when she does that一speaks as if she knows Sarah. Like they’re familiar, like she’s anything to your daughter except for her dad’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. “You don’t know that,” you say, masking the venom in your voice. “She might hate it.”
She won’t, but that’s not the point.
“I just meant…well, Sarah’s a really sweet girl. I’m sure she’ll just enjoy everyone being together,” Tess says softly. Reasonably. Actually kind, devoid of the bitter undertone your words possess.
It only makes you hate her more.
“Right.” The word comes out short. Clipped. A little sarcastic.
Silence lingers. Joel stands beside her, scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed on a strand of white wisteria and adamantly avoiding the altercation you’re encouraging.
Tess sighs, and then stares hard at the side of Joel’s face. “Well. I’m gonna grab a beer, you want one?”
Joel shakes his head. “Later. Thanks, though.”
The moment she slips through the glass door and into the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more, you feel yourself deflate. “What if I wanted a beer? Not very considerate of her to offer to grab you one and not—”
A grin stretches across Joel’s face. One of those smiles he can’t help, one that reaches his eyes and has them crinkling around the corners. He shakes his head the moment you start speaking and cuts you off to say, “You hate beer.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”
“Yes she does, we talk about you all the time.”
You scoff, the sound coming out both surprised and infuriated. “You talk about me? Why? I’m sure she’s got an awful lot to say about the bitter baby momma, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“What? I’m just asking! You guys don’t have anything better to talk about?”
“C’mon, now. Don’t get all crazy,” he says. But he still wears that smirk, like he’s enjoying himself, enjoying the show, and doesn’t tell you to relax or be nice. He doesn’t even try to.
“You can’t seriously expect me to like her, Joel. She’s coming to our daughter’s birthday party while shacking up with my ex husband—”
His mirth falls, replaced with an air of seriousness. “I’m not your ex husband,” he insists. “I never signed those papers.”
“Semantics,” you say.
But Joel’s face contorts further, and though he passes it off as irritation you can see the injury behind his eyes. Can see the way your words hurt him. “No,” he says, voice firm. “We might be separated for now but I’m still your husband.”
His gaze feels heavy, piercing.
You don’t want to argue. And it is technically true, anyway. So you turn your attention away from him, unwilling to feel that longing so acutely, wishing the goosebumps on the back of your neck away. “Okay,” you concede, the softness returning to your voice. “I’m sorry.”
Not long after, Tommy pulls up in the driveway. You and Joel stand on the front porch, and Sarah’s launching herself out of the back seat before Tommy fully turns the engine off.
“Momma!” Her hair shifts around her ears as she runs to you, throwing her arms around your waist and burying her face into the softness of your belly.
It was Joel’s week to have her, so you haven’t seen her pretty face since the family dinner Wednesday night, and you swear she’s grown two inches in the last three days.
Everything feels more at ease the moment she’s in your hands. The Earth feels brighter, warmer. “Happy birthday, sweet pea! Did you have a good time with Ellie? You guys get to go swimming like you wanted?”
She nods and takes a step back. “We did! And look, look!” Sarah lifts her arm to show you the blue and white pony bead bracelet on her wrist. “We made friendship bracelets too!”
You run your hands through her hair and sing your praises like you always do, listening intently while she recounts each moment of the sleepover to you.
Tommy carries three pizzas inside, and you and Sarah follow him to the kitchen. She’s flipping open the container and pulling a slice right from the box, still talking animatedly around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.
You turn to grab a plate from the cupboard, but Joel’s already got one in hand, passing it to you to give to Sarah.
It feels seamless. Routine. The two of you working together, around each other, with each other.
Try as you might to focus on Sarah’s words, all you can think about is the rough texture of Joel’s hand as it brushes yours and lingers a second too long.
You can feel it in that touch. The want. The longing. The despair.
The remnants of your conversation in the backyard lingers in the back of your head. I’m still your husband, he’d said.
And despite how badly you wanted to hate him and allow yourself to be free, he was never an evil man, just an absent one.
Tess speaks behind you. Something about how she knows Ellie’s mom from work. And it reminds you that while you might still be stuck, right where you were three years ago when you left him, Joel already has someone else. Someone to fill the gap you’d left behind.
“Can you get me some water, mom?”
Sarah. The day is about Sarah, you remind yourself. Not about you or Joel or the goddamn mistress he invited to your child’s birthday party.
You smile and shake the tension from your bones. “‘Course I can.”
The five of you eat together at the dinner table, and truth be told Tess’s presence isn’t a bad one. You think, in another life, you might even like her. Sometimes she makes quick quips towards Tommy and you find yourself actually laughing.
But dinner comes to a sudden halt the moment Sarah’s standing to dump her plate in the sink and her eye catches on the glint of a silver butterfly in the back yard.
She’s a gasping, giggling mess of a girl as she takes in all the decorations, running her small fingers over each strand of wisteria. She takes a running leap in an attempt to touch the streamers overhead but is still just a hair too short at ten—now eleven years old.
Joel lifts her onto his shoulders so she can grab at them, and she spends the next five minutes directing him like a train conductor around the back yard.
It makes your chest pull tight, watching it all unfold. Joel’s always been the best father—before and after the separation. Sarah is the one thing the two of you have done right.
When she’s ready to open her gifts, Joel sets her in the center of the folding table and everyone gathers around her. Sarah chooses the gift wrapped in paper decorated with moons and stars first—your gift.
You try not to feel so smug about it, watching her sift through all the glittering bags from Tess to find yours.
She peels the paper back to uncover the collectors edition box set of the Dawn of the Wolf books, and is so excited she’s nearly jumping off the table to throw herself into your arms. “How did you know I wanted this one? I’ve been looking for these!”
“Lucky guess,” you say, but she’s mentioned them half a dozen times since the final movie came out in theaters, and they’ve been sitting in the back of your closet for months.
Sarah chooses one of Tess’s gifts next, unearthing a glittering princess tiara. And though Sarah has never once in her life been much of a princess girl (with the singular exception of Mulan), she smiles anyway and says. “Thank you, Tess. It’s very pretty.”
But then proceeds to turn to you, eyes wide and brows raised. She lowers her tone and asks, “Momma, do I have to wear this?”
You try not to laugh. Really, you do. But a snort comes out anyway and you can feel Joel’s pointed stare as you gently take the tiara from Sarah’s hands. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, baby.”
An uncomfortable silence settles between everyone, but you don’t care. Not when Sarah’s relief is physical and instantaneous, shoulders dropping as she’s unburdened by the sudden expectation.
“Alright, mine next,” Joel interjects. He hands her a white gift bag that has silver stars on it and she’s tearing into it the moment she can, discarding the tissue paper into the growing pile beside her.
She gasps as she pulls out the Dawn of the Wolf movie set. Blu-ray discs, even. Every one of them all wrapped up in clear cellophane packaging with a limited edition poster inside.
It’s an uncoordinated gift. As much a surprise to you as it is to her.
That feeling of longing rears its persistent head again, because you miss that harmony you once had. The two of you used to exist together not as two separate people but as an extension of each other.
You used to be so close. He used to be more than your husband, more than the father of your child—Joel was your best friend.
And seeing that harmony you once possessed displayed in such a clear, tangible way, completely unprompted? It has emotion welling up in your throat.
Sarah opens the remainder of her gifts. From Tess, all pink princess-themed dresses and skirts and things that will rot at the back of her closet. But Sarah grimaces and says thank you through it all.
Tommy’s gift comes last. And thank god for it—because the moment he pulls it from the back of Joel’s truck, Sarah forgets all about princess tiaras and Dawn of the Wolf.
“Oh my God! Are you serious?! This is mine?! Uncle Tommy!”
Everyone watches with toothy grins as he passes her an electric guitar. The body is glittering teal with an ivory fretboard, child sized to accommodate her eleven year old hands.
It’s the very same one that hangs in the window of the music shop downtown. The one she eyes every time Joel takes her there to pick up a fresh set of strings.
Tommy laughs and kneels down in front of her. “Now, I know your old man ain’t cool enough to rock n’ roll. But he can get you started teachin’ you the basics on his old man guitar, hm?”
Sarah giggles and turns to give Joel the widest smile. “Dad! It’s called an old man guitar? You told me it was called an acoustic!”
It makes everyone laugh, and your heart swells in your chest. So overwhelmingly full with love and affection you fear it might burst. The sun is shining and your baby is safe and happy and healthy and Tommy’s making stupid jokes and Joel has his hand splayed on the small of your back.
The touch is grounding. Not inherently intimate, just…affectionate. Filled with the type of love that warms you but burns around the edges.
You lean into his side out of pure instinct, and when he rests his cheek on the top of your head, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him.
And it would be so easy. Just to tilt your head back, to smile and press your lips to his. Quick, but full of all the words left unsaid; I love you, and I always have, and I always will.
But you can feel Tess and her heavy stare from across the yard. And when you meet her eyes, you’re surprised to find no trace of resentment there. No anger, no fury. Just…understanding. And perhaps a bit of sadness, too.
Tess was also newly divorced when she met Joel, you know. A quick friendship that had slowly evolved into more. You wonder now, for the very first time, what it must be like for her. How it felt to watch you interact with Joel, how it felt each and every time your jealousy ran a little wild, how much strength it must have taken her to never respond to your cruelty with the same energy.
Guilt slithers like a python between your ribs as you come to the realization that she’s just trying to figure all this out, too. The same way you are.
Tommy helps Sarah lift the guitar strap over her shoulder. And the moment it’s secure, she’s running up to you and Joel and all but begging him to teach her to play a song.
And Joel obliges, of course. Grabs the acoustic guitar he’d hand-made out of spruce wood years ago and within a few short minutes, they’re sitting side by side on the back porch. The sight of them brings a kind of peace to your heart that feels indescribable.
You slip soundlessly inside to start cleaning up. Picking up the empty dishes and half-filled glasses from the table and carrying them to the sink in the kitchen.
Tess saddles up to your side with a hand towel and an easy smile. “Want some help?”
When your brows furrow, it’s on instinct. A knee-jerk reaction. You think about the words that threaten to spill from behind your teeth. More cruelty, more short words. No, I don’t need your help. I’ve got it handled.
But then you remember the way she’d looked at you and think better of it. Swallow down your dislike and instead say, “Uhm. Yeah…sure. Thank you.”
You turn on the warm water and lather the sponge in that god-awful dollar store dish soap he’s been buying since you left.
Tess doesn’t speak. Not right away. She just takes the washed and rinsed dish from your hand when you offer it to her and dries it in silence. She moves around the kitchen with a familiar sort of ease that would bother you.
Well. It does bother you. Because once this was your kitchen, too. You who decided which cabinet to put the cups in. You who organized the spices. You who picked out the stainless steel stove. Your kitchen. Your house. Your husband.
But you try not to let it show. Because she doesn’t deserve to be punished for what was ultimately a decision you made. And she’s never crossed any boundaries. Has always been good to your daughter. Good to Joel.
“You’re a great mom,” she suddenly says, sticking a dry plate on top of the existing stack in the cupboard. “You’re definitely that girl’s favorite person in the whole world.”
As sweet as the sentiment is, it makes you snort. “I think today it might be Uncle Tommy who’s her favorite.”
Tess smiles, but shakes her head. “Nah. She talks about you like you put the stars in the sky,” she explains. And then her voice gets a little lighter, as she says, “You know, the first time I met her the three of us went out for ice cream. And you wanna know the first thing she said to me?”
You’d known about the ice cream and about Sarah meeting Tess. Joel had introduced the two of you months prior, and refused to even tell Sarah about Tess without your explicit consent. As much as you hated it at the time, it had been handled with respect. But Joel had never given details, just said that it had gone well. That it seemed like Sarah had fun. “What did she say?”
“We sat at that picnic table and she looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘my mommy smells way better than you.’”
A crease forms between your brows and you turn to face Tess with a disbelieving look on your face. “She what?”
There’s a certain amusement in her voice when she responds. “Yep. And she was probably right, anyhow. I was working at a restaurant at the time and probably smelled like garlic aioli.”
“Oh my god.” You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you. It truly is unintentional. But imagining those words in Sarah’s pretty, sweet voice sends you over the edge.
But Tess is laughing, too. Which is some small comfort. “And then she proceeded to tell me how much you liked that perfume Joel got you for Christmas and stood up on the bench and gave me a whole run-down about how you spray it. So that I could smell better, too.”
You can just imagine the way Joel’s face would’ve gone tomato red, embarrassed and in public no less. “You’re joking.”
Tess shakes her head. “Nope. I swear. Neck, chest, and the insides of your wrists. Right?”
You hand her the last dish and rinse the soap from the sink. “Uhm, yeah. In that order exactly. She’s…god. I’m so sorry. She’s something else.”
She waves your apology away with a quick hand. “Oh, it’s fine. Kids never have a filter at that age. I thought it was hilarious, actually.” She puts the final dish away and drapes the hand towel over the cabinet door beneath the sink.
There’s more she wants to say, but she hesitates. And this new ease you’ve created feels precarious, so you’re not sure if you should urge her or stay silent.
But after a few moments, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the counter. Her eyes are averted, staring only at the linoleum floor. And then she says, “I only say this because I want you to know even though Tommy got her a guitar and Joel’s going to teach her how to play it, it’s you she keeps a framed photo of on her nightstand when she stays here.”
Emotion chokes you. Pressure builds behind your eyes, but you try your damndest to swallow it down. You don’t want to cry, not here. Not in front of Tess. And not on Sarah’s birthday.
“The only person in the world who even comes close is Joel,” Tess continues. “And Joel and I…we have a lot in common. One of those things being that we’re both still stupidly in love with the person who left us.”
You try to blink away the moisture in your eyes, but it feels useless now. “Tess.”
The word comes out as a warning. One she doesn’t heed.
“Joel’s a good man,” she says. “He’s a good man, and he loves nothing more than you and that little girl. And I can see it in you, too. The love that’s there. The kind that never, ever goes away. I don’t want…” she sighs. Shakes her head and tries again. “You deserve good things. And I’m glad you saw that you deserved more and stood your ground because Sarah is watching everything you do. And one day, when she’s in the same situation, she will look back and know exactly what choice to make. But I think it’s important to show her that love does exist. And sometimes…sometimes all it needs is a second chance.”
Your breaths feel uneven. Thready and labored. You don’t know what to say or what to do or how to react. Your ex husband’s girlfriend is standing here, encouraging you to forgive him. Not for you or for him but for Sarah.
It all feels heavy. Too heavy.
And all you can muster up the courage to say is, “Thank you, Tess. I…I appreciate you.”
“I’m only saying to you what I wish someone would say to my ex husband.” She gives you a soft smile. One that comes from a place of womanhood, of a sameness that can’t be manufactured. And then she clears her throat and squeezes your shoulder and says, “I’m, uh—gonna go ahead and sneak out. Thank you for letting me celebrate with her, too.”
You wait.
Wait until she walks away. Until she grabs her keys from the table. Until you hear the front door shut. Until you hear her car tires groan against the gravel in the driveway.
And then the tears are falling fast down your cheeks. Marring your skin and leaving wet streaks behind.
Because Tess is right. Or at least you want her to be.
You would give anything, anything, to feel whole again. To have that pretty ring on your finger and to fall asleep in the same bed and wake up to Sarah wriggling her way between you. To make coffee in the mornings and hear Joel tease you about the amount of creamer you use. To throw his laundry in with yours and file your taxes together again and hold his hand over the center console on a late night drive.
All it needs is a second chance.
When the sliding glass door opens, you turn towards the sink and frantically wipe the tears away from your face. You don’t want Sarah to see you crying一she always takes longer to recover from your tears than you yourself do.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?”
Relief floods you when you hear Tommy’s voice. He closes the door behind him and as soon as you turn to face him, he’s crossing the kitchen in four strides. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“Don’t look fine to me. What happened? Why’re you cryin’?” He holds your shoulders, keeping you at arms length. “And where the fuck is Tess? Did she say somethin’ to you?”
There’s an underlying venom in his voice you know all too well. The kind that slips out when he’s gotten too drunk or when someone gets disrespectful to a woman in front of him. Protective to a fault.
You shake your head. “Tommy, no. It wasn’t like that. She was actually being…” you laugh, but it comes out bitterly. “She was really fucking nice. I’m just…”
His gaze is hard as he asks, “You sure? ‘Cause I don’t care what you and Joel got goin’ on, you’re still my baby sister. Someone made you cry. All you gotta do is say the word. Still talk to this girl from high school an’ she fights mean. I’ll call her up right now.”
This time when you laugh, it's more genuine. “Tommy,” you chastise. “Jesus, no. It wasn’t like that, okay? I swear. Relax.”
He searches your face, but ultimately nods and takes a step back. “Just don’t like seein’ you cry,” he admits.
And it softens your heart, because you get it. Understand what it’s like to love someone like a sibling even without sharing an ounce of blood.
You’d seen Tommy on the worst days and on his best days. You’ve seen him cry and seen him laugh. Made sure he had a good meal every night and socks without holes in them in the mornings. Kept his secrets and gave him dating advice and bailed him out of jail a time or two.
It had been you who’d held his hand the whole way home after he was discharged from the combat zone of Desert Storm.
Tommy has become an integral part of your life. A piece you’d been terrified of losing in the divorce, only to discover your fears had been blessedly in vain.
“It was about Joel,” you admit, sniffling. Quiet and timid, feeling out of step with yourself. Unsure in a way you haven’t been in a long time.
Tommy sighs. “You wanna talk about it?”
He asks carefully. Not pushing, only concerned. And you trust Tommy, maybe more than anyone on the planet, because he has no motivation when it comes to you. So, for once, you say exactly what’s on your mind. “I still love him. I think I always will. But at what point is it disrespectful to myself if I go back? If we just repeat the same old habits, if I spend my days alone again, I…God. What would that look like to Sarah? Would it set this example that it’s okay to accept half-assed love? To go back to someone who you begged for months to just…to just be there. To come home when he promised he would. I deserve that, Tommy.”
“You do,” he agrees easily.
“I just don’t know…I don’t know. How can I tell if things will be different? How do I take that risk and should I? If I go back, wouldn’t this all have been for nothing? I put Sarah through all of this for nothing?”
He sighs heavily, worry on his face. “You want my opinion or you just wanna get it all out?”
“Your opinion,” you say. Because your brain feels all scrambled and chaotic and Tommy has never once lied to you.
“Joel would take the risk on you,” he says with a shrug. Simple. Honest. A clean cut blow straight to your still beating heart.
And the worst part is that you know he’s right.
“You know he went to therapy? That first year.” Tommy laughs. “Joel. Went to therapy. Could hardly believe it. An’ he complained about it every damn week, but he still showed up. I think he tried to be…better. You know? For you.”
It’s the first and only time you and Tommy ever talk about Joel and the things he did right after your divorce. You never wanted to involve him. Never wanted him to get caught in the crossfire.
But you find yourself glad you’re doing it now. Thankful for the honesty, no matter how much it hurts to hear it. “I…I didn’t know that. He never told me. Thank you, Tommy. For always being there for me. And for Sarah, too.”
His lips curl into that same toothy grin that your daughter inherited. “Course,” he says. “S’what I’m here for. And, hey一don’t sweat it so much. Things will turn out the way they’re supposed to. They always do, right?”
You nod, and he wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders. You lean into his embrace and let him pull you to the sliding glass door and back outside. Sarah and Joel are both so occupied in the moment they don’t even look up at you.
Joel’s got one hand on the neck of his guitar while the other is adjusting Sarah’s fingers on the fretboard of hers.
You look up at Tommy and ask, “How long do you think ‘til she’s ready for cake?”
He snorts. “Oh, you’ve got an hour. At least.”
It ends up taking two.
But you don’t mind. You just sit on the porch steps and watch the two of them. Sarah’s eager to learn, and Joel is a patient teacher. He answers all of her questions and gives her tips and pointers and even promises to find a pink guitar pick just for her.
When Joel asks what song she wants to learn first, Sarah smiles excitedly and answers, “We have to play My Girl!”
The moment she says it, Joel casts his eyes to you and your heart pinches tight. And you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s reliving the same memories you are.
Those late nights right after Sarah was born when she would cry and cry until Joel sang her softly back to sleep. The times he’d sing it to her even when she was older, dancing around the kitchen while she climbed on his back.
The memories that came even before Sarah. The first time he ever sang it to you, after he’d had one too many beers and you’d had to put him to bed. The time it had come on the radio in his truck and he’d pulled over to dance with you in the middle of a field of wheat.
And on your wedding night, where you’d been so painfully in love that you barely registered the small group of family and friends around you.
Because Joel had held you tight and kissed your forehead and sang the lyrics softly in your ear. His beard had ticked your skin, and your face had gone all hot, but you’d never been happier than you were at that very moment. Married to the man you loved, surrounded by people who cared about you, and a beautiful baby growing in your belly.
Of course that’s the song she would choose.
It takes her only forty minutes to learn the first verse.
She quits only when the sun begins to set, and makes Joel pinky swear to practice with her tomorrow.
Tommy lights the candles on her cake, and everyone sings happy birthday around the table. She clings to you the entire time. Arm intertwined with yours, leaning heavily into your side, face pressed to your belly.
Sarah makes a wish and blows out the flame and asks Joel if he can put on a movie while they eat. He suggests Curtis and Viper, but Sarah won’t hear of it.
She’s tearing open her new blu-ray box set of Dawn of the Wolf with vanilla frosting still sticking to her fingers.
And for the entirety of the first movie, she sits between you and Joel on the couch. Her head is in your lap and her feet are in his, and it feels good.
It feels like home.
Tommy leaves when the credits roll. And Sarah jumps up to give him a too-tight bear hug and thanks him a million times for her guitar and swears that she’ll be concert ready by the following weekend.
But when she sees you grabbing your jacket from the rack by the door, her face falls. “Can we please stay here tonight? Just for my birthday!”
It breaks your heart into a million tiny pieces. Not only the request itself but the way she says it. Full of hope and love, like it doesn’t even register to her that the request might be too much for you to handle.
You think about Tess’s words and you think about your tears from earlier and you think about Joel.
When your eyes find his, they’re full of melancholy. He carries this deep, pensive longing that has lingered there for years, and you start to wonder if it’ll ever go away.
He shrugs. “I don’t mind. But it’s your week, so it’s your call.”
“Please, mom! Please, please, please!”
You don’t think you’d be able to say no to her if you tried.
When you sigh, Sarah knows it’s over. She jumps in excitement and spins around the room and requests that Joel make popcorn before you start the second movie, to which he immediately obliges.
Tommy hugs you tight before he goes. Kisses your temple and says, “You’re tough, little sister. Trust your gut. And Christ, girl. Give yourself some credit every now and again. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks for coming, Tommy,” you mutter. “We love you. And text me when you get home safe or I’ll have your ass.”
He chuckles low and you close the door behind him, leaving you in the silence of the living room. In the distance, you can hear Joel and Sarah in the kitchen.
She’s talking excitedly about all the songs she wants to learn. You can hear the smile on Joel’s face as he utters words of encouragement. The kernels pop and the scent of salt and butter begins to drift into the living room, and you’re trying to stay strong.
Really, you are. But it would be so fucking easy to just…to come home.
And not in the sense of moving back into this house and dedicating every Saturday night to movies and popcorn. Home—like coming back to Joel.
You swallow hard and busy yourself setting up the next movie. Ejecting one disc and replacing it with the next. Skipping through all the previews and adjusting the volume, flipping off the overhead light and turning on the wax warmer in the corner that looks like it hasn’t been used since the day you’d left.
When you’re done, you make your way to the kitchen and interject their popcorn process only to tell Sarah, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your pajamas on before we start?”
“But, mom. I’m not gonna fall asleep. Can’t I do it after?”
You and Joel exchange a look—both fully aware that she’ll be out like a light before the twenty minute mark.
He smiles and nudges Sarah. “G’on. Listen to your momma.”
She does so begrudgingly, her footfalls heavy up the stairs and down the hall to her room.
Joel turns off the heat on the stove and pulls down the big plastic bowl from the top shelf. The one you picked out all those years ago. He glances at you over his shoulder and asks, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
You know better than to lie. Not to Joel. Who has always seen right through you. Who knows you better than anyone else on the planet.
And what would you say, anyway? That you’re not sure what you want anymore, that you miss him but you’re terrified of accepting any less than what you deserve? That it hurts to see him with someone else, that it hurts even more that she’s nice?
When you answer, the words come out short and clipped. Not aggressive, just…tired. “Let’s just get through the night, Joel.”
You leave the kitchen and return to the couch, relieved to hear Sarah bounding back down the stairs. She smiles when she sees you and it eases the strain on your heart if only a little.
She climbs up beside you and leans into your embrace when you hug her tight to your side. “Thanks for everything, mommy,” she murmurs, cheek smooshed to your arm. “I had the best day ever.”
You kiss the top of her head and thank the universe or god or whoever’s listening for sending you the most perfect daughter. For giving you a reason to prioritize your own heart. “You’re so welcome, sweet girl. Happy birthday.”
Joel comes to sit on her other side, popcorn bowl in hand. “Ready?”
She’s shoveling popcorn into her mouth before you can even hit play.
And twenty minutes later? She’s got her head on Joel’s shoulder, and there’s a buttery kernel still in her hand, and she’s snoring so loud the sound echoes in the room.
You look at Joel, and he’s wearing this grin that you think you haven’t seen in a while, and you have to cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing hard enough you wake her.
“Christ,” Joel says. “S’like she’s sawin’ logs in her sleep.”
“Between Ellie’s last night and soccer practice this morning, I knew she’d crash hard. And I think Tommy gave her a bunch of candy on the way over.”
“Oh, he definitely did. Found three bags of peach rings in the trash,” he tells you with a light hearted chuckle. He shifts carefully, tucking one arm beneath her head and the other beneath her knees. “I’ll go tuck her in.”
You nod, and the moment you’re left alone in the silence you’re finding your way back to the kitchen. Cleaning up the scattered mess from the day, trying to busy your hands and quiet the turmoil in your head.
When you collect all the torn wrapping paper and cellophane packaging and discard it, you move on to wiping down the countertops.
Joel doesn’t say anything when he enters the kitchen soundlessly, but you can feel his presence as if he were an extension of your heart.
He leans against the archway and presses his thumb into his palm. “You’ve always done that, you know,” he says.
Without turning to look at him, scrubbing at a stubborn water ring, you ask, “Done what?”
“Start cleanin’ when you’re tryin’ to work somethin’ out in that head of yours.”
You pause, hand freezing, washcloth still clutched tight between your fingers.
“You remember Sarah’s first day of kindergarten?” He huffs. “Spent the whole day cleaning the baseboards with a damn toothbrush.”
The memory comes back to you the moment he says it. Joel had spent that night working lotion into your chemical-dried palms, skin sore and taut from prolonged exposure to the cleaner you’d used.
“And when she sprained her ankle jumpin’ off the swings at the park, you rented one of those big dumpsters that weekend and threw out all that junk in the garage.”
The more he speaks, the more memories surface that serve to validate his claim. You leave the water stain be, and toss the cloth into the empty sink. “I guess you're right,” you say, trying to laugh it off. To keep things as lighthearted as possible.
But then he says, “I should’ve noticed it. That last week, right before…right before you left.”
The anguish in his words makes your gut twist. Because Tess is right, Joel is a good man. Perfect for you in nearly every way. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and you hate seeing him like this. Hate even more that you’re the cause of it.
“Was comin’ home every night and the entire house was spotless,” he says somberly. “Knew there was somethin’ going on, just…didn’t think it was…that.”
Emotion rises up in you. Thick and hot in the back of your head, making your ears ring. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods, stepping fully into the kitchen now. He lowers himself into a chair at the table and answers easily, “Anything. You know that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to therapy?”
You expect him to sigh. To shift uncomfortably or avoid the question altogether. But he doesn’t do any of that. He just says, “I thought about it. About tellin’ you. But, uh…guess I just supposed that when you came home to me, it had to be because you wanted to. Not ‘cause of somethin’ I was doing.”
The words shatter what remains of your resolve. “Is that what you think? That I haven’t come home because I didn’t want to?”
He shakes his head. “No, I…I know it’s because of…well. Me. An’ workin’ all the time and everything. Not makin’ the time for you an’ Sarah the way a man ought to. The way a dad and a husband ought to. But I haven’t missed anything in the last three years, have I?”
You try to recall all the events that have passed since the separation. All of the parent teacher conferences and birthdays and doctors appointments and soccer games and art shows.
“Even when you put that hole in the wall of your apartment, tryin’ to move furniture around. Scared about gettin’ the deposit back, so you called me,” he says. “An’ I came, baby. Didn’t I?”
Those stubborn tears return again, pooling in the corners of your eyes. Quietly, you admit, “Yeah, you did.”
“There ain’t a day that goes by I don’t regret losin’ you.”
“God, Joel.” Your voice cracks when you say his name.
And that’s all it takes before he’s standing to his feet and closing the distance between you, the instinct to soothe your discomfort deeply ingrained. “Hey,” he says, squeezing your fingers in one hand and tilting your face up with the other. “Why’re you cryin’? Talk to me.”
You shake your head. “I just…I miss this. Having movie nights and making popcorn and carrying Sarah up to bed. I miss coordinating birthday gifts and not just co-parenting but parenting together. I miss being here and I miss you, Joel.”
His eyes soften, and he gently drags the back of his knuckles across your cheek. “Then come home, baby,” Joel says.
As if there isn't a risk of hurting Sarah even further than the damage that’s already been done. As if he doesn’t have a partner who’s kind, who cares about Sarah in the only way she knows how. As if it was simple.
“I wish it were that easy,” you murmur, leaning into the palm of his hand.
“Tell me what you need,” Joel says, voice a little breathy now. “Just tell me. Talk to me. I’ll do anything you want, baby, anything.”
“I love you, Joel. That’s never changed and it never, ever will. But how do I trust you again? How do I know that you’ll be there? How do I know things won’t go back to the way they were? That we’ll settle back into a routine and then you’ll leave me here, raising our little girl alone?” You shake your head. “I can’t do that again. I can’t. I won’t.”
He folds his big arms around you and pulls you close to his chest. Holds you tight enough that it feels like he’s holding you together. “You won’t have to,” he says. “I swear. I’ll spend every day I’ve got left proving it to you. But you gotta let me in, baby. You’ve gotta let me fix it.”
“If I do come home, how confusing is that for Sarah? I mean, God. Haven’t we fucked things up enough? What if I come home and then it still doesn't work and一?”
Joel pulls away just enough to see you and shakes his head. “We’ll go slow, alright? We don’t have to tell her unless you’re ready. No reason to make things more complicated than they have to be,” he says. “And Sarah’s strong. She’s like her mom in that way.”
He’s saying everything you want to hear and you feel yourself unraveling fast. “And what about Tess?”
“She’ll understand, because she knows I’m yours,” Joel answers. “Yours.”
And then, without any warning, he carefully lowers himself to his knees in front of you.
His fingers curl tight around your hips, and everything feels hot and overwhelming and your breath gets caught in your lungs. He presses a kiss to your belly in the same place Sarah rests her head and you feel suddenly like crying again. “Joel.”
“I’ll do anything you want,” he insists. “Anything, baby. Please. Please come home to me.”
And all you can think at that moment is, why haven’t you come home sooner?
You thread your hands through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. Your tears are falling freely now for the second time today but this time it’s different. Lighter. Like a breath of fresh air, tears of relief instead of turmoil.
“I love you,” Joel says, slipping his hands beneath your top and running his rough palms over your smooth curves. “Please, baby. Please. I need you.”
Your longing has become something else entirely now. A beast in your heart that’s grown teeth and sharpened claws, tearing apart every last defense you’ve so carefully built to keep him at arms length. When you speak, the word is a broken surrender in your mouth. “Okay.”
Joel freezes. “Oh…kay?” His brows furrow and you can feel his hesitance now. Unsure of himself, pulling away but so clearly wanting to touch you more.
You cover his hands with your own, keeping them in place, pressing them more firmly against your ribs. “Okay,” you repeat. “I want to come home.”
In the fifteen years you’ve known Joel Miller, you’ve never once seen him relax as much as he does the moment you say those words. His shoulders slump, the tension in his face dissipates, the tightness bleeds from his limbs.
And then he lets out this long held sigh, shoulders shaking with it. He lifts the hem of your shirt with his hands and presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your navel. “Thank you,” he says, and you know he means it.
He kisses you again, a little higher this time, and it ignites a flame low in your abdomen. Makes you feel suddenly warm and tingly all over. Makes you miss him in an entirely different way. His hands are rough and his eyes are glassy when he looks up at you through dark lashes.
“I love you,” he says. Soft. Gentle. But real. Not the sentiment you’re always giving him; the half-empty meaning. A way to say you care, but not like you used to.
When Joel says it, it’s different. It’s all consuming. Nothing distant or safe about it.
“I love you so fucking much, baby. Please let me show you. Please.”
You nod without hesitation. Knowing what comes next, knowing the last step in your decision is giving yourself over entirely. Mind and body alike, becoming two souls bound together again, the way you used to be, the way you always should’ve been. You know he needs this, but maybe not as much as you need it.
Joel thumbs open the button on your jeans and carefully一oh, so carefully一tugs down the zipper. He watches you the whole time like you’re going to suddenly change your mind, like you haven’t wanted his touch every moment of every day for three years. Longer, even.
He kisses the satin lining of your panties with a reverent mouth, and then he’s pulling them off with your jeans. Over the swell of your hips and down your thighs. You anchor yourself with your hands on his shoulders and Joel helps you step out of them completely.
With a contented sigh, he presses his forehead to the space between your ribs. Inhales deep and then kisses your pubic bone. “You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.
Another kiss, lower this time, right above your clit. Like it’s muscle memory. Like relearning you will take no time at all.
His hands slide up the back of your thighs and palm at the swell of your ass. “Spread your legs for me,” he says. And the moment you do, Joel’s got his head between them and his tongue swiping through the gathering wetness there.
It feels like heaven. His mouth is warm and soft and he knows just where to lick and where to suck and where to bite. He’s hungry for it. Equally as starved. He groans low against you and you can feel the vibration of it down to your toes. “Oh my god.”
His tongue laves over your clit in long, smooth strokes. It’s full of purpose and worship and adoration. When he pulls away to speak, he takes the opportunity to wedge his hand between your thighs. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, gently pressing his middle finger inside of you. He adds another, his ring finger this time, still adorned with the titanium band you’d picked out years ago. “I’m so, so fucking sorry that I hurt you.”
Joel curls his fingers inside of you at the same moment his warm, apologetic tongue finds your clit again. The intensity of it makes you lose your balance, leaning back against the counter, hands scrambling to find purchase. A whimper escapes you, pleasure ratcheting higher and higher with each practiced, wet flick of his tongue between your folds.
“Christ,” he hisses. “Missed you so much, sweetheart. An’ s’okay if you don’t wanna admit it, but I know you missed me, too. Hm?”
Your chest squeezes tight. Because it’s true, it’s true, and you’re starting to feel delirious between the pleasure his sweet mouth brings and the sugar that pours from his tongue. You want it to be real so badly that you tremble. “God, Joel.”
“Shh,” he hums. “Don’t think so hard. Just feel. Feel me, baby. Feel what I do to you. Feel how much you love me.”
Christ. You do. You love him. You always have. And even when you decide to love yourself more, what you feel for Joel has always lived beneath your skin. A fire you’ve spent so long trying to put out, and you’re just now realizing you’ve only been stoking the flames.
Keeping them steady until now, until you return to him. And his mouth is like gasoline to the flames of your heart. Sweet words, sugary tongue. Honey poured in your ear, everything you’ve longed for all these years.
You feel your release approaching fast, but Joel does, too. He pulls away the moment his name leaves your mouth, but it’s only for long for him to lift you onto the counter and to spread your legs far enough to house the width of his hips.
“Wanna feel you, baby,” he mutters, kissing the hollow of your throat. His breath is hot against your prickled skin, his words and lips both desperate. Needier than you’ve ever seen him, and you understand because you feel it, too.
“Promise me,” you say, words breathless, greedily swallowing up his oxygen. “Promise me you mean it. Promise me you’ll never pull this shit again.”
Joel leans back. Cradles your face in his hands like he holds divinity. And maybe, to him, you are divine. His god given solace.
His wife.
“I mean it,” he says, gaze holding firm, eyes locked with yours. “Everything I am, baby. Everything. S’yours. I’m all yours. I promise.” He kisses you hard, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. “Let me in, baby. Let me come home.”
Home. Home, home一yours is here, with him and with Sarah in this house he built for you. And Joel’s home is you. In the confines of your soft heart.
Your hands find the back of his neck, nails scratching against the skin. And then you find yourself nodding, giving into it completely, flames of lust transformed now into a cleansing ritual, burning away all the hurt and resentment. “I love you,” you say, and he presses his forehead to yours with tears in his eyes.
Joel lets out a long sigh, and then unbuckles his belt. Pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free. He holds it in his hands and you watch as he strokes it once, and then twice.
You wrap your legs around his waist and lean back just a little, just enough to make it easier for him as he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside with a shaky groan.
The stretch aches in the best way, and you focus on each inch as it disappears inside of you while Joel watches you. His beautiful girl.
He fucks you hard. He splays one of his big hands on the small of your back, holding you steady as his hips crash into yours. There’s intent behind each thrust. A deep, satisfying reminder that you belong together. That you’re his and he’s yours.
With his free hand, he rests it over your belly, low enough to gently stroke your clit with his thumb. “You feel me, baby? You feel me right here?”
“Fuck,” you cry out, fingernails leaving indentations on his skin as you cling to him. “God, Joel. Feels so good, so fucking一god.”
“I know, I know,” he soothes. He kisses you gently this time, a stark contrast to the way his cock splits you apart, pressing hard against that sweet spot inside of you. “I’ve got you. Won’t ever let you down again, baby. You’re my girl an’ I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything.”
It’s all too much. His desperate thrusts, his thumb on your clit, his tongue in your mouth, his sweet words in your ear. You’re unravelling even faster this time, ears ringing, skin heating. “Joel, please. I’m close, I’m so一”
“Give it to me,” he says. “Come for me. Wanna feel just how bad you missed this, sweetheart.”
Release comes fast. Hot and with unexpected strength. Your vision blurs and your limbs tremble around him. Joel slots his wet mouth against yours, swallowing up your moans, taking everything from you that you’re willing to give.
You can feel his pace falter and his brows knit together as he nears the summit. And when you feel the pressure of his hands begin to lighten, you know his intent. But you hold firm, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him in even deeper. “Inside me, Joel, please,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”
He groans low the moment you say it and buries himself to the hilt, spilling himself deep inside you. Joel stays like that the whole time, only moving the smallest bit, filling you up until he’s spent and twitching. “Christ,” he hisses. “Love you so much, baby. Don’t you ever leave me again.”
The come down is slow. Unhurried. He stays inside you until his cock softens, peppering gentle kisses across your face. He traces the curves of your jaw and your brow bone with his fingertips as if he’d forgotten the way it feels to touch you and wants to remember.
When he does finally pull back, his hands still hold you. Fingers laced through yours while he gathers your jeans from the floor. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go on up to bed.”
You don’t argue. You just let him do what he needs to. Let him hold your hand the whole way up. Let him carefully take off your shirt and unclasp your bra once you close the bedroom door behind you. He pulls one of his t-shirts from the closet and tugs it over your head, kissing your forehead right after.
Once he changes out of his clothes, discarding everything but his boxers, Joel crawls into bed beside you and pulls you close to his chest. You kiss his warm skin, right over his heart, and close your eyes.
But you can still feel his gaze as it lingers on the side of your face, and when you open your eyes to look at him, he wears this lovesick smile. You ask playfully, “You gonna stay up all night?”
Joel shrugs. “Maybe,” he admits. “Just like holdin’ you is all. Like seein’ you here. With me.”
You snuggle into him, warming your chilled fingers against his soft belly. “Get some rest, Joel. I’ll still be here in the morning, okay? I promise.”
He kisses you again and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. His voice is soft. The word broken but tender in his mouth as he says, “Okay.”
When you fall asleep, it’s to the sound of Joel’s soft snores beside you and Sarah’s echoed down the hallway.
You rest easy that night, without an ounce of regret. Feeling relieved in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.
And when you wake up the next morning, the sun streams in through the half-pulled blinds. You carefully sneak out of bed, pull on a clean pair of his boxers, and pad barefoot down the stairs to the kitchen.
Sarah’s already up. She’s got a record spinning at a low volume, and she’s dancing around the kitchen listening to Pearl Jam. There’s pale powder in one of her eyebrows. It’s spilled across the countertop, too. And in her small hands is a metal mixing bowl and a wooden spoon.
She’s trying to make pancakes you realize, and your heart suddenly aches. Because she seems so grown up at this moment. No longer your sweet and silly girl who needs help washing her hands before dinner, more and more independent every day.
The fear crosses your mind that you are the reason she’s so mature for her age. That the separation is what made her take on this too-adult role.
But then she pauses her mixing to pick up the hand towel off the counter. She stares at herself in the distorted reflection of the metal bowl, and sets the towel over her little shoulder.
The exact same way that you do when you’re cooking dinner for her every night.
You suddenly see exactly what Tess was talking about. Sarah’s not trying to be mature or take on an adult role because she feels the need to.
She’s trying to be just like you.
Sarah picks up the bowl again and turns, eyes glowing when she notices your presence. “Mama! Good morning! I’m making pancakes!”
You laugh softly and come to her side. “I see that,” you say. “Want some help?”
“Yes, please. I’m bad at mixing.”
With a shake of your head, you gently take the bowl from her hand and place it on the counter. “You’re doing a great job, sweet girl. Just need to add a little more water, see?” You turn the faucet on and add the smallest bit and hand the bowl back to her. “Now try.”
She does, and her smile grows as the batter begins to come together and smooth out. “There’s coffee, too. Uncle Tommy showed me how to start it.”
You turn to see the pot full, and giggle as you wonder how exactly that conversation had come about. Likely from the times Joel got up too late to start it, leaving Tommy without caffeine for god knows how long. “Thank you, baby girl,” you say. “That’s so sweet of you.”
Sarah beams at the praise. And when you pull two mugs from the cupboard, she stops you. “Dad will only use the owl one,” she says, nodding to the dishwasher.
You follow her gaze, open the dishwasher, and quickly find the exact mug she’s talking about. It’s a poorly-made ceramic project you’d given to him for Christmas years ago. You were taking a pottery class with a friend, and the mug was the one and only thing you’d made that didn’t turn out so wobbly that it was unusable.
The edges were still a little bent and it sat on the table leaning just a little to the left, but Joel had insisted it was perfect.
You hold it gently in your hands, fingers running over the owl you’d spent hours painting into its side. “The only one he’ll use, huh?”
Sarah nods. “He says it’s special to him ‘cause you made it. Maybe you could teach me how to make stuff too! We could make Uncle Tommy one!”
You promise her you will. Tell her you’ll find a place in town that offers classes and that you’ll go to one together. And then you fill the mug with coffee, climb the stairs, and set it on Joel’s nightstand.
You sit on the edge of the bed beside him and gently shake him awake. He smiles when he sees you. Gives you the same crooked smile your daughter inherited, and it makes you feel loved and warm all over.
“Mornin’ baby.”
“You meant it, didn’t you? Your promise?”
Joel reaches for your hand and holds it tight. “I meant it,” he tells you. “An’ I know it’s hard to trust me now, but I’ll spend every day tryin’ to prove it to you.”
“Good,” you say. “‘Cause I think…I think Sarah and I are coming home.”
joel tries to explain his “type” to his best friend only to end up describing her
content: angst but with a happy ending, insecurities (reader), body image issues, slight self-worth issues, pre-established relationship, idiots in love, alcohol consumption, reader is described as curvy with dark hair and a degree!, some fluff ig, joel miller loves big girls and i will die on that hill, tommy, ellie and sarah mentions, misunderstanding, tiny lil bit of spice at the end (i have no self control, arrest me), not proof read so good luck 😅
hi so this is kind of a prequel to my domestic!joel series!! this is basically just how reader and joel ended up together in the first place!! <3
Jackson had been something you’d never thought you’d ever be able to have again. It was stability, a consistency that your life had lacked for years. You’d been living in Jackson for about 5 months now and already you’d built yourself a life that you could actually enjoy, one where you don’t live in a constant state of fear.
You had people to support you now, you weren’t just fending for yourself. Tommy had introduced you to his brother, Joel, when you first arrived. On the outside he seemed like just some typical guy, bitter and worn-down by the unfortunate situation life had thrown upon him, but Joel had a softness to him.
He wasn’t loud with the way he expressed his love— if you can call it that — it was expressed in a quiet, reserved way, must like a reflection of himself. As you got closer with Joel, small things started to change. Like if you are on patrol together he will immediately put himself between you and danger, without hesitation. Or if something in your house needed fixing, even if it was something trivial like a leaky faucet or a creaky floorboard, he’d be at your door with his toolbox.
You and Joel were often busy helping out the people in Jackson so when you did have time to spend together, you’d make sure you make it count. There wasn’t much to do in a post-apocalyptic world so you and Joel would just simply take your horses for a ride outside the walls of Jackson, somewhere that had been cleared for any infected, and sit and watch the sunset on a warm, summer day.
Today was one of those days. Both of your horses were hitched to an oak tree behind the peak of a cliff which happened to be the best place to watch the sunset. You and Joel sat on the dry grass, gazing up at the clouds and sitting in, not awkward but rather peaceful, silence. Both of you nursing a bottle of cold beer in your hands.
Joel wasn’t much of a talker, so you knew that you’d have to initiate the conversation. “Did you have a wife before the apocalypse?” The words absentmindedly roll off your tongue.
He whips his head around to look at you, holding the glass bottle against his lower lip. “The hell did that come from?” You giggle at his surprise and just simply shrug, looking at him expectantly to answer. Joel sighs quietly, “No wife.”
You didn’t actually know that much about Joel. You knew he had a daughter at some point and that she was killed the day of the outbreak. You also knew he had a brother, Tommy, and that he’d spent the last few years raising Ellie. But apart from the basic stuff along with knowing some of his music taste, Joel was a mystery to you. In fact, you didn’t even know if he liked women in the first place.
“Husband, then?”
Joel raised an eyebrow at you, not offended but rather like you were asking him to state the obvious, “Don’t swing that way, darlin’.”
You almost hated how much that dumb little nickname affected you. You had a huge crush on Joel, obviously, but you knew that he didn’t seem like the type of guy to want to date anyone. Not many people did nowadays. So you bottled up your feelings and tried your best to convince yourself that moments like these were enough, even if you dreamt of spending lazy mornings in his arms.
A beat passes as Joel takes a swig of his beer before speaking again, “What about you?”
You snort, “As if anyone would marry me, I’d be a fucking nightmare to deal with.” The tone of your voice sounded as if Joel had asked you a ridiculous question.
His brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he glanced over at you, your expression hard to read. “And why’s that?”
You take a big gulp from your bottle before placing it back down on the grass, the effects of the alcohol starting to creep up on you. “Well, first of all, I’m not much to look at-“
“That ain’t true.” Joel cuts in too quickly, almost sounding offended. You raise your eyebrows at him with a smug look on your face, was Joel really about to call you pretty? “Ain’t nothing wrong with how you look,” Joel admits bashfully, “You’re a nice girl, I’m sure any man would be lucky to have you.” He mumbles the last part so quietly you’re shocked you even heard him, his neck and face now a deep red colour.
“Awwh, look at you being a sweet talker!” You playfully punch his arm as he rolls his eyes and tips the last of the beer into his mouth.
“You’ve had too much to drink, darlin’” Joel shakes his head, still not meeting your eyes.
“Oh, come on!” You turn your whole body to face him to assure he can’t look away from you, “I’m only joking, maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy all the if you got yourself a lil’ special someone.” You tease, almost childlike; words slurring from the amount you’r had to drink.
Joel’s hand shoots up to his head, rubbing at his temples as if he’s trying to massage out a non-existent headache. “Ain’t got time for special someones, too old for that shit.”
“No you’re not!” You exclaim almost like you’re trying convince him, “Let’s just say hypothetically-“
Joel sighs, “Oh, Jesus.”
“-If you were to date someone,” You say raising your voice over his, “What would that look like?”
“Someone who don’t ask stupid questions.” Joel grumbles as you smack his arm in response, which managed to force a small chuckle out of him.
“Joel! Be serious!” You let out a small huff of air in defeat. You take in the view in front of you, Joel laid back, his torso being held up by his elbows, feet crossed over the other; just gazing off into the distance. The warm, orange hue of the setting sun lighting his face in the most beautiful way. You want nothing more than to just lean over and kiss his pretty face. But instead, your drunken state gives you the confidence to move to sit beside him, laying back and leaning your head on his chest.
Joel peers down at you, a confused expression on his face, “Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing.” You say casually with Dutch courage, “Just getting comfortable.” You half expect Joel to shove you off, give you some lecture about how he’s not a “cuddly person” (which he 100% is, he is just unsure of how to express it), but instead he leans in closer and wraps his arm around your lower back to support your weight against him.
You stay like that for a while, just soaking in the sun as it disappears behind the trees, that’s when Joel begins to speak.
“Dark hair.”
You hum in a confused tone at him.
“I like dark hair… on a woman.”
You glance down at your dark brown hair, the colour becoming almost golden in the sunlight. Your heart flutters at his words, a small, uncontrollable smile growing swiftly on your face. “And what else?”
Joel shrugs, “Ain’t too fussy on appearance, I just like dark hair and maybe someone who’s-“ He pauses, trying to find the right word.
“Someone who’s what?”
Joel swallows, “A little curvier, I suppose.”
You snort, “Men don’t mean that, you guys just like big boobs.” You whisper glancing down at yourself, feeling slightly self conscious but trying your best to hide it.
There was no hiding from Joel however, he could read you like a book. He bringing his hand to your face, tucking the hair that had fell out of your ponytail behind your ear. “I don’t mean that, I mean sure that’s a bonus,” You giggle at that, “But I just like bigger girls. Smart girls too, someone’s gotta be the brains of the relationship.”
You think back to when you told him about your degree, about how you were top of your class and even wanted to study for a PHD before the apocalypse. Surely he wasn’t purposefully trying to describe you, right? Joel was a handsome man, you’d have to be crazy not to think that. He wouldn’t go for someone like you, theres plenty of woman in Jackson who are his type and far more attractive than you’ll ever be.
That’s what you would have usually thought if you were sober, but the confidence from the alcohol had made you feel delusional. “So basically me?” You say, half joking - half serious. You expect Joel to laugh it off, instead his breath catches in his throat, letting out a kind of strangled noise.
“W-What?” Joel stammers, trying to collect himself. “What do you mean?” He huffs out a laugh.
“Well, I have dark hair and I’m curvy plus I have a degree,” You move your head away from him, clearly annoyed with his answer. Was it really so funny to think that you could date him? “I’m sorry for thinking I could have a chance with someone like you.” You bite back bitterly, standing up already walking over to your horse ready to storm off.
Joel scrabbles to his feet and grabs onto your forearm in an attempt to stop you from moving. “Wait, darlin’ listen-“
“Don’t you darlin’ me!”
Joel freezes, eyes wide at your shouting. You had really had enough, this whole situation made it seem like Joel had just been taking pity on you. It made it seem like he’d just been hanging out with you alone, which he never did with anyone besides Tommy and Ellie, for some sick joke. “You take me out here, you trade your stuff so you can get us beer, you call me all those petnames and let me cuddle up to, and for what? Friends don’t do that, Joel.” Your voice begins to break as you speak, it feels pathetic but theres no holding back the flood that is starting to release from your tear ducts.
“Sweetheart, please.”
“An-and then!” You continue, blatantly ignoring Joel as he tries to calm you down, “You tell me your type and basically just describe me and then immediately turn me down and act like its some hilarious concept for me to be somebody’s type!” You scoff through your tears and look at him in disbelief, “I mean what kind of thrill do you even get from doing that-“
Joel brings both of his hands to your waist and pulls you forward until your bodies meet before craning his head down and smashing his lips against yours. A surprised whimper leaves your lips as you kiss him back, extremely puzzled by the turn of events. Finally, his lips leave yours reluctantly, like he was trying to savour the moment. “Darlin’, of course you’re my type.” He brings his warm hand up to your cheek, stroking the apple of it with his thumb. “I didn’t laugh because I thought you were being stupid, I was just shocked. I tried to play it off like some idiot and it came off the wrong way.” His other hand reaches behind him to rub the back of his neck, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
You give him a sympathetic smile and nod, “That’s alright, sorry for yelling at you.”
Joel smiles and shakes his head, “None of that, you don’t need to be sorry. I understand. And just for the record? You need to be kinder to yourself, ain’t nothing wrong with the way you look, you’re a real pretty girl.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and look away coyly, trying to hide the redness in your face, “Thank you.” Was all you managed to squeak out. Joel chuckles at your wobbly voice, wrapping an arm around you as he leads you over to your horses.
“So what happens now?” You question looking up at him.
Joel pauses for a moment, giving his horse a pet before turning back to look at you. “Whatever you want, darlin’” A smug smirk creeps across his face seeing the effects of what that nickname does to you.
“You’ll regret saying that, Miller.” You sing as you swing your leg up to get back on your horse.
“I’m sure I won’t, darlin’” Joel mutters, guiding his horse to walk alongside yours.
“I’ll race you back to mine.” You smirk, a plan already forming in your head.
“Oh yeah? What’s in it for me?” Joel says, raising his voice slightly as he starts picking up the pace.
You match his speed, getting close enough to whisper, “If you get there before me, I’ll let you come inside.” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze as you giggle and rush off without him.
“Jesus Christ” Joel murmurs under his breath, secretly giddy at the thought of your new relationship.
tysm for reading!! i’m already loving this series sm i had to write a lil fic in between for good measure😙
Mornings have been slow lately, Joel always makes damn sure every second he gets is spent pleasing his little princess
He still can’t believe there’s an angel lying next to him in bed every single day, He has to be certain he’s not being too rough, that you’re actually handling everything he gives you Always so careful, holding back every scrap of roughness so it never slips out of its cage
You know it, And God, it fucking kills you Does he think you’re too fragile? Too innocent? That you couldn’t take everything he’s got?
Even that first time, you already knew what was coming.. You were never the smartest, but just comparing the size of him next to you… you could already picture it, And when you finally saw it, Jesus, you could barely swallow
You knew it was going to be hard, You’d only ever slept with one guy your whole life But Joel… Joel was so terrified of hurting you that you could see the veins in his forehead about to burst every time he had to slow down or couldn’t push all the way in
Every time you begged him to fuck you… he’d just rein himself in, redirect, do it for your sake, It was killing you,You wanted everything. Wanted him to put you in your place exactly the way you’d always dreamed You didn’t want to see fear on his face anymore.
You feel him nose at your neck while your legs tangle tighter Sunlight slipping through the curtains like every other morning, the faint smell of wood curling in your stomach and giving you a sudden rush of courage
Neither of you says a word, You’ve developed this quiet morning language… but today it’s simmering slow and hot between your thighs You want more, So much more, You arch your ass back harder against his hips, chasing contact, Still not enough
Your short nightie is already bunched up, riding higher, and you hear the sigh half laugh, half groan low in his throat
The laugh of a man being tortured, The sigh of someone who doesn’t know how much longer he can hold it together
You grind back against the thick, swollen bulge pressed to your ass, You can feel how thirsty he is, how fucking desperate, God knows he wants to snap right here, no more waiting, not even a second, But he waits
“Princess… what’re you doin’?” he rumbles, sleep-rough voice, arm tightening around your waist
“Nothing, Miller,” you answer instantly, He pulls you even closer, And even with your bare ass in tiny white panties rubbing against the thin fabric of his pajama pants, you’re finally starting to crack that stubborn Joel Miller resolve
“Oh, now it’s Miller?” He already knows your game. You’re not exactly hard to read He knows exactly how needy you are, It’s enough for him to pull back, flip you onto your back in one smooth yank, and cover you with his body kissing all the right places, so soft, so gentle…Almost sweet
Until you glance sideways and see his fists clenched so tight the knuckles are white His mouth closes over one nipple, tender, and you thread your fingers into his hair, gripping as hard as you dare without hurting him, silently screaming more, harder, please
Seeing this man lose his mind because of you… you need it so bad you barely register when Joel’s already settled between your legs, hooking your panties to the side with one quick tug No warning just the hot flat of his tongue dragging up your soaked slit, like he’s been starving for it, You can’t help the loud, shameless moan that rips out of you. Way too much for 7 a.m.,He licks again, Harder
Joel was never good at doing things “the right way,” but if there’s one thing he can do, it’s make you beg like a bitch in heat, On the third slow, dragging lick over your clit, it throbs so hard you break “Please please please—” He pulls back just enough to watch your desperate little face, then smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting
Before you can blink he seals his lips around your clit firm, but so fucking slow you want to cry. You need more, Joel knows he could give it to you. But where’s the fun in that?Watching you fall apart, shaking and coming on his tongue… that’s so much better
Your swollen clit can’t take even a few more seconds of his torture, “Please,” you whimper, He knows. He knows you so well he just keeps soaking your pussy, torturously slow “Please…” Louder this time, but your cunt is still clenching around nothing, begging, “PLEASE—” you practically scream, Joel freezes instantly, sits up, eyes dark and locked on you
You feel it—the panic starting to boil over “Please… I need—I need you… I need all of you… Joel… I need you—” You sob, staring into his narrowed eyes “I need you… and I need you not to hold back—” another broken sob “—I need you to fuck me hard—please… Joel please”Joel’s breaking, All the time you’ve been together he’s known you wanted him rougher, But he’s convinced a tiny thing like you could never take it, It’s for your own good
Except… how the hell is he supposed to say no to his angel-eyed princess? Legs spread, pussy glistening, begging to be denied any mercy? He rises higher, kneels between your thighs, silent as he drags himself up until he’s right there, Your eyes are glassy, terrified he’s about to shut it all down
His brows are pinched, expression so tight… Tears flood your vision, blinding you until you feel the thick pad of his thumb circling your clit with real pressure, dizzying, making you choke on a sob. “Not so brave now, huh?” You moan again, a single tear slipping down the corner of your eye
“No ‘Miller’ anymore, princess?” You feel his middle finger hook inside you in one smooth slide, stealing your breath “Hm? Nothin’ to say?” A second finger joins, curling right into that spot that makes your whole body jerk
A startled moan punches out of you, He leans down, keeping the rhythm unbearable too good, too much, You can’t even speak “Tell me, littleone… what do you want?” He’s teasing, Your brain is melting, orgasm coiling so close “No Miller…” The pressure and pace ramp up “No begging… not too brave a girl now, huh?” Your eyes are rolling back when you finally manage to choke out, “F-fuck m-me—”
Joel almost laughs, He can feel how fucking desperate you are, how your walls are clamping his fingers so tight he can barely move them
He can’t stop imagining how tight you’ll be around his cock “Didn’t catch that. Say it again” Your lip wobbles into a pout, You can’t take it anymore The wet, filthy sounds of your pussy are deafening “Please—fuck me—Joel please—”
He goes harder, grinding right into that spot “Joel?” You’re frantic now “Babe please I need you—” sob “—I need you—”There it is Everything he needed to hear, He pulls his fingers out, leaving you whining in disappointment, Leans down, brushes his lips against yours “How much?” he ask, “So much!” you cry, desperate. “Do whatever you want just—please babe, fuck me—”
That’s it, Joel snaps, Grips your chin hard, crashes a quick, bruising kiss to your mouth, then flips you onto your stomach, Exposes you completely His left hand stays on your jaw, twisting your face so your cheek is pressed to his while his right hand comes down sharp slap on your ass You moan, nodding frantically, His scent is heavy, breathing ragged, You’re sure you’ll come the second he pushes inside and stretches you past what you can take
Another crack against your ass, this time his hand stays, slides down until two fingers plunge back into your dripping hole, reminding you he can still do whatever the fuck he wants “Y-yes,” you whimper, barely audible “Oh yes, princess?” he murmurs against your ear, mocking, as he settles his weight over the backs of your thighs
And then you feel it, Hot, Too hot, Too hard Enough to strip any man like Joel of his last shred of sanity, He drags the head through your folds; the groan that leaves him is instant, just from feeling your heat
It’s enough for him to hook one arm loosely around your throat, not choking, just holding your head up, lips at your ear so he can hear every shaky breath, You barely have time to process before the head is pushing in, everything happens so fast you only manage, “Yes—” you sob when the stretch turns almost unbearable, but you want it all
When he’s almost to the base, a strange cold blooms in your stomach, head spinning like stars are crashing inside your skull “You like that, princess?” he growls low against your ear, wrecked by how tight you are “Oh—God—”..“S-so… b-big—” You moan as he bottoms out
Joel groans right in your ear and it’s enough to make you clench hard, You’re already so close, his cock filling you so completely you can barely breathe
He starts moving, testing how much you can take, your pussy aches, clit throbbing, needy “More babe please—” Your voice is weak, chasing that edge with everything you have, “Such a strong girl…” he groans, twisting your hair in his fist, holding tight
The rhythm hits that soft spot over and over It’s too much. You can’t hold off, so full, so stretched “Please… Joel—babe… please don’t stop—” You beg
Joel feels your walls clamping harder and harder, the pace getting too fast even for him. “God—I can feel you, babygirl—be a good girl and come for me.” He presses his mouth to your ear, voice low and rough, and it shatters you. The world melts. Your body convulses, arching, greedy for more of him even as you come
Joel stops breathing. He never imagined your pussy could feel more perfect than it already did He doesn’t think twice,just lets thick, hot ropes spill deep inside you while you’re still chasing him, walls milking every drop until he finally stills
You try to move, whimpering, and Joel collapses to the side, pulling you close so you can finally breathe “I love you,” he whispers, soft against your ear as your eyes flutter shut
A/N: english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes and be kind :) i can’t believe i’m doing this again after so long… it might not be my best work. btw, i wrote this instead of texting my ex (wish me luck lol)
GIF: babes, sorry, i couldn’t find who to credit for the GIF 😭 it has a name on pinterest, so i’m guessing the watermark is from @pedrorascal!!
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Joel wakes up to you next to him on his birthday
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: swearing, insecurities, fluff, kissing
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3k
𝐓𝐡𝐞 sun was just coming through the curtains in the early morning, you slowly roll over and look to your left to see the sun shining on Joel's face as he sleeps peacefully with his arm layed across your waist.
You smile and put your hand on his cheek and move your thumb across his stubble and he shifts a little and opens his eyes to see you with a smile on your face.
"Happy birthday, old man" you say making Joel chuckle softly at you
"36 isn't old, you'll be there in 7 years" Joel says wrapping his other arm around your wrist and pulling you closer to him
"Don't worry, you'll always be my old man" you say moving your hand to the back of his neck
You grip his hair a little tighter and pull his face closer to yours as your lips meet in the middle. Joel's grip on your waist tightens and his kisses you back and he lets out a little moan making you smile into the kiss.
"I got you-" you let out a small gasp as Joel starts kissing down your neck "I got you a present"
"I don't need one. I need you" Joel says pushing you onto your back and starts kissing your lips again
"Joel" you say moving to sit up a little making Joel groan and roll onto his back
"Baby, i-"
"No buts" you say cutting him off "You're getting this present"
"Yes, Mrs Miller" Joel says with a smirk
Joel watches you get out of bed and move towards the closet that has a small bag hidden inside of it. You walk back to your shared bed and sit down in front of Joel who is leaning up against the headboard.
"If you don't like it i kept the receipt and we can take it back or get it exchanged-"
"Sweetheart, i'm going to love it. I love everything you have gotten me" Joel says cutting you off "Now give me the gift"
"Okay" you say smiling and handing him the bag
You watch as he takes the bag out of your hands and he opens it up and pulls out a jewelry box making him look at you a bit suspiciously.
"It's not a ring, we're already married" you say lifting up your left hand where your wedding rings sits
"Best day of my life, baby" Joel says making you blush and drop you hand
Joel opens the box to see a silver chain bracelet sitting, in the middle of the bracelet is a flat curb piece of silver with both the letters of your first names engraved with the date of your wedding day underneath them.
Joel looks up at you with tears in his eyes as you have a small smile on your face and he looks back down to pull the bracelet out and he flips it over to see the words 'till forever ends' engraved on the other side.
"Oh, sweetheart" Joel says bringing the bracelet up to his lips and kissing the engraved words on it "Till forever ends, baby"
You let out a laugh as Joel pulls you into his lap and brings you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck kissing him back deeply as he still has the bracelet tightly in his hand.
"Do you like it?" you say pulling back as you are a little out of breath
"Like it? I love it. I love you" Joel says making you smile "It's perfect, just like you"
"Want me to put it on?" you say him
"Yeah, yes, yes" Joel says nodding quickly "My right"
"Mhm" you nod as you grab the bracelet and wrap it around his right wrist and clip it together where it fits perfectly
"Mm, perfect" Joel says smiling down at the bracelet "Thank you, sweetheart, i love it"
"We can return it-"
"Hey" Joel says cutting you off and he cups your face with his hands "I don't want to return it, didn't even cross my mind"
"Okay" you say with a laugh "Good"
"Why were you so worried, hm?" Joel says keeping one hand on your cheek
"I don't know" you say with a small shrug
"No?" Joel asks as you look down at your hands "Don't go all shy on me, baby"
"Sorry, you make me nervous" you say moving your hands up to his jaw and rub your fingers on his facial hair
"After how many years together and i still make you nervous, i must be doing something right" Joel says making you laugh
You move your body forward so you are laying against his chest with your head in his neck and he wraps his arms around your back keeping you close.
"I just wanted it to be perfect for you" you say into his neck "You deserve that"
"You know i don't need anything but you and Sarah" Joel says moving his lips to the top of your head "As long as you two are with me i'll be happy"
"Well, we're not going anywhere, are we?" you ask looking up at him with a smile
"I love you" Joel says smiling back at you
"I love you" you say back and lean up to kiss his lips
"Come on, alarm" Sarah says knocking on the door before walking in "Oh, mom you're not at work?"
You don't know the exact day that Sarah started calling you mom but when you asked her about it she told you that it felt right, that you are her mother even if it wasn't by blood.
"Wanted to make sure i was here when dad woke up" you say moving to sit next to Joel on the bed again "Gonna make us some breakfast, Tommy should be here soon"
"And coffee" Joel adds on squeezing your hip
"Always"
You are now fully dressed for work and down in the kitchen with the radio on. Sarah is behind you pulling out four plates as she finishes buttering the toast.
Joel walks in dressed himself with a hum of happiness as he sees he's two girls laughing together as they make breakfast.
You turn your head around when you feel Joel wrap his arms around your waist and kisses your cheek as he watches you scramble the eggs while Sarah puts the bacon on the plates.
"Coffees on the pot, hun" you say giving Joel a kiss on the cheek "And Sarah got you a glass of orange juice"
"Please drink it, you need your vitamin C" Sarah adds on as she gives you a smile
"Yes, ma'am" Joel says taking the glass of orange juice and drinking half of it
You plate up all the food and grab Joel's plate and move him to sit at the table as Sarah grabs herself and you a glass of orange juice as you bring the rest of the plates to the table.
"Where is that brother of yours, Joel" you say with a shake of your head
"You know Tommy, he's always late" Joel says with a mouth full of food "You didn't have to make him breakfast"
"Of course i did, otherwise he'll come in here anyways and eat any of our leftovers" you say with a laugh as you sit down next to Joel
"I thought we were having pancakes?" Sarah asks you as she sits down
"Eggs and bacon are better, plus all the good pancake mix brands were sold out" you tell her
"You know i don't really like pancakes and it's my birthday" Joel says looking to her daughter
"I know that, it was for my benefit" Sarah says with a smile making you laugh
"Did you, ah, get your homework done?" Joel asks making Sarah give him a look "Fractions?" he asks making you laugh and shake your head
"How old are you again?" Sarah asks him
"36" you and Joel say together
"Gonna have to wear diapers soon" Sarah says making you let out a laugh
"Who says i don't already?" Joel says looking up at her
"Mom" Sarah says looking at you
"I could of been lying" you say with a smile and a shrug of your shoulders
"Ay" Tommy says walking in with a smile "You're still alive you old fucker" he says and walks straight to the fridge
"Aw, he loves you" Sarah says smiling at Joel
"He's dependent on me. Not the same" Joel says watching Tommy
"I think it's the same" Sarah says with a shrug
"It's definitely the same" Tommy nods with Sarah
"Tommy, sit. Eat" you say kicking the empty chair out
"Aw, (y/n/n), you truely are the best sister in law ever" Tommy says giving your cheek a kiss as he sits down
"I'm you're only sister in law" you say looking at him
"Better keep it that way" Tommy says looking to Joel who rolls his eyes
"I'll be pretty stupid to give this up" Joel says and wraps his arm around your shoulders
"I thought we were having pancakes?" Tommy says taking a bite of the bacon
"Be grateful she made you any" Joel says looking at his brother annoyed
"Boys play nice" you say taking a sip of your juice
"Concrete guys gonna be there?" Joel asks Tommy changing the subject
"Yeah, they said maybe" Tommy answers him
"Maybe? We can't frame until we pour. We're not getting paid till we frame" Joel says with a huff taking his arm off you and leaning forward on the table
"Well, we could bring someone else on, get the job done faster" Tommy tells him
"No, no. I'm not splitting this job. I barely wanna split it with you" Joel says digging back into his food "We could work a double"
"No" you say looking at Joel "I'm making you dinner"
"Sweetheart, i'll be done by 9" Joel says turning to you
"9? Joel you agreed, i have everything planned" you say looking at him sadly "I don't want you over worked"
"I know, i'm sorry, baby. I'll bring back a cake, alright?" Joel says looking to you then to Sarah
"9!" you say looking at Tommy
"I'll get him home by 9, i promise" Tommy says with a smile
You sigh and lean back in your chair as Joel grabs your hand bringing it to his lips and lightly kisses your skin.
"...continued disturbances in Jakarta, but are advising U.S citizens..."
"Jakarta. Where is that, Middle East?" Joel asks after hearing the radio
"Doesn't ring a bell. It's definitely a country" Tommy says enjoying his food "Or maybe a part of Asia?"
"Jakart isn't a country" you say shaking your head
"And being a part of Asia isn't mutually exclusive with being a country, in fact, it's the capital of indonesia" Sarah then adds on
"Shit. Hope for us yet" Tommy says with a laugh
Joel then puts his mug down and goes to look at the watch on his wrist only for nothing to be there.
"Time" Joel says and grabs your wrist and looks at your watch "Alright. Finish up quick we'll drop you off" he says looking at Sarah
"I'll drop her, you two get going" you say watching Joel get up and pick up his plate
"You sure?" Joel asks looking down at him
"Sooner you get to work the sooner you'll get home" you say giving him a small smile
Joel gives you a smile as he walks to the sink and places his dishes in then grabs your dishes off of you as you walk behind him.
"Don't lift anything heavy, okay? You're back is still healing" you say following Joel out of the kitchen
"I won't, Tommy can do all the lifting" Joel says moving for his bag
"Can you call me if you're gonna be later then 9?" you say as Joel stands to face you
"When do i not call to say i'm late?" Joel asks with a smirk
"Last week, when you said you would be taking a half day then ended up back here drunk with Tommy at midnight waking both Sarah and i up" you say crossing your arms
"In my defence i gave you a present" Joel says putting his hands on his hips
"Mhm" you say nodding your head "I just don't want you to get hurt again"
"I'm being more careful" Joel says taking a step towards you "I'm always careful cause i have something to live for"
"Getting all lovey-dovey on me now, Mr Miller" you say wrapping your arms around his neck
"Only for you, Mrs Miller" Joel says smiling and he leans down to kiss your lips
"Ew, wait until i've left, please" Sarah says walking past the two of you
"Alright, take Tommy and get out of here" you say patting Joel's chest
"Tommy, let's go!" Joel calls out to his brother "I love you, i'll see you tonight"
"I love you" you say kissing his lips quickly
You listen to Joel's truck drive out of the driveway as you and Sarah walk out the front door towards your car when the two of you stop.
"Hey, neighbor!" Mr Adler calls out to Sarah
"Oh, hi" Sarah says
"Uh, Connie was asking after you, since you haven't been over in a while" Mr Adler says as you put your bag in your car
"Make them happy" you whisper to her
"I could come by after school, but just for a little bit" Sarah says to him
"Oh, she'll take whatcha got. Y'all can bake" he says picking up a plate "Speaking of, we gotta a lot of extra here. Y'all like some biscuits?"
"Mom, you love biscuits-"
"Listen, i gotta get Sarah to school but she'll be over after school and she'll stay as long as you want" you say smiling at them
"Great, i'll let Connie know!"
The two of you get into you car and you start it up but Sarah stops you as she pulls something out of her pocket.
"Is that your dads watch?" you ask her
"I wanna get it fixed for him" she tells you
"That's such a good idea, hun. I was gonna do that but got him the bracelet instead" you say moving to grab your bag "Here, take this it should be enough" you say handing her some cash
"Thank you. Thank you" Sarah says and reaches over to wrap her arms around your neck and kisses your cheek making you laugh
The house has been quiet since you got back from work this afternoon, you ended up baking a cake because you had a feeling Joel would of forgotten.
You then made a baked dinner for the three of you (plus some leftovers if Tommy wants them) and kept all the food wrapped up and in the oven that is turned off.
You moved upstairs where you cleaned up your shared bedroom with Joel and places a box on the bed that is another present for him that just has a couple of new shirts and a jacket inside of it for him.
"Look, mom, look!" Sarah says running into the room holding a DVD
"Oh, Joel is gonna love this" you say laughing "Did you get the watch fixed?"
"Yep. Only $20" she says with a smile
"Only $20? That's cheap" you say with a nod
"Here's your change" she says handing you the cash
"Keep it. Put it towards something for yourself" you say smiling at her "Come on, let's go watch TV and wait for your dad"
After waiting longer then you should of for Joel you let Sarah put something on for herself to watch on TV and you moved up to your bedroom.
Joel's keys unlockes the front door and he walks in with a sad sign and a forgotten cake at the supermarket and he sees Sarah sitting on the lounge alone.
"Smells good in here" Joel says putting his keys down
"It's 10" Sarah points out
"I know" Joel says leaning on the wall
"She's upset"
"I know" Joel says and looks upstairs and points and Sarah nods her head
You can hear Joel's footsteps coming up the stairs making you take a breath and look over as he stands at the doorway.
"I'm sorry i didn't call" Joel says and you nod softly "They gave us the wrong size headers- i'm sorry"
"It's okay, Joel. I was just worried" you say as he walks over and sits next to you
"I'm not out doing anything else but working, ask Tommy-"
"I know that" you say turning to him on the bed "All over the news, there's been stuff happening in the city, not sure what-"
"I'm okay. I promise" Joel says putting a hand on your cheek
"I baked you a cake" you say smiling at him "Knew you would forget"
"Know me too damn well, baby" Joel says with a chuckle
"Like the back of my hand" you say moving to pull him into a hug "You hungry?"
"Starving" Joel says into your hair
"Good. I made a roast" you say standing up but Joel grabs your hand and pulls you to stand in between his legs
"You know that i love you, right? Love you with my whole chest that sometimes it hurts so bad when i ever think about you being in danger" Joel says moving his hands to grip your thighs
"Joel-"
"I just want you to know that i'm so fucking grateful and happy that you're in my life and i hate coming home late to see you and that i never want to be home late" Joel tells you
"I just don't want to lose you" you say softly
"You will never lose me" Joel says pulling you to straddle his lap "You and Sarah are the best things that has ever happened to me and the thought of losing you both actually pains me in more ways then one"
"Oh, Joel, you know you're stuck with me for life" you say cupping his cheeks
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie. Age gap. Reader feels shame associated with losing her virginity. ANGST (!) but it all turns out OK in the end (!!). Assplay. Daddy kink. Soft dom!Joel. Some discomfort during sex.
Note: This is a semi-sequel to ‘Bigger in Texas’ 🤠
Word count: 5.0k
You woke up sore.
You woke up alone.
There was a glaring want of warmth in your bones, like the night might’ve stolen the heat, and you were here in this bed, curled on your side and wishing he were there.
He said he would be. Just four hours ago he’d had your hips pinned under his and his breath on your neck and something thick and leaking between your legs—‘Just trust me, baby, it’ll feel real good. Won’t hurt but a bit’—and in that moment, you’d believed him. You had no reason to doubt a word that came out of Joel Miller’s mouth because the man was honest. Accomplished. Old.
It didn’t strike you just how many years he had you beat by until he tugged down his jeans. Pinched your chin with his thick forefinger and thumb and told you, in the tenderest of tones, it wasn’t right for a thing as pretty and sweet and young as you to be snagged in his sheets.
Maybe he was right.
You’d never even seen a man’s cock before his—not in real life, anyway—and, to put it mildly, Joel was huge. The experience was all on his side; the hurt was yours. While he’d prepared you more than enough with his lips, tongue, and fingers, the intrusion had made you sore. Worse than that, the mental impression it left was raw. You didn’t want to believe in old norms perpetuated by a purity-driven world, didn’t honestly think you’d changed from one man’s dick, no matter how big. But you ached.
You felt empty.
A little dirty, too.
Would he want you after this? Had he wanted you at all? Was it simply a cruel ploy to breach the spot between your legs and then…leave? You folded in on yourself. You pulled your knees up to your chest and winced at the absence you felt. You blinked harder into the dark.
Your nose stung, but you refused to cry now.
He just stepped out for some air. He’ll be back.
I’m all alone in this big, cold bed, but he’ll be back.
I gave Joel Miller my virginity, and he has to come back.
Nothing assuaged your fears. Your eyes burned even worse than your nose, and before you knew it, you felt hot tears start to slide down your cheeks. Unlike before, when you’d cried from the pleasure the first time he’d sank inside, Joel wasn’t there to kiss the moisture away.
No, the man had left you here alone.
He’d gotten what he wanted, after all.
You sobbed. You scrubbed at your face, uselessly, then slipped out of bed. While tears blurred your vision, you made your way downstairs. The house was cool and dark
Outside, the front porch was pitch black too. You stuck your head through the door, hoping to find your old man sat out in one of the rocking chairs, but when you checked, the place was empty. Your heart clenched in your chest, and you inhaled a breath that felt ragged. Restless. Turning perilously and pathetically on your weak, trembling heels, you strode over to the kitchen.
The backyard beyond was small, and Joel didn’t like it much. He’d taken you out there once, beneath the shade of the trees, and he’d let you straddle one thigh while he bounced you on his leg. You’d never cum rubbing your cunt on denim before, but Joel had made it seem easy.
He wasn’t here. You cast a look across the lawn, remembering the pleasure, and felt it again: guilt.
You tried shaking it away with one turn of your head, but the longer Joel was gone, the worse it got. He’s not here.
Chiding yourself quietly, “You are so fucking stupid.”
And gross. You walked and felt the heft of Joel’s last load leak slowly out of your cunt. You descended the three steps to the grass, sensed it trickling down your thighs, and silently wished he hadn’t let you wear his boxers. Or his shirt. You smelled him, you felt him, you swatted him aggressively from between your legs, and you rounded the side of the house. The warmth in your gut simmered.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too cold out that night, so you could walk home without your shoes and not expect frostbite.
You could cry at home, alone. You’d soothe the ache at the apex of your legs with your own hands, in your own bed. You didn’t need a man Joel’s age to make you feel pleasure—or any man, for that matter. He’d shown you what it was to get fucked. Nothing more, nothing less.
You’d just passed Joel’s truck in the driveway and were about to hit the pavement of the road, when these ideas thrummed through your skull. You felt silly, and defiled, still, but at least you weren’t spewing tears. You walked.
And just when your feet reached the edge of the drive, you heard it. You stopped briefly, then, but kept going.
“Honey?”
The voice was confused.
How fucking puzzled could he be? He’d been gone for hours and just now decided to drop by to say hello?
Probably just wanted another round. You stalked ahead.
You felt a little childish for it, but you ignored him.
When footsteps echoed hot on your heels, and boots landed coolly on the ground, and he caught up fast, you pretended not to hear. You shrugged him off when he touched you, brushed his hand away once it tugged—trying to pull you back—and you turned to face him.
“What?” you spat.
Joel’s eyes widened.
“Wh— what do you mean, ‘what’?”
His grip tightened on your sleeve—his sleeve.
You tried freeing your body from it.
“Let go. I’m going home.”
“Like hell you are.”
Joel’s words stung spoken aloud, but they seemed to be tinged with something else, too. You pushed at his hand.
“If you wanted to go that bad, you could’ve just told me.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
That was what it was: light amusement. Or a hint of it.
“Stop laughing,” you snapped.
“I’m not laughing!”
“You’re about to.”
“Well—”
“If I am so damn funny, why don’t you laugh your ass back inside? I’m sure you have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Ain’t doin’ nothin’, honey. Except you.”
“Yeah? And ditch me right after?”
“I was only gone an hour, baby.”
“And left me here, alone—”
“Darlin’, please, just…”
“—doing whatever.”
“…listen to me.”
“Or whoever—”
“Honey, I just went over to your place to make SOUP!”
It amazed him how quickly food could change your mind.
Thirty minutes ago, you’d been fully prepared to fight.
Now, with your feet warmed up and your belly full again—the ingredients he’d needed had been at your place, so he’d decided to cook there after he woke up at 4 AM and couldn’t fall back asleep—you were back to being sweet.
Affectionate, even.
And forward, if Joel were being perfectly honest.
Never before had he seen you make a move on him, at least not directly. Not like this, with your legs clambering over his and your thighs coming to rest on either side of his hips, on the sofa. Joel rarely wanted to fuck after eating a meal, but for you, he could make an exception.
His eyes were heavy-lidded as he watched you rub your groin against him. He thought of the time you’d rode his thigh out in the backyard, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Two times in one night is more than your old man can take, I think,” he told you, trying to sound extra sleepy.
He figured you knew better. You rubbed harder.
“I don’t care. I— I need the other…five.”
Inches, you meant.
Joel had fucked you with the first five earlier that night, and now you wanted the other half. You’d scarcely been able to fit what he’d given you, had had to tap out after just one round, but here you were. Begging for more.
He liked it.
Joel was old and weary and his belly sloshed with soup every time he moved now, but he reckoned you could convince him of just about anything with the way your hips were grinding down. Give him one, two—no, it was here, he was almost fully erect through his pants—and he could do you again. He wanted to. He watched you.
But when his hands slid to your hips, you swatted him.
“Let me do it, daddy.”
Alright.
He was hard, and he was more than aroused, and fuck—your hands got him unzipped and in your grasp so quick. Joel barely had the chance to blink or breathe before he felt you shed your bottoms and brush him between your legs. You aligned him well enough. You seemed to be pretending to know more than you did, moving too fast to be really self-assured in doing all of this, but he sat back all the same and drank you in with a lopsided smirk.
“Give it a sec, hon. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Joel’s eyes flitted to his lap, where you were presently trying to level your own hips and get him just right. You huffed a little, then you squeezed his shoulder and tightened your legs.
You shook your head.
“I know,” you bit out.
That sounded angrier than he’d expected—or wanted to hear. His own expression hardened some, considering words in his mind that he might try and say to you while you hovered over him, but then you were sinking down.
Taking him in. Meeting resistance and forcing it anyway.
“Hey—” Joel started, words promptly swallowed by a moan when your tight, wet, clenching heat nearly strangled the head of him. You were taut as a fist.
You couldn’t get more than an inch before your body was rejecting the stretch and your face screwed up in pain.
“Baby,” Joel croaked. Shaking his head. “You’re gonna hurt yourself goin’ in like that. Why don’t I—I, ah, shit.”
You were taking him anyway. You were impaling yourself on his dick, like this was something you felt determined to do, and Joel wasn’t sure if he should groan with pleasure or push you off of him. Your brows pinched.
“I— I wanna make it…good,” you whimpered.
One arm was bracing itself on the sofa cushion behind him, and your head was lolling against the side of his. Your whines were soft and pitchy, and your entrance, though wet, was impossibly tight. This wasn’t working. You were pushing him in, but the friction was too much.
You let out a soft, pained cry into his shoulder, and that was when Joel moved off completely. He leaned back.
“‘S’alright, darlin’, ‘s’alrigh—”
“Just let me do it!” you cried.
Joel’s gaze leapt from where your bodies had been trying to connect to your face, and he was shocked to find tears brimming in your eyes. They were starting to slide down, one by one, and you hurried to brush them off. You shook your head and let out a sound trapped between a sob and a hiccup, fighting hard to hide your frustration.
It wasn’t working.
Joel pulled you into his arms.
“Hey, hey…” he started gently. His eyes searched further. “What’s wrong, honey? Talk to me. Tell me what’s the—”
“I thought it would feel different than this!” you sobbed.
There was a tinge of ire to your tone, but mostly, the emotion suffusing those words was sadness. Distress. Joel didn’t have the first idea where it had come from. Quickly, he moved his hands from your sides to your face. He cupped tear-stained cheeks and drew closer.
“What feels different? What’s wrong?”
You blinked harder, and more tears flowed.
“Sex. It— I can’t do anything right. I can’t make it good.”
Joel opened his mouth to speak, but you went on.
“I feel dirty. And— and we— we won’t even fit!”
Then your palms were clamping over your eyes, like this was the single most embarrassing thing that could’ve happened, and Joel’s heart clenched in his chest. He pulled your face down to his, tugged your hands away, and wanted to kiss every last tear. You were shaking.
“It’s alright. Hey, don’t— don’t cry. It’s hard startin’ out.”
Joel knew it well himself, and it still didn’t soothe the ache inside from seeing you like this. It made it worse.
He should’ve prepared you more. Made you comfortable. Taken you back to his bed, for fuck’s sake—and not let you feel like this was something to be ashamed of doing.
Maybe he shouldn’t have taken you so soon. Or suddenly
“Why do you feel dirty? Sex ain’t a bad thing, baby.”
He hoped it wasn’t his fault you’d felt like it was.
“I know, but you…you said you loved how sweet I was. And then we did those things, and I don’t feel the same.” You bit your bottom lip, and it was enough to send him spiraling. “I feel…dirty. Like I’m different. And I can’t even do the things you like, and I’m scared you won’t wann—”
“Sweetheart,” Joel exhaled a breath and a groan at once.
How could you even think that?
How could you imagine him anything less than in love?
He’d never said it—was too scared to say it, particularly after you’d just made yourself so vulnerable and offered your virginity to him, when he felt he hadn’t deserved it.
He didn’t deserve it. And here you were thinking that you’d done something wrong. Joel leaned closer again.
The man snaked his arms around your waist and buried his face in your shoulder like you’d done to him before. In a gentle breath and a slightly muffled voice, he managed:
“You mean everything to me, hon…I didn’t think of you any different after we done it that one time, and I ain’t gonna think any different of you if we do it again. You’re still the same sweet girl you always were. Y’know that?”
He hoped you did.
You sucked in a soft breath of your own and held it.
Then slowly, shakily, you exhaled. Joel swallowed.
“Please say you do, darlin’. I…I need to hear it.”
Now he was the needy one. He didn’t care.
He squeezed you tighter to him and lifted his head to meet your gaze when your chin tipped down to his. That felt almost more intimate than sex—just locking eyes with one another and letting the truths trickle out.
“I know,” you said, after a beat. “I—I think so, anyway.”
“Know so, honey. Don’t think. Know that I…”
I love you.
He wanted to say it. But something got lodged in his throat, and the second slipped away. A smile was starting to tug at the edges of your lips, and he swiftly got lost in the expression. You were feeling better.
You slid up his legs, and he hardly even noticed it.
He intended to use his fingers when you were ready. Maybe lay you back on the couch, spread your legs, and have himself a time with his lips and tongue until you were a shaking mess above him. But you didn’t let him.
Eager as you seemed before, you took him in your hand again. You lifted your hips. Before Joel could utter a word of his own protest, you were already rubbing back and forth, up and down his shaft with the seam of your cunt.
You were still wet, of course. You slicked him easily, made him feel like you were ready for this, even if you weren’t. But Joel knew better now; he grabbed your hips.
“Baby,” he said. Gentle. “We’re gonna take things slow.”
He watched you wrinkle your nose at the idea. It was both the most maddening and adorable thing to see.
“Slow,” you repeated.
“Slow,” he confirmed.
Though you didn’t seem crazy about the idea, you did want him inside you, apparently. You were patient enough to let him replace your touch gripping his base and wiping his tip back and forth, again and again. You whimpered. Joel nodded, holding your gaze to make sure that this wouldn’t be painful. When your knees trembled against him and you keened, he pressed his free hand to your back to support your weight. Then he kept teasing.
“Don’t it feel nice?” he hummed.
“Uh-huh.”
You weren’t quite used to his touch. Or anyone’s, really.
Your eyelids were fluttering shut, and Joel could tell you were succumbing to the feeling—not needing to be filled but relishing the moment instead, savoring every second his tip was gliding through your folds and smearing your wetness. It was a beautiful thing to see. In all the long decades Joel had been doing this himself, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to experience pleasure for the first time. You’d done this before, but it was all still new.
Your teeth had trapped your bottom lip, and your hand was squeezing his shoulder. The other must’ve been fisting the fabric of the sofa, because Joel heard a soft scraping noise. He felt your nails on his skin along with it; you were reveling in the warmth, the wet, sticky head of his cock pushing your folds apart, and the tiny jolts of sensitivity that came when he grazed your throbbing clit. He could tell because you’d grip him even harder and roll your hips with every motion, as if trying to meet him in it.
Joel could stay like this for hours.
He wouldn’t need to penetrate you an inch if it meant getting a view like this and seeing you shiver with every soft, tender brush of his cockhead. He kissed your cheek.
“My sweet girl,” he murmured. “My sweet, perfect girl.”
Through the teeth that had snagged your lip, you smiled.
Your eyes were still closed, but you nodded as if to say, ‘Yes, I am.’ And the heat continued to swell and drip.
And then you were fitting him in at your entrance again.
Joel knew you needed more prep: more time to get your still-tight walls to loosen up and learn to accept his girth, but you were insistent. Small as you were inside, your need was triple any limitation. You wanted him now.
“I—fuck.” Joel groaned as you pressed him in.
It was only an inch. His tip stretched the slick, fleshy rim of your cunt with alarming ease. When he looked up, he could see it wasn’t that easy, though. You were wincing.
“Honey,” he choked out. Swallowing pleasure and what modicum of his restraint remained. “Slow, slow, slow…”
“I know,” you said gently.
You bore down again. Engulfed another inch. Your eyes popped open at the feeling—perhaps your first real pang of discomfort—but to Joel’s surprise, you didn’t slow.
You sank lower, letting out a throaty little sound.
“Oh, Joel.”
He gripped your hip. Held it tight. Gritted his teeth as your walls clenched even tighter and a shockwave of pleasure seized his limbs. He helped hold you up, but each faculty he possessed seemed to be dwindling fast with every downward slide of your heat. He dropped his head back on the couch and groaned at the feel of you.
He was sheathed nearly halfway inside, and every inch of you that he touched was pure ecstasy. You felt incredible
One palm slid to your ass, and he grabbed the flesh.
You stopped where you were—or, more likely, you had to. You’d reached the thickest part of his member, and your weeping, needy hole had stretched as far as it would go. Spit glistened at the corners of your lips. Shallow breaths racked through your chest and made it rise and fall in rapid succession. You were whimpering all over again, and Joel wasn’t sure if he could handle much more of it.
“In, daddy, in.”
Joel wanted in. Badly.
“Deeper, sweetie? Is that it?”
You nodded your head.
He almost did. His hand slid down your ass to cup the back of your thigh, or close to it, and squeezed. You were about to sink down again when something sharp crossed your features, and as that happened, his grasp slipped.
Your knees gave in.
Instead of being allowed to go slow, you slid the last five or so inches in one quick, downward motion. You hadn’t meant to, and Joel could tell. Immediately, your mouth fell open, and a cry fell past your lips. At the same time, the hand that had been gripping your ass had slipped down as well, and suddenly, his fingers were pressed inside of that little cleft. His index brushed something soft—a spot he was yet unacquainted with on your body.
You gasped. Your eyes widened at the new sensation prodding behind the hole being penetrated. You looked to Joel, as if positing a question and a command at once.
“That’s…” you started softly.
“‘M’sorry,” Joel said, preparing to retract his hand.
You stopped him. You held it there with one of your own. He caught a glint of intrigue flash in your eyes, and it should’ve come as no great shock when you pressed his digits further. Pushing his fingertips to that one place.
It was as if the discomfort of his cock stretching you was forgotten, momentarily. You didn’t look to be in pain, and your throat instead was working, making sounds of soft pleasure as Joel teased your ring of muscles with his middle and forefinger. His touch was light but deliberate.
“Y’like that?” He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Dirty girl.”
Another look flashed in your eyes—worry, it seemed.
Quickly, you shook your head. N-No, Joel, I don’t.
Joel kicked himself for the word he had used.
“Oh no, no, sweetheart, that ain’t what I meant. That’s a good thing. I…I like that you like it. No one’s ever touched you back here, have they?” Joel’s smile turned sheepish.
Your own look softened with a tinge of embarrassment.
You didn’t need to answer. By the whine that pushed past your lips the second one finger dipped in half an inch, Joel could tell you’d never had someone play with your ass. The walls of your pussy involuntarily clamped down around his length, and he groaned. He liked that.
You liked it more, evidently.
The sensitivity around that puckered ring seemed to have distracted you from the discomfort of being impaled on a cock so big. Your jaw slackened; more whimpers tumbled out, growing in pitch and shrillness with every twist of that finger. For now, Joel was just plunging the tip of his index in and out and feeling how your body responded, but he wasn’t going for depth.
Suddenly, you rose on your knees, and you slid up his cock. You winced at the strain of his girth—warm, pulsing, and aching for friction—and you exhaled. Just as you were about slide back down the three or so inches, Joel was back to prodding your back entrance, teasing the little ring of muscle with a smile tugging at his lips.
“Focus on my finger, baby. That’s it,” he mumbled.
Your eyes met his, and you seemed to question it.
He felt your walls flutter again, and he pushed in.
“You’re doing so good for daddy, baby. So good. This pussy, those sweet, soft moans, that tight little ass—”
“Joel.”
Your throat appeared to constrict at the last word.
Was that another forbidden, ‘dirty’ thing?
Probably, yes.
Joel worked his index even deeper.
And, as he’d predicted, you let out a shuddering moan. You leaned forward to grind your hips in place, and that act gave some added friction to your clit. Your lips parted, and you whined as you ground yourself harder.
This also gave Joel greater access with his hand—he worked his finger back and forth, gently, and got to gauge how you felt every step of the way. He spit in his free hand. He brought it to help lubricate that little hole.
“It’s OK to let daddy touch you here, honey,” he assured you. A wet schlick aided a second finger sliding in, and you moaned against him. “You look beautiful like this.”
And that was the truth. Joel had never been so turned on seeing you turned on, and he loved the needy movements of your hips. You were drenching his lap, sliding back and forth and sometimes up and down, softly, and the noises that came out were obscene.
You were fucking him now.
With his cock planted deep in your cunt and two fingers pushed up inside your ass, you were fully riding him. Taut, pulsing walls seemed to suffocate his length, and it was one of the greatest sensations he’d ever felt. You were stuffed full of him and enjoying this. Forgetting the shame you’d associated with sex, if only momentarily, you let yourself feel good, too. You leaned closer to him.
“That’s my girl,” Joel managed through gritted teeth. Pleasure choked his words, but he wanted you to know that you were doing a good thing—it was OK to do this. “Ain’t never seen anything sweet as you, y’know that?”
Your cheeks heated under his gaze. He could feel it.
Slowly, you nodded your head.
“Yeah…you— you like this?”
It sounded so innocent and yet full of lewd promise. Like you were readying yourself to do something worse. Dirty.
Joel wanted that.
He needed to see you enjoying yourself, so he bared his teeth in a crooked sort of grin, and he pushed his fingers deeper. He watched your mouth fall open all over again, and he drank in the sounds of shrill whines tumbling out.
“I…fuckin’…love it, honey,” Joel hissed back, words punctuated with each needy bounce against him.
Your warmth was soaking him now. It made taking you by the hip and thrusting in deeper from below even easier. Joel figured your knees must be tiring out by now, so he helped you slide up and down on his cock, and he drew your chest in toward his. He let your head loll onto his shoulder and heard your soft, pleasure-drunk whimpers crawl out past your lips. They tickled his neck.
As close as he was himself, he couldn’t help what he did.
He pushed his index and middle fingers in to the knuckle and felt your ring of muscles choke them. He groaned.
“Sweet girl likes gettin’ both holes stuffed, does she?”
You gritted your teeth against his neck and nodded vigorously. Helplessly. Whimpering, ‘Yes, Joel, please.’
He couldn’t stop there.
He bounced you even quicker in his lap, plunging his fingers in and out faster still, and he drew back to make you face him. Your lips grazed his; your eyes went wide.
Then, in a deliberate effort, Joel thrust in to the hilt.
He made you swallow all ten inches of his cock while he fingered your ass, and he kept your gaze locked on his.
You were about to break—come undone all over him in a harsh, shuddering climax—when he leaned in even more.
His lips were so close he only had to whisper it.
He all but breathed the idea into your mouth:
“You want my dick in your ass, sweet girl?”
In answer to that, you shattered. You let loose the reins of restraint and came all over his cock. You pulsed. Pushed. Gushed in wet, sticky streams of arousal you likely had no idea were even possible for your body to make. Your lips crashed over his, and you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, like you were terrified of that feeling.
This time, Joel knew what to do.
He wouldn’t fuck up again.
Hugging you back, and letting you ride out each mind-numbing wave, he lifted a hand and cupped the back of your head—it’s okay, you’re okay, hold on tight to daddy, now, I promise it’s fine. He didn’t want you thinking for a second that any of this was wrong or shameful. He wedged the fingers of his other hand deeper inside you and felt that taut band of muscles clench with each new throb of your climax. He smiled.
And, without fully realizing it, he was spilling his seed. Filling your insides. Holding you close and letting the throes of his own pleasure paint your pretty walls with a warmth he hoped you liked. Dimly, he hoped that that vasectomy he’d gotten all those years back was still doing its job. He pictured what his cum would look like sliding out and felt another spurt pulse out from his tip.
You sat in silence for a while.
Neither one of you moved, except to hold the other tighter or else drop your head in fatigue and bliss.
Joel wasn’t sure how long this lasted. All he knew was that by the time you two were moving again, the sun’s first rays were starting to spill through the cracks in the living room window’s curtains. You’d quite literally fucked until the sun had come up. He let out a contented sigh.
And just as he was about to draw back and check in to see how you were holding up, if you needed anything from him, you were leaning back, too. You met his gaze.
The smile on your face told him all he needed to know.
It was soft and lazy and no longer burdened by shame. For the first time in your life, it seemed, you could savor the moment. You breathed gently, albeit in quick, panting breaths, and seeing you this way, Joel thought he’d never seen a more dizzying picture of your beauty. The sight gave him purpose. Assurance, or simply the ability to speak from the heart like he should have before
Now he spoke in the exact, candid manner he meant to.
What he’d intended to tell you earlier, but hadn’t had the nerve to say, he was pressing ahead and diving right in.
Summary: Joel fucks you nice and rough in a run down motel.
Warnings: PIV, rough sex, meanish Joel, fingering, implied crime, reader wears bikini, facial. Unedited, unbetad, idk what to tell you, hoss. Read it or don’t.
A word from the author: what is it about motels??
Masterlist
Turgid members notif blog
Every time a wailing cop car speeds by, Joel tenses and stills. It’s quick, a flicker of panic that makes his muscles jump under his skin. It reminds you of a horse, bothered by a fly. He listens intently, and as they fade he relaxes - as much as someone like him can- back into the flat pillow he had folded in half under his head.
The motel was in Summerfield, faded pale blue facade baking in the full exposure of a treeless strip of crumbling concrete. It might have been nice once, with shops and a theater and a nice hotel where people wanted to stay when they came from out of town. People don’t come any more. The theater was closed and the ticket booth was shut behind graffitied plywood. The shops were closed or closing, and the people milling about mostly came from the run down apartments up the block. A derelict restaurant stayed open at all hours, serving as neutral ground. The hotel was still a destination, of sorts. Somehow, the pool stayed open and rooms could be rented without a lot of questions.
The sirens rush past a lot.
After three days you’re already used to them. “Don’t gotta worry unless they get loud and stay loud.” you reasoned, cheerfully, knees tucked under you on the springy bed while he lies in his state of ever-readiness. Fully dressed and on top of the bedspread, elbow bent over his eyes to block the light, fist clenching over his belly. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer, Joel. What good will that do us?” He didn’t respond.
He hadn’t even unpacked. Not that you’d brought much. You had a little suitcase and he had a duffel bag, but it was hardly worth putting in the drawers under the tv. Still, you had hoped this would feel more like a vacation, or like a honeymoon, even, just like Joel had said to the disinterested lady renting him the room. You wanted Joel to be happy.
“Can’t we just go get a milkshake? There’s that diner right across-“
“No! Just- just take a nap or somethin’” Joel snapped.
“I just thought it would be nice if we…” you trailed off in defeat when you felt him stare at you, aggravated with your silly ideas.
“Read one of your books or something. Knit. Whatever’ll make ya sit still.”
You sighed and laid down. You listened a while to the kids shouting in the parking lot, the woman recounting an argument to a silent listener on the other end of her telephone, and you tried to find shapes in the water spots on the ceiling as if they were clouds and you were laying in a field. They all just looked like brown stains.
You wiggled your dangling feet, you closed your eyes and thought of the places on the postcards on the spinning rack in the lobby. You wanted to be on a real vacation. Joel has plenty of money now, and you didn’t see why he shouldn’t spend it, but he didn’t ask you.
Bouncing off the bed, you grabbed your little case and shut yourself into the bathroom. It was small, just a tub and a toilet, with floor to ceiling seafoam green tile. Seasick was more like it, but at least it smelled clean enough. You shaved your legs in the stopperless sink, using the little sliver of soap from the dish and Joel’s razor. You managed not to nick yourself, by some miracle. You changed into your swimsuit and slipped into the only shoes you’d brought, white sandals with a heavy wooden heel that clacked against the floor and echoed around on the tile. You liked the sound. It felt sophisticated.
You didn’t have makeup, so you washed your face with the same little sliver and splashed your face with cold water. The bare bulb over head cast shadows over your eyes and the mirror reflected the sickly green of the walls onto your skin. You frowned at yourself and smoothed your hair before flicking off the light.
Teetering back out into the bedroom, Joel raised his arm up just enough to look you over. Up and down he looked, your hair, your bare face, your tits in the triangles of your top, the bows at your hips tying the fabric of your bottoms together, but barely managing to cover you. You dropped one hip and teased your hands over your shoulders, letting your arms push your breasts together, shimmying for him, the way he usually likes. The way that makes him pull you into his lap. You spin around and swivel your hips slowly just for him.
“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” he demands, finally sitting up. The irritation in his voice caught you off guard.
“I’m going to go down to the pool, Joel. I’m tired of being in the room all the time.”
“Like hell you are. Are you trying to draw attention?” He was getting more upset, and you didn’t care. Hadn’t you done enough?
“What attention, Joel? We’re newlyweds, remember? Can’t we just act like we’re here to have a good time?”
That did it. “A good time?” Joel raised his voice. He stood from the bed and stalked toward you, eyes hard and dark, making you take a step back as your own heartbeat kicked up. “You want a good time? Is that right?” His hand shot out and grabbed your arm to pull you to him. You gasped, and hardened yourself against his brutality, but oh, it made you throb when he was like this. “You think we’re here for the sunshine and cocktails? Get on the goddamn bed. I’ll give you your honeymoon.”
Joel shoved you into the bed, the mattress caught you and the springs groaned and squeaked with your weight. You wondered in that moment how many other couples had fucked in this very same place. Your chest fluttered and heaved with anticipation.
While Joel checked the lock on the door for the hundredth time and checked the walkway one more time through the drawn curtains, you watched him and rubbed your hard, sensitive nipple through the fabric of your swimsuit. You love when he’s like this, crazy, mad, all sense and control lost to the hungry dog inside him. You love it when he takes it out on you.
Soon his belt is whipped from his belt loops and thrown toward the single chair by the window, shirt tossed aside and jeans hanging open. As fast as his fury had roiled up, he was on top of you, tearing the cups of your top aside to let your tits free for his hot mouth, he sucked hard at each nipple, squeezing your breasts in his hands, squishing them together, dimpling the skin with his fingertips.
You yelped when he dragged his teeth over your nipple, and he chuckled, giving you another firm squeeze before sucking and biting his way down your body. Your side, your belly, your hip, he was ravenous.
He made his way quickly to your bikini bottom. “Look at this” he said, rubbing his thumb over your pussy through the damp fabric. “You soaked right through already.
Were ya gonna go down there and let everybody see this? Show off this pussy to all those men down there?” You both knew there was no one down by the pool but an old woman who dangled her tired feet into the water after her shift cleaning the vacant rooms, but it got him so hot just thinking about other men looking at your body.
Joel sat up on his knees between your legs and pulled loose the bows holding the swimsuit together, and you couldn’t help but buck your hips up at him. You were wet. You were so needy for his attention and the way he liked to touch you.
“Don’t get greedy” he scolded, and pushed the heel of his palm against your covered pussy, dragging the fabric over every sensitive nerve ending. “You’re such a slut. Shoulda known bringing you to a place like this would be trouble. You want everyone in this place hearing you get fucked, ain’t that right? Let ‘em hear ya begging for dick like you’re in heat.” You heard him talking but your eyes were squeezed shut. Maybe if you concentrated on the feeling and the sound of your voice you could come. You thought maybe you could, but he didn’t give you time. He snatched off your bikini and shoved your knees up. “Hold these.”
You pulled your knees up toward your chest, but that wasn’t good enough. Joel smacked the back of your thigh and pushed your knees up and out. “Keep em open just like that.” You were exposed and your body felt like it was on fire, even three feet from the loud hum and cold gust of the air conditioner under the window.
Joel sucked at your clit and licked your lips. He dipped his tongue into your hole and when that didn’t satisfy him he reached deeper with his fingers, one, then two, then three. He drew them out and sucked your slick from them, then went back for more.
Staying quiet was impossible. You were panting and gasping and squealing at every new sensation. Your legs shook as your thighs tensed, chasing the rabbit of your climax. He was right. Let them hear.
Joel’s jeans were halfway down his thighs when he sat up, face glistening and hair wild. His cock hung between his thighs thick and heavy, bobbing as he stroked it with your wetness.
If he were done now you’d be satisfied, even though you hadn’t gotten off. You were already feeling that tiredness setting in, the exhaustion of a thorough fucking.
Once Joel starts though, he can’t stop. He has to get it out of his system. He has to use you up and fill you full before he’s finished.
He crawled back over you and held your face in his one big hand and forced your lips into a pucker. He licked into your mouth. It was wet and messy and deranged, the way he kissed you. It left you breathless and panting for air. You tasted yourself on his lips, smelled yourself on his face.
“Pussy taste good?” He asked, and you nodded, licking your lips. “I bet I could bring some whore up here and make you eat her out. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His filthy mouth. You nodded again. Of course you’d like it. You’d especially like it if he was watching.
“Anything you want, Joel.” You promised him. You meant it too, pretty much. If he wanted you to take every cock in this town you’d do it just to make him happy, so long as his cock was first and last. Joel laughed and nipped along your jaw.
He slipped out of his jeans and took his place on the bed again. He pumped his cock and swept the fat leaking head through your messy folds, quiet so you could hear how wet you were. He inched in the tip, never giving you more than an inch at most. Teasing you to make you whine. His cock was thick and he knew it. He has to take his time if he wanted to get in.
“Please, baby. I need it” you begged. “Come on, Joel. Let me have it.” He went back to bumping the head against your clit.
“Roll over.” You huffed but did as he said, flipping to your stomach, ass up. You knew it would feel even bigger like this, with his knees outside your thighs, pressing them together. He found your cunt with his fingers again, filling and stretching you, easing his way.
The weight of him on top of you was grounding, a counter to the heat you felt when he pushed his cock all the way inside. You winced and panted, but slowly adjusted to him.
“That’s it. Just like that. Just take this cock for me” he crooned to you. The sweetness of his voice was in opposition to the snap of his hips and the way he held your hair in his fist. He turned your head and sank his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out.
When someone in the room next door shouted and pounded the wall with their fist, Joel just covered your mouth with his hand and kept his pace. You could feel the wet spot slowly spreading beneath you.
Joel was quiet save for his breath against your neck, and the way he grunted with every thrust.
After several moments he stilled. Frightened, you hummed against his hand, wondering if he had come inside you. You’d told him he couldn’t, that you couldn’t get the pills. He never used the rubbers, they pinched, he said. Too small.
But he hadn’t come yet. His head was tilted toward the door, straining to hear with his one good ear if his luck had run out. For a few tense beats of your heart he waited and listened, keeping your cheek pushed into the bedspread before slowly picking up his pace again when he felt the coast was clear.
He fucked you like that, slapping your ass, pulling your hips, teeth bared in pure animalistic lust. You sneaked a hand down between your legs and a few swirls of slippery fingertips over your clit while his turgid member plunged deep into your sweet little cunt was all you needed to come. “Ohhh fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, come on this cock. Fucking soak me. Gonna fill you up, baby.”
Your cunt squeezed him in a sloppy rhythm as your orgasm faded, and your body felt tired and loose. It was easy for him to roll you back onto your back and clump over you. He trapped your arms with his thighs and took his cock in his hand, stroking furiously with your wetness until thick white ribbons of come fell over your lips and chin. You opened your mouth and held out your tongue, catching a taste of him in your mouth, whatever didn’t cover your cheeks or fall onto your eyelids, squeezed shut.
Joel's ears rang and he panted through his release, feeling the most settled he had since Tommy had first picked him up in the stolen car.
okay, kinda gross. But what about dads bestfriend! Joel and he comes in while you’re showering. Accidentally slips his clothes off to join you, accidentally lets his eyes linger to long and then accidentally slips inside your pussy. The excuse is water makes everything more slippery. 🤷♀️
YOU HAD ME AT “okay, kinda gross” HAHAHAHA
I MISSED WRITING DBF!JOEL SO BAD AGH 😭 Imagining this as part of the Waiting Game ‘verse, maybe three weeks after the events of the last chapter, but y’all can definitely read this one as a standalone, too!
Different
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Shower sex 🚿. Breeding kink (…but Reader’s already pregnant LOL). Descriptions of dryness due to hormonal imbalances—father-to-be-Joel knows how to improvise, though!! ;) Looooots of daddy/mommy talk. Sprinkle of sex ed stuff thrown in for the sick fucks (me) who are into it.
“This isn’t normal.”
Your hand rested flat over your stomach—which itself hadn’t begun to swell yet at all—and you stared ahead.
Seven weeks.
If you and Joel had done the math correctly, you were seven weeks pregnant, and it already felt like everything about your body was changing. From the way that you ate to how you fell asleep at night, your nausea in the mornings and the noises you made when you finally sat down and sighed with relief. You were always sleepy. And, as unfair as it seemed, while you were worn out all hours of the day, your sexual arousal was unwavering.
Inexorable.
And yet, you were completely dry.
With your other hand, you felt between your legs.
You let out a low, resounding groan.
“Come ON!”
A second later, the bathroom door crashed open.
“What?! What’s wrong?” Joel hurried out.
You were standing in the shower, water pelting your front and running every which way down your body. Swiftly, you slid your touch away from the apex of your thighs, and you blinked through the mist hanging before you.
“I—I’m alright,” you answered, quiet.
Joel appeared at the glass then. He opened it a crack.
Peering inside, and meeting your gaze, “Yeah? You OK?”
“Yup. Now go back to—”
“And our baby?”
Always “our baby.” Scarcely twenty-one days since the two of you came to learn of your pregnancy, and Joel was always, always referring to this tiny mix of your DNA and his as that—which it was. You just weren’t quite able to fathom it, still. What, with all the fluctuations in your hormones, the sense that everything was different but nothing yet visible, the highs and the lows and wildly overwhelming moments where you swore you couldn’t handle any of it—I’m just really fucking scared, Joel—and he’d never failed to reassure you through it. It just wasn’t easy believing him all the time, well…when it felt—
“Fine,” you managed, smile tight. “Our baby’s fine.”
You’d let both your hands fall to your sides, and now you were trying your best not to worry Joel any more than he clearly already he was. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and you reached for the shower valve.
You couldn’t help a little huff of laughter at the last.
Those same, soft, chocolate-colored irises had invariably skated down your form and scanned you naked and wet, and of course, there was a flicker of intrigue. Marveling.
How do you think you got knocked up in the first place?
“It’s just, like…I think it’s insomnia or something. Apparently super common in the first trimester,” you answered, only half-way telling a lie in saying it.
It was true, you were tired all the time and somehow tossing and turning all night when you tried to sleep.
The fact you were also dry as a desert and impossibly sexually frustrated because of it was a separate issue.
Joel’s look continued its descent down your body, and he hummed. You could just hear the cogs turning inside his head and imagine the thoughts accompanying that path, viscerally aware yourself that everything he was seeing would only get bigger over the next eight months.
You turned and grabbed a bar of soap.
“Go back to sleep, Joel. I mean it. Gotta be up at six to catch our flight, and you know if we’re even five minutes late, Tommy’s gonna personally castrate you, guaranteeing no more babies for me. So…”
Forcing your voice to sound lighthearted and fine, you could still hear it shake as you spoke. One meager attempt at lathering your chest, and your grip slipped embarrassingly quick, sending the soap flying and then skittering across the shower floor. You bent over to get it.
In a blink, a larger, calmer hand intervened.
It snagged the bar swiftly and, at almost the same time, helped you straighten again. Joel stepped in the shower.
“Oh, babe—”
That was you.
Grimacing, this time not due to any pain or embarrassment but simply realizing that Joel was in his boxers—he was still partly clothed and he had walked under the water’s spray, and it was getting all over him.
“—oh, Joel, don’t do that. You’re gonna be soake—”
“I’ll skip the whole wedding, darlin’. I don’t care,” Joel interjected, ignoring your palms pushing him backward. “That’s my brother, sure as shit, but it ain’t—he ain’t—”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you hissed shrilly.
“And you’re carrying our baby. So what if I miss out on some trip to the beach and don’t see Tommy and Maria swap rings? You know they’re gonna film it all anyhow.”
But it wasn’t just some trip to the beach, and this wasn’t merely a matter of exchanging rings and calling it a day—this was a wedding on the French Riviera, for fuck’s sake. You and Joel were spending the night at a hotel right by the airport so you wouldn’t have to wake up as early, and it was all so nice. You already felt terrible for ruining what was meant to be a romantic evening for the two of you before going to see this huge, beautiful occasion overseas, as you’d been puking half the day. Then you’d had to go and take a shower at two A.M. because you couldn’t sleep. It was a never-ending thing.
Slowly, you took a breath and felt your ribs ache. Your fingers curled into fists on Joel’s chest, and you stilled.
“Oh, sweet pea—”
That was Joel.
You interrupted his speech in a halting, pathetic sob.
Then your features crumpled, and you had to fight tears.
Joel held you. There was no pretense or pause or any need for explanations in the moment; he just set the soap aside, wrapped you up, and pulled you to him.
“I hate doing this,” you whispered, teeth gritting.
“Doin’ what?” Joel murmured back. “‘S’a matter, baby?”
“All of me’s just…changing! I— I’m— I’m—”
Gingerly, you drew back and gestured to yourself.
Though steam crowded the space, Joel could see every inch of you. It drove you half-crazy to think that so much could be different, and you still looked the same, for now.
“I’m exhausted all the time, and crabby, and emotional—” As if to emphasize your point, moisture started to pool at your waterline, and you blinked furiously. “—and I yak whatever I eat. All my favorite foods disgust me, but for some fucking reason, you can bet your ass I’ll be craving Doritos and Nutella at four A.M.! I’m insane!”
“Baby—”
“And don’t you fuckin’ say I’m not. I’ll bite your dick off.”
You regretted saying it instantly. You winced a bit.
Perhaps out of instinct, or else just a half-cocked attempt at humor, Joel moved to shield his crotch with his hands. The fabric of his boxers sagged, drenched.
A laugh burst out of you—loud and nonsensical.
Unlike the last one, you really couldn’t contain it.
And who would blame you in the state you were in? Naked, nauseous, and craving the touch of someone other than yourself. Wanting to feel like yourself but knowing that that might not be the case for months yet.
Joel pushed a big, wet clump of hair out of his face—he’d been growing it long, and the grays seemed to appear more prominent every day. Even soaked, it was silver.
Just screaming ‘soon-to-be DILF,’ you thought with a soft flutter in your stomach, watching him watch you.
“Listen, if cravin’ all kinds of funny food and bein’ a little moody makes you crazy, you might as well call me batshit, ‘cause I’ve been an asshole with awful taste longer’n you’ve even been alive,” Joel said, chuckling.
You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Joel.”
“I am, too.” Then your old man lifted his hands, as if in surrender. Still smiling. “Probably the fact you’re carrying my nutty genes in your belly s’got you feelin’ a little, uh…”
He trailed off, gaze wandering with it.
His eyes settled on your tummy, and at the same time, he stepped closer. He placed his hands on your sides.
“…different,” he finished, kissing your forehead.
Your insides stirred again at the sound. That word.
Different.
If you hadn’t been perennially hunched over a toilet, you would’ve been reveling in this touch the last four weeks, no doubt. Just being here, seeing the man handle you so delicately and without a modicum of judgment in his look or his tone, made you liquefy from the inside out.
Made you happy to be carrying his baby, even if the kid was keeping you sicker than a dog most of these days.
You sagged slightly, sighing. “Well. I am different.”
“Different’s good,” Joel countered.
“But I’m…cranky and mean.”
“Still my little sweetheart.”
Joel kissed your nose now, and you crinkled it.
“Tired, and hot, and dizzy…”
“Gives me reason to baby ya.”
You frowned. Joel grinned back.
“Don’t forget about my sore feet.”
“Good thing I love givin’ massages.”
For each one of your chief complaints, Joel had a solution, plain and simple. You could keep rattling through the list, and you knew he’d only get more creative with it. Instinctively, you softened even more.
You couldn’t give up on this that easily, though.
“And I can’t…get wet,” you confessed, quiet.
Joel gave you a once-over, brows knitting.
“I dunno, sugar, y’look pretty drenche—”
“I’ll kill you.”
Referring to the fact the two of you were soaked under the shower’s stream was doing Joel no good, evidently.
Smothering another smile, he kissed your left cheek.
And up your jaw. Along your neck, in miniature pecks.
Apologetic and sweet, before mumbling: “I know.”
“You…know?”
“Darlin’, I may be clueless sometimes—but I ain’t plum stupid,” Joel started, voice soft as ever. Peppering kisses across your collarbone. “Know y’aint been in the mood…”
True.
Joel’s lips descended further, cruising all the way until his stubble grazed one nipple, and you let out a breath. Nudged back to the wet tile wall and pressed against it, you had no choice but to accept those same lips enveloping the pebbled flesh and sucking. A hand moving to palm your other breast while they did.
“I—It has nothing to do with you Joel. I p-promise.” For whatever reason, you still felt the need to explain. Compensate for an area that you deemed lacking.
Again, he said, “I know.”
Joel was still soft, still smooth, still licking and sucking and squeezing you in between those murmured words. When he stepped closer and pushed a knee between your legs, you gasped on instinct. It just felt so good.
“Reckon if I was losin’ my food half the day, I wouldn’t be too keen on gettin’ busy. Don’t blame ya one bit, darlin’.”
Before relief could even begin to flood your chest at hearing that, still, a jolt of pleasure coursed through it. Joel flicked his tongue against your nipple and, at the same time, maneuvered his leg in just the right way.
“Baby.” You fisted soft, silver, sopping locks and pulled.
Joel groaned against you.
He proceeded to slide his hand from your other breast down your waist and eventually, tenderly, between your legs where his own thigh had them parted open wide.
“Y’know I love it when you say that t’me,” he muttered.
Two fingers touched your folds and rubbed between.
…Still, nothing.
Not even a little moisture to aid him.
You could feel how dry you were despite the immense amount of desire bubbling beneath your skin, the need, and the water all around you both to boot. It didn’t make sense, and you let out another sound of frustration then.
“Seriously, what the fuck?” you griped, half a cry.
“Patience, honey. Patience,” Joel cooed back at you.
The man may as well have been the picture of pure composure himself: from his steady hands to his gentle lips, the cadence of his movements, and how deliberate he always seemed to be when it came to your pleasure.
He prodded your clit, and your knees turned to putty.
Circled it, really. Those practiced rings never failed to find their target, your most sensitive bundle of nerves, and gave you all of what you’d needed and more. Joel boxed you in against the shower wall with his body, back and shoulders shielding you from the hot spray of water.
He teased you with just his fingertips for the longest time. Turned your cries into keening then to light, soft whimpers and didn’t budge when you leaned in further.
“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t know why—” you started.
“Don’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart.”
Without a word more being said, Joel already seemed to know that you were trying your hardest and feeling embarrassed by your body’s lack of cooperation.
He kissed your right cheek, then kissed the left.
“Close your eyes. Stay right here, OK?” he said.
Before you could protest, you felt his warmth retreat.
“Go on now. An’ don’t open ‘em ‘til I say so, hear?” Joel’s voice boomed across the space, warm and rich and deep
You weren’t sure why you listened so fast, but you did.
It was almost force of habit by then—one of you speaking, the other following without a thought.
Like you were one and the same person now.
Your eyes fluttered shut.
And when they opened again, it was only because Joel said. Scarcely a minute or two had passed and he was back by your side, closing the glass door behind him and humming under his breath. Fumbling with something.
“Now, up at me, sweet pea. Don’t look nowhere else.”
When your gaze adjusted to the light, it was on him.
Soft, sweet, steady brown eyes again, watching you.
Joel’s whole body couldn’t have been more than a few inches away now, his hulking frame all but swallowing up the warm, yellow light overhead and his expression relaxed. You inhaled, and a wave of familiar scents filled your lungs: bergamot and woody notes, some Old Spice deodorant, and an overwhelming sense of Joel. Moisture dripped from the tips of his hair to his cheeks and through his beard, then down the column of his throat.
Need chewed you from the inside out almost painfully. Waiting for just the right moment to reach out and—
“Where’s my girl?” Joel murmured presently. Smirking.
You blinked once. Another half-second lapsed.
Then, something cool and smooth between your legs.
Joel’s grin grew bigger when you let out a gasp.
“There she is,” he beamed.
“Joel!”
“‘S’mine right here, ain’t it?”
At almost the same time your center filled with a frigid pang, there was the heat and the heft of Joel’s fingers—the index and the middle, together—slipping in past your opening. Slick as ever, simply one push and sliding in.
Joel’s cheeks shone with a rosy flush, nearly as bright as the smile that was painting his face in that very moment. Lips curled, skin hot, body drenched from head to toe and dripping gently over yours with every heave of his big, hairy chest, the man was like a furnace before you.
It might’ve escaped your notice how he managed to slide right in without a hitch if you hadn’t heard a little schlick when he dragged his fingers out. And in. And back again.
Joel was stretching you open, and it felt perfectly fine.
Your eyes widened and instinctively tried to look.
Stopping you, but not halting his movements:
“What’d I say now, sweet pea? Eyes on me.”
“But Joel, I—”
Deeper, suddenly.
“—oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck me.”
Shortly, your words were supplanted by whimpers, and Joel’s efforts only increased. He pushed thick, callused fingers inside your heat like they were light as air, stuffed you full of him, and crooked them up. Slipped them out.
“Ain’t that how we got here, darlin’? Us fuckin’?” he said.
Smug bastard loved to talk while he turned your insides to mush, his free hand finding your hip and holding you still while he proceeded to move in and out, in and out.
“Daddy,” you moaned reflexively. Toes curling when he found that sweet and special spot and stroked over it.
“Yeah? Ain’t that what you made me, sweet girl?” Joel cajoled you even more. “Made your old man a—what?”
And as if to ensure you wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer, Joel slid in a third finger, amazingly. Stretched your precious little hole like it was nothing and kept going.
“Joel.”
“Jus’ said the word f’me a second ago. Say it again.”
“It feels s-so—”
“No.”
Almost as fast as he came, he was gone.
Fingers leaving you as cold and derelict as you were before Joel ever stepped into the shower, they retreated.
The man easily dodged the daggers your eyes shot him.
And before you could even start to protest, he was lifting your leg. Tightening his hold on your side while he freed up his other hand to reach behind your head somewhere.
You were up against the wall, so that only left—
“—anatomy lessons. Birds an’ the bees?”
Joel was basking in it now, voice light and teasing as he waited for you to do what you’d do—what you always did—and moved your leg higher still. Hooked your foot around his thigh and yanked him closer, all while you fumbled around with the fabric of his boxers and nodded
“Birds and the bees,” you repeated.
It was weird, admittedly. Being so deep and down into the concept of Joel marking you, claiming you in a way that no one else had ever gotten to do, and now that you were actually real parents-to-be, well, it made it…unique.
Different.
“Daddy,” you mumbled without thinking, stroking the full, hardened length you’d tugged out of Joel’s shorts.
“Yeah, honey?” Joel answered in half a breath. “Daddy?”
His cock twitched as you slid your palm from root to tip, desperate to feel more of him. Your fingers wrapped around him, almost protectively, and you nodded again.
When you peered up to meet his gaze, you found Joel’s expression as soft as you’d ever seen it. The hunger was there, but it was obfuscated, to a degree, by the sheer tenderness in his eyes. The longing to hear those words.
“I—I’m gonna make you a daddy soon,” you said softly.
And just as you tilted your hips—right as you guided him toward your center, where it’d only be natural for his shaft to slide in—Joel stilled. He sucked in a breath.
His cock twitched again, and you whimpered for it.
Then the hand he’d had planted on the wall behind your head lowered, going all the way down to find your center.
Joel was holding a tiny bottle of lube.
“I didn’t wanna…assume nothin’ comin’ here, y’know,” he started slowly. Squeezing the plastic tube until a little pearl appeared, then moving his other hand from your hip to catch the liquid in his palm. “Know you’ve been hurtin’ something awful ‘cause of me, and what we…”
Again, an icy sting between your thighs—but it was good
“…what we did,” he tried again. “Gettin’ ya queasy an’ all.”
So that was what he’d used to work you open before. Just like they had then, your insides twisted, and a soft sound caught in your throat, half-breath and half-moan.
Joel had scarcely gotten the chance to slick a hand over himself when you were taking his length again, angling yourself, and moving by force of unadulterated impulse.
You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he broached your needy, aching hole, but all at once, he was there—pressing, stretching, stuffing you wall-to-wall until no space was left inside your pussy. He filled you completely
Your breathing picked up, and his did, too, albeit with a touch more control. Having already kicked his boxers off at his feet, Joel walked you back until your spine was flat against the tiled shower wall, and then he sank in deeper.
“‘S’my girl.” Joel spoke through his teeth, swallowing a groan. “Jus’ needed this pussy filled nice an’ tight, huh?”
You couldn’t answer in complete words; you had to hum.
“Mhm, D-Da—”
“Yeah? Been missin’ daddy’s cock in this little hole?”
Like clockwork, Joel withdrew to the tip and then plunged back in. Your hands jumped to grip his biceps, and you took it. All of him in, in, in, until he was balls deep again and that never-trimmed thatch of silver hairs was kissing your lips. Water pelted you both from the side, hot and unrelenting, and your moans echoed throughout the space. Your body opened for him.
Here he was—this man, and your man most importantly—filling you to the brim. Shifting his hips and then kissing your temple before finding the most comfortable rhythm for you both. It must’ve come like second nature to him now, much like the thought to buy you lube, and take you slow, and remind you over and over again just how special this was to him. How damn lucky he was—
“—and now we got a little piece’a you an’ me growin’ inside ya every day. Ain’t that the most special thing?”
Out of instinct, you glanced down.
Just as Joel drove home again, glistening cock disappearing into your pussy, you drew a breath.
You wouldn’t be able to see that for long.
Your toes curled and your walls clenched tighter, and at the same time, a broad hand came to rest on your belly.
Joel didn’t stop thrusting, but he did slow considerably.
Pressing his forehead to yours, and not letting you look up from where you were both watching your bodies join again and again, he paused a beat. Then, he spoke softly:
“Who put that baby in your tummy, sweet girl?”
At the sheer intonation of those words, paired with Joel’s slow, slick, measured thrusts going in and out of your pussy and his hand over your stomach, you got a feeling sharp and direct to your center. Pressing, and primal.
Like it suddenly clicked, and you were no longer just fucking but fusing together in a much, much deeper way
Joel could probably feel you constrict around him, choking his cock from base to tip as you soaked in his words, but evidently, he wanted to hear you speak, too.
“C’mon, darlin’, know you wanna say it.”—Another grin, sly and sugar-sweet that you couldn’t see—“When a mommy and a daddy love each other very, very much…”
Fuck.
A new influx of warmth left your body, and this time, you knew it wasn’t anything but yourself; you were wet now.
Drenching Joel’s length and giving it an even louder, more obscene sound as he fucked himself in and out.
His fingers flexed gently over your stomach.
A coil tightened beneath it.
“J-J-Joel, please…”
“‘M’sorry, sweetheart, your old man’s hard of hearing.”
Pretending to be leaning closer to listen, Joel canted his hips upward. His cockhead grazed the edge of your cervix, and it felt like your entire body convulsed.
You let out a cry. You couldn’t help it.
“So who got you pregnant, sweet pea?”
“Y-You—You did, daddy! Fuck!” you shrieked.
Your peak was swift to follow. Nails digging, vision blurring, slurred sounds of daddy, daddy, daddy were likely all either one of you could hear for the longest time after it, alongside the grunts and moans clawing their way out of Joel’s throat as he chased his own release.
His spend painted your walls in ropes, one pulse after the next, and flooded your womb. You could feel him fill you.
The silence that ensued from there was punctuated only by your heaving breaths and the water streaming overhead. Joel pulled you even closer to him.
Against his chest, you felt totally secure.
Still a little bit terrified, but secure.
“Everything’s gonna be different, isn’t it?” you mumbled.
Joel nodded. Probably grinning, “I think so, sweet pea.”
“You think different’s good?”
“Different’s perfect.”
NOW LET’S GET THESE LOVEBIRDS TO THE SOUTH OF FRANCE & FUCKING NASTY AGAIN LMAOOOOO
MDNI 18+ Joel Miller fondling you on the way home from your valentines date
ㅤ♡ He looks over at you, one hand steady on the wheel, the other twitching restlessly heavy on his thigh. “Why don’t ya untie that little get-up you got on?” he says, eyes dipping to the way your top ties neatly at the back of your neck.
ㅤ♡ You smile. You know this game. But you take your time, feeling his eyes flicker between you and the road, then back at you again. Before you can reach the knot at your nape, he reaches over, thick fingers working it loose for you. Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the feeling of them, the fabric parting and falls open over your stomach, slowly revealing your breasts in flashes of passing streetlight. Gold light, then dark, then gold again. It's all back roads here. No one’s going to see a thing.
ㅤ♡ He brings his one hand over to your chest, just gently kneading your breast closest to him first, humming in contentment at your soft little sigh.
ㅤ♡ Your legs begin to push together, hips shifting around as you search for friction in the seat. His hand cups your breasts fully now, gripping it enough to jostle in around, and you watch how his pupils dilate in the light of the next street light when he looks back at you, licking his lips.
ㅤ♡ He pinches your nipple when you get to a red light, leaning over to kiss it tenderly while his hand reaches to the other one. His tongue slowly laves at the tightening bud, making your breath catch in your throat. His eyes close as he leans in, enjoying this, and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood aftershave wafting up as your hand threads into his hair.
ㅤ♡ The light turns green and you have to remind him to drive.
ㅤ♡ He takes his hands away, sitting back up in the drivers seat, and you go to retie your shirt with a little sly smile, excited for what awaits you at home.
Warnings: 18+. SOMNOPHILIA / DUBCON but also kinda not lol - Reader and Joel are both 100% into it. Unprotected p-in-v. Dream Joel™️ cameo. Creampie. Breeding kink because that’s just who I am as a person
Note: Inspired by Ty Myers’ ‘Never Get Tired (of Loving You)’ 🫡
Word count: 2.3k
It should’ve come as no surprise the night started here
The day ended the same as it often did: you curled up on your side, pillows and blankets and the occasional stray article of Joel’s clothing caging you in. You slept with your nose buried in one of his old flannels when he was out on patrol, and this evening was no different.
He’d been gone for too long. By your calculation, it must’ve been at least three days since the last time you’d seen that soft, twinkling gaze beaming down at you from underneath a fringe of salt-and-pepper. Those absences always seemed to be felt most keenly when the winter months had started to give way to spring, sunlight streamed through the windows of your home a little longer each day, and all signs pointed to the fact that he should be here. Why wasn’t he here?
‘’M’right behind ya. Right here, sweetheart. Hold on.’
Sometimes, it was like you could almost hear the gravel in his tone, the little kinks at the corners of his lips, even the jingle of his belt buckle as the leather came undone. There were moments you would’ve sworn those callused hands were searing a red-hot path down your sides, trailing slow and long and low until the panties he’d hooked under his thumbs were at your knees. More often than not, you woke up soaked.
Sweating.
Cursing yourself for how long you’d let this go on.
But that was Joel Miller’s effect, wasn’t it? Half the reason you were in this bed, huffing his tattered clothing to fall asleep and whimpering and moaning when you couldn’t bring yourself to climax in the middle of the night no matter how hard you tried.
If you didn’t love him so much, you might be irked.
Dream Joel could get fucked, though, frankly.
Teasing you like that was just the worst thing—which was probably the reason why you felt no compunction whatsoever when a touch grazed your thigh through your sleep shorts tonight, and you groaned, reflexively:
“Nooooooo! Please. Please, I’m too tired for this shit.”
Only an imagined chuckle came as your reply, identical to Joel’s own and almost impossibly close to your ear. Something as sharp as his stubble touched your neck.
You were awake, but not really. Conscious but barely clinging to your own awareness, with just enough lucidity to keep your personality intact and tell faux-Joel he could take a long walk off a short pier and die.
‘Mmm. Your husband comin’ home anytime soon?’ The wildly rude hallucination mocked you. It even combed its fingertips over the crown of your head, smoothing your hair and then massaging tiny circles toward the base of your skull, just like Joel loved to do.
You eased into it, but you didn’t budge an inch besides.
In your barely sentient state, you recalled four separate occasions this same man had disappeared into thin air.
“My husband…would fuck me…” you trailed off, yawning big. “So…so much better than you could.”
‘Is that a fact?’
By now, the ministrations on your scalp had descended past your neck and met your shoulders, then your ribs, then the soft and pliant flesh peeking out through the side of your shirt. Your camisole was loose—an unflattering, murky shade of gray you’d hoped Joel would never get to take too long a look at. Simultaneously, you wished he would see it tonight.
‘Wanna test that theory, hon? See who fucks better?’
If it would get this fraudulent motherfucker to shut up, then yeah, definitely. It wasn’t going to end up with a—
“Oh,” you let out a breath at a pressure on your back.
And there it was: Joel’s warmth, Joel’s weight, the goddamn smell of Joel’s aftershave greeting your senses like an old friend as a form slid into the bed behind you. For a second, tears could’ve started to well in your eyes, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop them. You were sleepy, and you were starved, and more than anything, you missed your old man like hell.
“Please don’t…go,” you mumbled, wistful and pathetic.
If there was one thing you wished you’d told Joel before he’d slung his knapsack over his back on Monday and kissed you goodbye, it was that: don’t go.
Don’t leave you a quivering, shaking mess at the mere thought of feeling those hands all over you again. And once they did—or the imaginary ones, anyway—and they slid right over your hips and kneaded the skin there, you sighed. You relaxed into a body that had molded to the back of yours, and for a beat, you contemplated opening your eyes into the darkness.
Not wanting the dream to end, you decided against it.
All the familiar sights, from the deep burgundy duvet to the pillows scattered around the mattress, the indentations from where your body and Joel’s had laid countless times before, would have to wait. You hated how natural it felt to be resting like this here, now.
Something nudged between the tops of your legs.
Had the moon been shining a little brighter or your eyes actually ventured to open again, you might’ve seen a broad, muscular forearm reach across your abdomen and find a home for a seasoned hand. That touch was not only quick but assured in its movements, just where you needed it most.
You moaned while two fingers circled your clit.
And again, and again, and again, they went on.
‘There she is,’ a Texan’s lilt crooned in your ear. Elevating in volume as your whines did the same, ‘That’s where your old man misses every time, huh?’
“N-No. He doesn’t,” you protested weakly.
This dream was fucking unreal.
The little circuits and lemniscates on your sensitive bundle of nerves had turned into a full-blown incursion, and it worked. In no time at all, you felt an influx of pleasure materialize; you heard it echo through the tiny, repeated squelches between your thighs, and you guessed that very same essence would be trickling down onto the bedspread. Pleasure eclipsed thought, and your eyes shut even tighter.
Then a pair of lips grazed your jaw. Fine, sharp hairs that you pictured shining mostly silver in the light tickled behind your ear, and the voice continued:
‘Bet he can’t find that…special spot…inside her.’
At just the mention of it—that fucking use of ‘her’ to refer to your slick, wet pussy—your whole body pulsed.
Something else must have twitched back, too, because suddenly you felt your hips at an angle.
Still unable to fathom that any of this could be real, or that the fingers working your clit mercilessly right now might actually lead to more, you operated on instinct.
You arched your back, obedient as you’d ever been, and you didn’t protest. You wanted it. From Joel, some figment of the inner machinations of your own mind, an enigma, really, you weren’t in a position to care.
‘Can you make it fit? All the way in, sweet pea?’
You nodded into the bed, lids pinched shut.
‘Been so long since you had it, huh?’
Uh-huh, your head bobbled again.
It didn’t matter if this whole thing ended a second from now: you were feeling it, needing him, and practically bucking for release. You’d get it soon enough, you reasoned. Asleep or fully awake—it would happen.
And then something warm and thick breached you.
The tip and every inch beyond was welcomed by your dripping heat, so the slide was easy. It might’ve gone four, five inches before you hit the widest part, and only then did your walls show a hint of resistance. Hell, it had been almost a week since you’d gotten fucked properly, and your body needed some…adjustment.
You were stunned you’d actually made it this far.
Never before had the fantasy not ended with Joel’s cock at your entrance, and never had it been like this.
Frantically, you reached behind yourself and felt him.
“Joel?!” you all but choked on the words as your husband sheathed the rest of himself inside. A soft, wet sound echoed at the press of his balls to your rear.
“Right here, honey. You jus’ tell me if this is OK, yeah?”
Clearly, he hadn’t been aware that you thought his presence was all an illusion; he’d figured you were roleplaying, probably. There was a strain in his voice as you squeezed and clenched around him and made his cock fit as snug as it had been in a while. He held your hip and kept his own lower half perfectly rigid and still.
You turned your head to him and stared, eyes wide.
Still lying with your spine pressed flush to his chest, but able to crane your neck just enough to watch him:
“I—I thought I was making you up.”
Joel grinned. The bastard smirked before he leaned forward an inch or two and found your lips. Kissed you.
That face was worn and haggard and webbed with rows of wrinkles from all the years and restless nights, and you wished you could soak it all in like a person might take a picture. As it was, though, your eyelids were fluttering back shut with the kiss, and your cunt was quick to stretch against Joel’s pulsing intrusion. His cock was more than a familiar force by now; he’d practically carved himself into your genetic makeup with every thrust, and your body reacted accordingly.
Taking gentle, shallow strokes and kneading your breast while he did, rubbing his thumb over the hypersensitive nipple, Joel managed against your lips:
“My baby’s been dreamin’ ‘bout me, huh?”
You didn’t need to respond in words.
Your reply came in the way you reached behind yourself and fisted a clump of gray ringlets at the nape of Joel’s neck. Your husband adjusted his position and began fucking you a little more quickly and deeply.
“I can tell, honey. Can feel by how she squeezes me.”
Without a doubt, Joel was in charge, but you could also hear the faintest intonation of something breaking for him, too. You’d been thinking of him, of this, and he’d been doing the same while he was away on patrol.
The thought that you could be a vessel for his pleasure in the exact same way that he was for you made you want to squirm even more. You felt him hold your head upright by your neck, and with his face only inches away, you kept coupling your bodies, again and again.
The hand around your breast squeezed harder. The measured thrusts grew uneven. You were milking Joel’s cock for every scrap of pleasure you could claim, and in truth, the two of you probably looked close to feral fucking like this. The bed creaked and groaned and threatened to splinter with every new movement.
A familiar warmth pooled in your stomach.
Something twitched beside your cervix.
“Ain’t gonna last long. ‘M’sorr—”
“Don’t,” you choked, before Joel could finish the apology. “Don’t be. Want you to…cum inside me.”
Instinctively, you both knew better.
Hell, you hadn’t been tracking your period for weeks with how infrequently Joel was at home, but here you went: all but begging him to blow his load inside you.
“Aw, honey. You—You know—”
Apocalypse. Living undead. No access to emergency contraceptives should you have been ovulating then.
“Might as well leave me with…” A strangled breath curtailed your speech. You rut your hips even harder. “…something to…to…keep me company while you’re out on patrol. You know how lonely it can get here.”
You knew what kind of effect those words would have on your husband, too. You’d never indulged this much.
Joel had just been itching to knock you up of late.
“Fuck, baby,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
His thrusts sped up. There wasn’t enough road left for the two of you to keep speeding on like this—your highs were drawing closer and closer by the second.
“Don’t you wanna make me a mama?” you pouted.
“Fuck, honey. Yes. Yes. You jus’ give me the go ahead.”
Joel was polite, even when he was about to breed you.
Like it had been before, you didn’t need words to answer his question. Like you felt when you were curled up in bed, mostly dead to the world, you were fine because you’d already established this agreement that it was OK to take. OK to give, so long as it made both you and him happy and still put your safety first.
Maybe this wasn’t the safest, or smartest, thing to do.
But when Joel groaned against you, and you moaned back, mouths open and strained and panting out noises of inimitable pleasure, that thought faded.
In its place came an arm tightening around your body, a set of lips crashing to yours, and a long-awaited release—pulsing, pushing, flooding you with heat.
Your husband must have unloaded about a hundred ropes of spend by the time the two of you were finished. He looked about as tired as if he did.
Still, he was grinning as he flipped your body to him.
An electric current seemed to be vibrating beneath your skin as you finally, finally got to throw your arms around your husband and let him pull you into a hug.
He smelled like pine needles and sweat. His hair was a mess. That beard you’d been begging him to grow out for ages was now long and a little unkempt in some places, but nothing could hide the smile on his lips.
Most importantly to you, he was real this time.
And before you could utter so much as a word to say that you’d missed him more than anything this last week, the old man was reaching for your hips again.
Your smile grew bigger, and your eyebrows lifted a bit.
“Well, darlin’, I’ve gotta make sure we made it stick.”
TIME TO YEARN ABOUT THAT OLD MAN AS A FATHER NOW!!!
Summary: Joel is your neighbor in the trailer park with a dirty mouth who gives you orgasms.
Pairing: Perv!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Content warnings: modern no outbreak AU where Joel is not a dad, one Sons of Anarchy reference, one mention of Joel’s gut, sleazeball!Joel, ribbed condom joke, oral sex (F receiving), a few spanks, protected P-in-V, tit/nipple play, biting, dirty talk, Joel refers to himself as "Daddy" once (it surprised me but my heart told me to write it), aftercare
Word count: 2,577
Read on ao3 here
Author's note: this is my post for celebrating 200 followers on here!!! yay!!! thank you everyone so so so so much!!! I want to kiss everyone!!!! I was lowk pulling for everyone to choose the Acacius story for this celebration post, but as I finished this one up, I started to like it more, so thank you to everyone who voted for perv!trailer park!Joel <3 it was very fun to write this Joel; I was only a little freaked out by purposely mischaracterizing him! anyways, thank you again to everyone who reads my works, everyone who likes, comments, and reblogs!!! I didn't realize how amazing reblogging is until I started posting on this account! (reblog your favorite stories!!!) okay I'm done rambling, so please enjoy pervy!trailer park!Joel <3
You moved into the trailer park about a year ago. You wanted to live below your means to save up for a house. Blue Moon Trailer Park mostly houses divorced guys, you realized. There are a few families, a few other single people.
Then, there’s Joel, your next-door neighbor. He’s single, never been married, doesn’t have kids, and in his late forties. He works in construction, and for fun, he ogles your ass and your cleavage.
The day you moved in, he was sitting on his porch, wearing just his green plaid boxers, a beer bottle in one hand, a joint in the other. As you started unloading your car, he went inside his trailer, put on some jeans and a plaid shirt that he didn’t bother buttoning, then met you at the trunk of your car.
“Need some help, darlin’?” he asked, wearing a toothy grin.
You didn’t respond at first. You tilted your head to the side in slight confusion.
He held his hand out and introduced himself. “Name’s Joel Miller. Noticed ya ain’t got anyone to help ya bring in all o’ your things. Just thought I’d offer.”
In all honesty, you were immediately attracted to him. Maybe you watched too much Sons of Anarchy, but there was something about a nasty, slimy guy that always did it for you.
A guy who carried himself with confidence, unapologetic for his less than (typically) desirable habits. This guy was sitting half-naked on his porch with a drink and a joint in his hand when you rolled up twenty minutes ago. Now, he had put a shirt on, sure, but he hadn’t even bothered to button it, his slight gut sticking out. Joel fits the bill for nasty and slimy perfectly.
You shook his hand and gave him your name. You let him help you bring your things in. When he picked up especially heavy boxes and grunted in exertion, you felt your panties grow slicker.
He must’ve fucking smelled it on you or something, because by the time the two of you finished, he was suggesting he help you christen your new bedroom.
//
After living in the trailer park for a while, you recently got a second job waiting tables on weekend nights just to keep busy.
Apparently, Joel hasn’t been taking it very well.
The text on your phone comes in just as you’ve plopped onto your bed, still in your waitress uniform.
-Horny. R u up?
Is he serious? Did he seriously text you this at 3:00 in the morning, ten hours after you told him you’d be working until 2:00? Seriously?
Are you seriously putting your shoes back on and already crossing the eight feet of grass between your and Joel’s trailers?
…Yes.
You walk right in. Joel never locks his trailer when he’s in it, said he doesn’t see a point, and left it at that.
You’re greeted with the sight of Joel sitting on his couch, clad in his unzipped jeans and an unbuttoned denim shirt, with his cock in his hand.
“Thank the Lord,” he mumbles. “Get your pretty ass over here.”
You roll your eyes as you lock Joel’s front door, kicking your shoes off as you cross the living room.
“3:00 AM? Seriously, Joel?” you grumble. You stand in between his legs, undoing your jeans.
“Not like I forced you to come over here. Just asked if you were still up,” he points out, already slightly breathless as he lazily jerks himself off.
To the right of him, you spot old Playboy magazines.
You open your mouth again, but before you can give a speech about how offensive you find those magazines, Joel nods, saying, “Yes, seriously. Now c’mere. Need that sweet pussy real bad, baby.”
You push Joel into a lying down position, then shuck your jeans off, along with your panties, and kick off your shoes. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pulls you to the couch. You hover over his face, straddling his chest. He doesn’t waste time; he dives right in, pulling deep moans and groans from your mouth with ease.
He licks stripes up and down your slit until your thighs tighten around his head, a silent signal that he needs to get it together and actually eat.
Joel switches from long licks to concentrated swirls around your clit. You and Joel never really cared for drawing it out. The longest you’ve ever spent with Joel was an hour and a half, and that was only because he popped a viagra.
He feels your clit pulsate against his tongue, and that’s when he pushes you off him. You stumble back on his body while he sits up, his hands palming your bare ass.
“You worked a night shift at the diner, then came to my place to fuck,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your face, smelling of cheap whiskey and Marlboro Reds.
“So?” you groan.
“So... Someone likes me,” he teases as he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing the lace of your bra.
“Asshole,” you mutter as you roll your hips against his crotch.
“You’re not denyin’ it,” he hums in your ear, his hands still rubbing your cheeks.
“You got a condom or what?” you snap.
Joel shuts his mouth, purses his lips into a thin line, then nods. He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a single condom.
“Look,” he chuckles, waving the wrapper in your face. “Ribbed for her pleasure.”
You scoff and furrow your brow in annoyance, but pull his jeans down to his knees anyway so he can get the condom on.
“You’re scoffin’, but you know you like it,” Joel remarks as he rolls this condom over his hard length. “You just hate that you’re into me. The residential pervert, was how you put it last month, wasn’t it? Not like anyone’s gonna stone you for lettin’ me fuck you. We’re consentin’ adults, sunshine.”
“You think you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes?” you grumble as you hold him up to your entrance.
Joel clicks his tongue and gives a look of feigned offense. “Aw, baby, you know I always last longer than five minutes.”
You’re about to respond, but now he’s completely filling you, and you’re so full of him, so you have to moan.
“See? You love this,” he whispers.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble. “Big dick to match your fuckin’ personality.”
Joel’s hand comes down on your ass as you speak. A sharp pop pierces the air, and your moan follows.
“Hey, I’m bein’ nice,” he says, no anger in his voice. If anything, he might be a little hurt. “Didn’t force you to come over here. All I did was ask if you were awake.”
You don’t want to apologize because you know Joel isn’t being fully serious. Instead, you lean forward and kiss him, pulling a low growl from his throat. His hands move from your ass to your head, planting a firm grip.
“Mm,” you whine when he bites your bottom lip. “Jesus, fuck.”
Joel laughs, the sound deep and gravely in his chest. “You love this shit, dontcha, baby?”
“Shut up,” you pant, forehead heavily leaning against his.
His hands move from your head to your breasts, squeezing and kneading your flesh through your bra.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, a little less rough now.
You moan softly and shut your eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of you, his hands on your breasts, his warm breath fanning against your face.
“Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your breasts, just a little too hard, which has you inhaling sharply through your nose, your eyes opening wide. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Didn’t ask you over here just so you can hide those pretty eyes from me.”
You open your eyes but narrow your gaze and purse your lips, nearly likening yourself to an angry bull, Joel thinks, and it makes him smile.
“Attagirl. Yeah, is that so hard? Hm? I just wanna see ya. All o’ your pretty face, darlin’. Can’t come right if I don’t.”
Oh, he was doing so well. He just had to add that last part, didn’t he?
“Do you have some sort of contractual obligation where you have to ruin every remotely nice thing you say with a perverted afterthought? Huh?” you ask, rolling your hips harder against Joel’s.
He chuckles and thrusts up even harder, pulling a soft, pleasure-filled hiss from your lips.
“No,” he grunts. “Just don’t see a point in filterin’ myself when I know the way I talk makes you wet.”
You roll your eyes at that, and Joel grabs onto your jaw in such a way that has your lips puckering as he holds your gaze.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and husky.
You moan and ask, “Say what?” with a muffled voice as Joel keeps a tight grip on your jaw.
“Say you like hearin’ me run my dirty mouth.”
Joel doesn’t comment on the little gush of fluid he feels around his cock when you hear his words. He just keeps holding your gaze and waits for you to say the words.
“I-I like hearing you run your dirty mouth,” you say, your voice just a little higher-pitched than you’d like it to be.
Joel moans in appreciation, then shakes his head. “Mm, I don’t know, darlin’. I think what I actually wanna hear you say is that you love hearin’ me run my dirty mouth. Let’s try that, huh?”
You let out a soft whimper, then mumble, “I love hearing you run your dirty mouth.”
He nods in appreciation and lets go of your jaw.
“That’s my girl. Yeah, you’re such a good girl,” he praises as he plants both his hands on your hips and starts thrusting into you harder now.
You moan and lean forward, your hands planted on the arm of the couch behind him, your forehead against his as you watch his hips thrust up into you.
“Yeah, you like that?” he rasps. “Like watchin’ me fuck you? I can feel ya clenchin’ tighter around me. You’re just as fuckin’ perverted as me, aren’t ya, baby?”
“Shut up,” you moan, leaning your head back, moving your hands to his biceps, his thick, strong fucking biceps.
Joel doesn’t say anything; he just slaps your ass, which pulls a whiney moan from your throat.
“Yeah, you like hearin’ me talk, like watchin’ my cock split ya open, like it when I spank that pretty ass… You’re just too high up on that horse o’ yours to admit it.”
“Joel…” you moan, practically shaking on Joel’s lap now.
“Joel,” he mocks. “Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna make ya say it. Just somethin’ for you to stew on when you go home.”
You moan and lean your forehead against his again, your hands moving to his shoulders.
“I’m gonna come,” you whisper.
You feel him nod against your forehead. “I know, darlin’. You go on ahead. Show me how much you love hearin’ this nasty old man’s dirty mouth run. Go on. Be a good girl for me.”
That’s all it takes to have you turn into a shaking, whining mess. Joel fucks you through it, moves his hands to your breasts, massaging them through your lace bra.
Once you’ve come down, he whispers in your ear, “Okay, sweetheart. It’s Daddy’s turn now.”
You’re not expecting it, but you moan at his words. You’ve never called him that, and he’s never called himself that. It’s new and unexpected, and Joel doesn’t even realize it’s that word specifically that has you moaning. He thinks it’s just leftover from the orgasm he just gave you.
You don’t even realize you’re changing positions until the scratchy fabric of his couch hits your naked back.
Joel’s entire body covers yours, and he’s thrusting again, clearly focused only on his orgasm now.
“This pussy’s fuckin’ magic, darlin’,” he grunts above you.
“You’re fucking pussy whipped,” you whisper, and he snorts in response.
“Not a very nice thing to say, baby,” he laughs before leaning down to kiss your chest and tug at the lace of your bra with his teeth.
“Take this off. Wanna see that gorgeous fuckin’ rack o’ yours before I finish.”
You scoff in indignation at how crude his request was, but comply regardless, reaching behind your back to unclasp the garment, arching your chest in his face in the process, given the position you’re in. You toss your bra to the side once it’s off, and Joel immediately dives in, sucking on your nipple and taking it between his teeth, just edging it, not biting down.
“Nicest fuckin’ tits,” he mumbles around your nipple.
He lets go with a loud pop, a string of spit connecting from your nipple to his lips.
Then, he brings his fingers down to your clit. “Want you to come with me this time. Come on, I’m so close. Know you can do it. Still feel you squeezin’ and drippin’ all over my cock. Come on, pretty girl,” he coos before bringing his lips down to yours.
You bury your hands in his hair and bite down on his bottom lip, pulling a soft grunt of surprise from him, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Feelin’ feisty?” he rasps against your lips before ducking down and biting your jaw, then your collarbone, then the top of your breast, pulling a throaty moan from you each time.
You tug on his hair and present his chest to yourself. You take his nipple between your teeth and actually bite down.
Joel growls, but doesn’t pull away.
You clench around his cock, and he falls forward just a bit, inadvertently giving you access to his shoulder.
He moans, and his thrusts speed up.
“I’m gonna come,” he whispers, pressing down on your clit, pushing you over the edge with him.
You feel the warmth of his cum through the condom, and moan as your cunt flutters around him.
“Jesus, Joel,” you moan.
“I know, darlin’. It’s a lot, huh?”
He leans down and kisses you, gently this time. Then he turns the two of you on your sides, his back to the couch, so he doesn’t crush you. He keeps a tight hold on you so you don’t fall off, then buries his nose in your hair.
“You okay?” he whispers. “Didn’t go too hard?”
He’s asked this since the first time. Even though now the two of you know each other well enough to know the other’s likes and dislikes, he’ll still check in, just so you feel cared for.
“I’m okay. You okay?”
He nods and kisses your forehead. “You can stay over if you want. No pressure, though.”
You smile up at him and nod. “I’d like that, actually.”
Joel pulls you into the shower with him a few minutes later, taking care to be gentle and sweet. He dries you off and gives you a clean t-shirt to sleep in.
When the two of you get in bed, he tucks you in, then gets in on his side, before scooting over to the side you’re on just so he can hold you.
He’s just a big dick with big feelings.
He’s also the reason you’ve extended your stay in the trailer park. You had the money for a down payment two months ago.
Summary: Joel declares a full‑blown "belly crisis" after deciding his stomach deserves far more attention than it gets, dragging you on top of his belly with a lazy, smug and dangerously tempting smirk. What follows is you, grinding on his belly with a new found sensation that makes you crave more than you like to admit.
A/N: @lilithsmonsters ask in my inbox completely derailed my brain so badly that i HAD to write a whole fic about belly grinding and lemme tell you...he is UNHINGED. Thank you so much for the message — hope you enjoy what your chaos created lmao
"Y'know, I been thinkin'…"
Already a bad sign with this old bastard.
He gives you that lazy, half-lidded grin—the one that means he's about to say something he absolutely shouldn't—while dragging a hand over his stomach like he's showing off a trophy, fingers sinking into the soft, doughy flesh that hangs just a bit over his belt, all that fat layered over years of hard living and harder indulgences, warm and inviting in its unapologetic bulk.
"This here?" He pats his belly like he's proud of it, the slap echoing a little as his palm connects with the skin. "This is quality. Premium. Top damn shelf stuff, darlin'. Built like a goddamn fortress from all them years haulin' ass through hell, and you—" he points at you like you're the one bein' unreasonable, "you don't give it half the attention it deserves."
You stare at him. "Joel."
"Shit, I'm talkin' prime real estate, soft as a fresh-baked roll but solid underneath, beggin' for a pretty thing like you to come grind on it till you're screamin'."
His ramblings don't stop. He ignores you completely, leaning back on the bed with that smug, lazy smirk that always gets under your skin.
"I mean, hell, sweetheart, I'm sittin' here wonderin' what a man's gotta do to get a little appreciation around here. Got all this real estate goin' to waste, this big ol' gut that's seen more action than most cocks twice its age, and you actin' like it ain't the best damn seat in the house."
His hands strokes over his belly once.
"Christ, imagine slidin' that sweet little honeypot right over it, lettin' it squish up against you while I watch you lose your mind."
He leans back further, smug as sin, his belly protruding proudly, the faint trail of coarse hair disappearing into his waistband like an invitation for you.
You groan. "You can't be serious, Joel."
"Oh, I'm real serious, honey." He taps his stomach again, dramatic, the fat quivering under his fingers. "This is prime territory. Untouched. Neglected. Downright tragic, if you ask me. Bet if you gave it half a chance, you'd be real fond of it."
A beat.
That wicked little smirk, eyes gleaming with filthy intent.
"Real fond. Slippin' and slidin' till your juices are drippin' down my sides, markin' me up like I own that tight pussy of yours."
You roll your eyes, but he's already spiraling, words tumbling out in that endless, deranged stream.
"See, I figure a gal like you needs somethin' real to rub up on, not all that fake hard bullshit from younger folks. This here's authentic—warm, plush, gonna cradle that clit like it was made for it. Hell, I could lay here all night feelin' you hump it, beggin' Daddy for more while I tell ya how right I am."
You throw a pillow at him. He catches it in one had, grinning like an idiot, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact.
"C'mon, honey," he drawls, voice dropping into that teasing gravel. "Don't act like you ain't curious. I know that look—the one where you're half-pissed at my mouth but your thighs are clenchin' thinkin' about what I could do to ya."
You sputter. "What look?"
"That one." He points at your face, his other hand idly stroking the curve of his gut, thumb dipping into the soft fold above his navel. "The 'Joel, you're a filthy old pervert but unfortunately you fuck like a god' look. Admit it, darlin'. You been eyein' this belly since we started this little arrangement, wonderin' how it'd feel pressin' up on that honeypot till you're soakin' it through."
You try not to roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling up because yeah, he's maybe a rambling sleaze who never shuts up, but damn if his confidence doesn't make your pulse kick up.
He's sprawled out like he owns the damn world, that fat tummy on full display, rising and falling with each breath, the skin stretched taut over the generous swell, dotted with a smattering of dark hairs that thicken lower down, leading to the bulge in his jeans that's already twitching with interest.
"Fine," you say, crossing your arms but stepping closer anyway, because as much as he annoys you with his unhinged bullshit, those orgasms he wrings out of you are worth every eye-roll. "You want appreciation? Earn it, you old goat."
His eyes light up.
"Oh yeah? And how's a fella supposed to do that, huh? You gonna climb on and show me, or do I gotta beg? Nah, fuck that—I don't beg."
You don't answer with words.
Instead, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs first, your hands planting on his chest for balance, feeling the wiry hair and solid muscle beneath his shirt.
Joel's breath hitches, rough and eager, but he plays it cool—or as cool as this motormouth can—those big, calloused hands settling on your hips like they've done a hundred times before.
"Like this?" you tease, grinding down just a little, feeling the heat of his hardening cock through his jeans pressing against your cunt.
But you shift up, sliding your weight forward until your core hovers right over that prized belly of his.
Joel's grin turns downright feral, teeth flashing in his lined face.
"Go on, lower that pretty pussy down—let ol' Joel's gut show you what it's made for. Bet it's gonna feel like slidin' into heaven, all soft and warm, huggin' your folds just right while I talk you through every second."
You hesitate, annoyance flaring because no way his stupid fat belly gonna feel that good—no way you're giving him the satisfaction of admitting it.
But curiosity and that building ache win out, and you lower yourself slowly, your pussy pressing against the firm give of his stomach through your thin shorts, the fabric bunching up as his skin meets yours.
It's immediate; that plush warmth under you, layers that dimple under your weight, warm and slightly sticky from the day's heat, the coarse hairs tickling your inner thighs like a tease.
"Fuck, Joel," you mutter.
You start to rock just a bit, testing it. It's not bad, but you're not about to say that—his ego's big enough without your help.
He groans low, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, the other gripping your ass to guide you, fingers digging into the flesh.
"That's it, sweetheart. Ride it out. Feel how this big ol' belly cradles that honeypot? Soft as sin, ain't it? Gonna make you drip all over me, leavin' your scent on every inch while I watch you fight it." He rasps, tugging on your hair again. "But you can't fight it forever—Daddy knows what you need, and it's this fat gut grindin' up on your clit till you're shakin'."
His voice is all gravel and heat, rambling on without pause, that unhinged mouth firing off deranged filth like its poetry (or his own perception of it).
"Look at you, already gettin' slick—bet those lips are partin' for me, suckin' at my skin like they do my cock. Go on, hump it harder, darlin'. Let it squish up against that swollen little nub."
You bite your lip, grinding down despite the annoyance—his words are so over-the-top, so smug, but they worm into your head, making the friction hotter.
"Shut up," you pant, but there's no real bite.
Your hands splay over his chest as you pick up the pace, sliding your soaked pussy along the length of his belly, the slickness making every pass smoother, more obscene.
"Shut up? Nah, honey, I'm just gettin' started."Joel chuckles, the vibration rumbling right through you, sending sparks straight to your core.
"Bet you wanna lick it up after, taste yourself on ol' Joel's belly. Come on, admit it feels good—ain't no shame in lovin' a real man's body, all this padding made for makin' you cum buckets."
He bucks up slightly, pressing the swell harder against you, his free hand roaming to pinch your nipple through your shirt, twisting until you whimper.
"That's right, fight it all you want, but your body's tellin' on ya. Clenchin' and grindin' like a bitch in heat. Daddy's gonna talk you right over the edge—see how this fat tummy milks that honeypot? Gonna make you squirt if you keep goin', flood me till I'm drenched and you're beggin' for my cock next."
The words are relentless, deranged and filthy, pouring out in that confident drawl as his eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry, watching every twitch of your face.
You're annoyed—god, so annoyed at how he never stops, how he's so damn sure of himself—but the orgasms he gives are so good, and this one's creeping up fast, his smug rambling pushing you closer even as you resist.
"Joel—fuck, it doesn't—" you start, but it's a lie, your movements turning erratic, hips slamming down harder, every slide dragging your clit over that perfect ridge where muscle meets pudge.
"See? I was right all along—this premium belly's your new favorite toy. Cum for me, drench daddy, show me how much you love it even if your mouth says no." His voice drops lower, "That's it, honey—let go. See, I was right."
It's the smugness that tips you over, that endless, unhinged torrent of filth from this old man who knows exactly how to break you.
You shudder, grinding down hard as the orgasm crashes through, your pussy clenching and pulsing against his skin, soaking him in waves, the fat tummy slick and shining under you. He holds you steady, murmuring more deranged praises—"There ya go, floodin' Daddy's gut like a good girl, I was right, fuck yes"—his own breathing ragged, cock throbbing forgotten against your thigh.
When you slump forward, spent and half-laughing through the annoyance, he smirks up at you, hand stroking his now-glistening belly like a prize.
"Told ya. Premium stuff. Now, you gonna clean this up with that tongue, or we movin' on to the main event?"
You swat his chest, but there's no denying the afterglow. "Shut up and fuck me already, you smug bastard."
His laugh is pure victory, rough and triumphant. "Yes, ma'am. I got you."
